Benjamin, no doubt, was more interested to return to America on account of his relation to Miss Deborah Read. He had written to her but once, and that was directly after he began work at Palmer’s printing house. He told her of Keith’s fraud practised upon him, leaving him in London a stranger and nearly penniless, so that he could not return until he had earned money enough to pay his passage. He did not write to her again, and his conscience had condemned him, so that, at times, he dwelt sadly upon his unfaithfulness. He neglected to write for so long a time, that he became ashamed to write at all; and so the correspondence dropped. Yet, he did not forget Miss Read, nor cast her off; and he blamed himself every time his thoughts dwelt upon his sin of omission.
Benjamin’s employer was very sorry to part with him.
“I am glad to have you as long as I have,” he said, “but I wish you would stay. I feel safe to commit work or business to your care. If ever I can do you a favor, let me know, and I will only be too glad to do it.”
“I thank you for your confidence. I have done the best for you I could, as I always mean to do for every employer. I regret to leave you, and my companions with whom I have spent so many hours. But I have a strong desire to return home.” Benjamin spoke with considerable feeling.
“That is an honorable desire,” answered Mr. Watts, “and I have no doubt that you will be prospered in gratifying it. At any rate, I hope you will.”
So Benjamin separated from his old friends on the best of terms, and commenced work for Mr. Denham. Nor was it light work. He accompanied his employer from warehouse to warehouse, packing goods that he bought, and forwarding them to the ship _Berkshire_, which would sail on July 21st. It was new business for him, but he liked it all the more for its novelty; and he performed the labors with his accustomed tact and industry.
Benjamin had been nineteen months in London when he sailed on the 21st of July, 1726. A few months before, he made the acquaintance of Peter Collinson, a young man of noble English birth, whose talents gave him nearly as much standing as his ancestry. Collinson heard of Benjamin and sought him out, forming a life-long friendship. Collinson accompanied Benjamin to the ship. Just before the vessel weighed anchor, he handed his walking-stick to Benjamin, saying, “Let us exchange.”
Benjamin exchanged, replying, “And let it be a pledge of friendship forever.”
“And a pledge, also, of faithful correspondence with each other,” added Collinson, as they shook hands and parted.
The _Berkshire_, Henry Clark, master, was eighty-two days on its voyage to Philadelphia. Benjamin landed there on the 11th day of October, 1726: and he was at home again.
[3] “Life and Times of Benjamin Franklin,” vol. i. p. 136.
XXIX.
UPS AND DOWNS OF LIFE.
One of the first places that Benjamin visited was the printing house of Keimer, where he worked before leaving the country. Keimer had made up his mind that Benjamin would never return to America, so that when he entered the printing office he was startled.
“Why, Ben! can it be you?” he exclaimed in wonder. “I began to think that you would never be seen in Philadelphia again.”
“Why did you think so?”
“Because you planned to be back here a long time ago; I concluded that you had forsaken us.”
“Not yet; I have seen no place abroad quite equal to Philadelphia. I did not return as soon as I expected.” And Benjamin rehearsed to Keimer substantially his experience with Governor Keith, that he might understand why his return was delayed.
“That is what you got for concealing your purpose,” said Keimer. “I could have told you that Keith was wholly unreliable, and so could a good many other people. He has been turned out of office because of his rascality.”
“I am glad to hear that. I am a little curious to see how he will act, and hear what he will say, when I meet him.”
“He won’t meet you if he can help it. I see him occasionally on the street, and he looks crestfallen.”
“He will look more so, I imagine, when he meets me. I propose to talk matters over very plainly with him.”
“That can do no good. The less breath you waste in that way, the better for you,” replied Keimer. “But I suppose you want to go to work at your old trade? Plenty of work here, and you are just the man to do it.”
Keimer’s business had increased largely, and he had added many facilities for doing work, so that the establishment presented a more attractive appearance.
“No; I am a printer no longer,” answered Benjamin. “I am booked for the mercantile business in Philadelphia”
“How is that? Were you not a printer in London?”
“Yes, I followed my trade there, and learned more about it than I ever knew before. London is a great place for printing. Two printing houses there, with more than fifty hands in each.”
“Think you can do better in trading than printing?” asked Keimer, who was really anxious for Benjamin’s services.
“Not exactly so. But I should be in London now, had not Mr. Denham’s offer to become his clerk brought me home.” And Benjamin told the story of his acquaintance with Mr. Denham and the outcome, which was his offer to make him his business manager.
“A good opportunity, I should think, if you like that business,” answered Keimer; “but I should like to put you in manager of my printing office. You have had the experience, and understand the business much better than any man I have.”
“That is out of the question now, of course, as I am under obligations to Mr. Denham.”
“Of course; I only meant to tell you what I would do if you were at liberty.”
Benjamin was anxious to learn about Miss Read, whom he was quite ashamed to meet because of his neglect. Keimer was acquainted with the family, and first introduced him to them, as was stated in a former chapter. So that he had no doubt he would know all about Deborah. He ventured to inquire:
“What can you tell me about Mrs. Read and her daughter?”
“Mrs. Read lives where she did, and continues to take a few boarders. Her daughter was married to a miserable fellow, nearly a year ago, but lived with him only a few weeks, when she left him.”
“Indeed! That was unfortunate for her,” Benjamin answered. “She deserves a better experience than that.”
“She would not have married, had she been left to her own choice, but her mother and other friends persuaded her. Rogers was her husband’s name, and he was a potter by trade, a first-class workman; and they thought he was capable of getting a good living, I suppose.”
“A good character would have been of more service to him,” suggested Benjamin; “a very unfortunate affair.”
“I was going to sway,” continued Keimer, “that she had been married but a few weeks before she found that Rogers had another wife. Of course her marriage was not legal, and she left him at once.”
“Probably her mother made no inquiry about Rogers’ character beforehand,” remarked Benjamin. “Mothers ought to be wiser than that.”
“We all have to live and learn, and experience is our best schoolmaster,” added Keimer.
Keimer knew nothing of Benjamin’s relation to Deborah Read, so that he spoke freely. The revelation was startling to Benjamin, and it set him to thinking. He concluded that Mrs. Read inferred from his first and only letter to Deborah that he would never return, or never be in a situation to support a wife and family; and, as time went on, and no other letters were received, she became fixed in her conclusion that he would not return. Benjamin took all the blame upon himself; and the honest sympathy of his heart asserted itself for the girl. He resolved to call upon her as soon as possible and confess his wrong-doing, ask her forgiveness, and renew his attentions.
“I should have said,” Keimer added, “that Deborah has not changed her name. She refuses to be called Mrs. Rogers, and is still called Miss Read by her friends. This is all right, I suppose, because her marriage was illegal.”
“Very wise for her, I think,” responded Benjamin. “But she may consider herself fortunate to get released from such a bondage.”
He improved the first opportunity to call at Mrs. Read’s, to whom he appeared as one from the dead. She had not heard of his arrival, nor that he was expected. The _American Weekly Mercury_, the only newspaper of the town, announced, “Entered inwards, ship _Berkshire_, Henry Clark, from London.” That was all; nothing was said about any passengers.
“Benjamin Franklin!” exclaimed Mrs. Read in great astonishment, throwing up her hands at first, as if fearing it was his ghost, and then giving him a most cordial welcome. “Can it be you?”
“It can be,” Benjamin replied, with his old-time familiarity, being reassured by Mrs. Read’s friendly appearance. “If I know myself, this is Benjamin Franklin.”
Deborah made her appearance before the last words were fairly off the lips of the new comer, equally surprised and glad to see her old friend.
“I am really ashamed to meet you, Deborah, after my inexcusable neglect,” he said, “and first of all I ask you to forgive me. It scarcely seems possible to myself that I should treat you so.”
Before Deborah had time to reply her mother spoke:
“If there is any blame to be attached to any one, it is to me; for I opposed your engagement, and entreated Deborah to marry that apology for a man Rogers.”
“But all that does not excuse me for not writing to Deborah,” responded Benjamin “It was very wrong in me to treat her with such neglect. And I did not intend to do so; I meant to continue the correspondence, but one thing and another prevented for so long a time, that I really was ashamed to write.”
“Well, it is all over now, and there is no help for what has been done, except to learn a good lesson from it for the future, if we are all bright enough to do that.”
Mrs. Read swept the deck by these last remarks. There was no obstacle now to consummate an engagement with Deborah. She did not tell Benjamin to go ahead and make sure of his bird now, that she would not interpose the slightest objection; but she might as well have said so; and he so understood it, so that he felt perfectly at ease.
Deborah Read had never lost her first love, and never wholly abandoned the idea that her lover would return. She had no love for Rogers when she married him; she married him to please her mother. Now, her love for Benjamin was as fresh and strong as ever; and so was his love for her. Their intimacy was renewed, an engagement consummated.
Benjamin was twenty years old–a fine-appearing, handsome young man. Mr. Denham thought so, and so did Deborah Read. The first was fortunate in securing him for his clerk, and the second was equally fortunate in securing him for her future husband. And Benjamin himself was as fortunate as either of them in having such an employer as Denham, and such a betrothed as Deborah. It was a tidal wave of good fortune now.
“And I am prepared to go to work at once.”
“I will pay you extra wages to take the whole charge of the printing office, so that I can give my attention to the stationer’s shop.”
“I can do that, or any thing else you desire; am not at all particular. I am now twenty-one years old, and ought to be a man any way, and do the best I can wherever I am put.”
Keimer’s offer was liberal, and Benjamin accepted it, and entered upon his work as superintendent of the printing house, a very responsible position. But, in a short time, he had good reason to believe that Keimer paid him so liberal wages because he wanted the poor printers to improve under his superintendence; and when that end was accomplished, he would cut down his wages, or hire another man for less money. However, he went to work with a will, as he always did, resolved to do the best he could for his employer.
As the workmen improved under Benjamin’s supervision, Keimer evidently began to think of discharging him, or cutting down his wages. On paying his second quarter’s wages, he told him that he could not continue to pay him so much. He became uncivil in his treatment, frequently found fault with him, and plainly tried to make his situation uncomfortable so that he would leave. At length a rare opportunity offered for him to make trouble. An unusual noise in the street one day caused Benjamin to put his head out of the window to learn what was the matter. Keimer happened to be in the street, and seeing him, cried out:
“Put your head in and attend to your business,” adding some reproachful words which all the people around him heard. Then hastening up stairs into the office, he continued his insulting language.
“Men who work for me must give better heed to their business. If they care more for a noise in the street than they do for their work, it is high time they left.”
“I am ready to leave any time you please,” retorted Benjamin, nettled by such uncalled-for treatment. “I am not dependent on you for a living, and I shall not bear such treatment long, I assure you.”
“That, indeed!” replied Keimer, derisively. “You would not stay another day were it not for our agreement, in accordance with which I now warn you that, at the end of this quarter, I shall cease to employ you.”
“And I will notify you that I shall not work another minute for you. A man who is neither honest, nor a gentleman, does not deserve the service of decent men.” Benjamin was aroused.
And, as he spoke these last cutting words, he took his hat and left. As he passed down, he said to Meredith:
“Bring all my things to my lodgings.”
In the evening, Meredith carried all the articles belonging to Benjamin to his boarding-place, where he had a long interview.
“Keimer lost the last claim for respect that he had on his men to-day,” said Meredith. “Not a man in his establishment, who does not condemn his course.”
“Just what I expected. He does not want to pay me my price, now that the men have learned their business. This was the first occasion he has had to drive me off.” Benjamin spoke with the utmost coolness.
“It is the worst act for himself that he has done,” continued Meredith. “Every man he employs would leave him if work could be had elsewhere.”
“I think I shall return to Boston, whether I remain there or not. It is a good time for me to visit my friends.”
“I have something better than that to suggest. My thoughts have been busy on it all day, and I wanted to see you about it to-night before you laid any plans.” Meredith’s manner indicated something of importance.
“What have you to propose? I am ready for any practicable enterprise you can name.”
“I want to set up the printing business for myself, and I am not sufficiently acquainted with it, and you are. Can we not arrange to go into business together?”
Meredith’s proposition took Benjamin by surprise, and evidently seemed impracticable to him.
“And have poverty for our capital?” replied Benjamin with a laugh. “I am about as rich as you are.”
“No; have money for our capital, all that is necessary to start us well in business,” answered Meredith.
“That would be fine, I declare; but I would like to see the money first,” added Benjamin, before Meredith could explain.
“Hold on a minute, let me explain, and you will see that my plan is not so impracticable as you seem to think. My father has money; and he has always said that he would start me in business whenever I got a good knowledge of it. He knows, of course, that I have not that knowledge yet; but he knows, too, that a man who can run Keimer’s establishment has the requisite knowledge, and would be a good partner for me.”
“But your father will never advance the necessary capital,” interrupted Benjamin. “If I was ten years older he might do it.”
“I am confident that he will; at any rate, I will consult him about the matter, and learn just what he will do. I have told him all about you, and he will think it is a good opportunity for me.”
Meredith consulted his father, and received the prompt answer:
“Yes, I will do it gladly. I know of no young man I would select for your partner in preference to Franklin.”
In a subsequent interview with Benjamin, Mr. Meredith said:
“I am all the more ready to furnish the capital, because your influence over my son has been so good. You influenced him to stop drinking when he was fast becoming intemperate, and I shall always feel grateful for it. You are just the one to be intimately associated with him.”
It was settled that they should enter into partnership, and start their business as soon as the necessary outfit could be obtained from England.
XXX.
THE LEATHERN-APRON CLUB.
Benjamin began to reflect much upon his religious opinions (or, rather, irreligious), on his return voyage from England, as related to the errors and mistakes of his life. He had much time, during those three long, wearisome months, to study himself, past and present. Evidently he came to possess a more correct knowledge of himself on that voyage than he ever had before. He was so sincere in the matter that he drew up a number of rules by which to regulate his future life. A year and more afterwards he enlarged and perfected this code of morals. The rules which he adopted on the _Berkshire_ were prefaced with the following paragraph:
“Those who write of the art of poetry teach us that, if we would write what may be worth reading, we ought always, before we begin, to form a regular plan and design of our piece, otherwise we shall be in danger of incongruity. I am apt to think it is the same as to life. I have never fixed a regular design of life, by which means it has been a confused variety of different scenes. I am now entering upon a new one; let me, therefore, make some resolutions, and form some scheme of action, that thenceforth I may live like a rational creature.”
The closing sentence shows that his conscience was making him considerable trouble, and that he concluded his life had been very irrational. Perhaps he thought of Collins, whom he made a free thinker, and of Ralph, whom he corrupted in the same way. One of them became a drunkard, and the other a polygamist; both of them cheating him out of a sum of money; might not their free thinking be related to their immoralities? He could not help thinking of these things, and so he wrote down the following rules:
“1. It is necessary for me to be extremely frugal for some time till I have paid what I owe.
“2. To endeavor to speak truth in every instance; to give nobody expectations that are not likely to be answered, but aim at sincerity in every word and action; the most amiable excellence in a rational being.
“3. To apply myself industriously to whatever business I take in hand, and not divert my mind from my business by any foolish project of growing suddenly rich; for industry and patience are the surest means of plenty.
“4. I resolve to speak ill of no man whatever, not even in a matter of truth; but rather by some means excuse the faults I hear charged upon others, and, upon proper occasions, speak all the good I know of every body.”
This was not all he wrote to guide his future career; but we have cited enough to show the current of Benjamin’s thoughts at the time of which we are speaking. We shall see hereafter that he did not cease to reflect upon his career, and resolve upon a nobler life.
Soon after his return from England, perhaps after the death of Mr. Denham, Benjamin organized a literary club, composed, at first, of eleven members, all of them more or less talented and desirous of self-improvement, and nearly all of them mechanics, which fact caused the institution to be christened “THE LEATHERN-APRON CLUB,” although the real name of it, as suggested by Franklin, was “THE JUNTO.”
The society was patterned after one formed by Cotton Mather in Boston. The first thing done at their meetings was to read the following questions, pausing after reading each for any remarks or propositions members might desire to make. The principal questions were as follows:
“1. Is there any remarkable disorder in the place that requires our endeavor for the suppression of it? And in what fair, likely way may we endeavor it?
“2. Is there any particular person, whose disorderly behavior may be so scandalous and notorious that we may do well to send unto the said person our charitable admonitions? Or, are there any contending persons whom we should admonish to quench their contentions?
“3. Is there any special service to the interest of Religion which we may conveniently desire our ministers to take notice of?
“4. Is there any thing we may do well to mention unto the justices for the further promoting good order?
“5. Is there any sort of officers among us to such a degree unmindful of their duty that we may do well to mind them of it?
“6. Can any further methods be devised that ignorance and wickedness may be chased from our people in general, and that household piety in particular may flourish among them?
“7. Does there appear any instance of oppression or fraudulence in the dealings of any sort of people that may call for our essays to get it rectified?
“8. Is there any matter to be humbly moved unto the Legislative Power, to be enacted into a Law for the public benefit?
“9. Do we know of any person languishing under sore and sad affliction; and is there any thing we can do for the succor of such an afflicted neighbor?
“10. Has any person any proposal to make for our own further advantage and assistance, that we ourselves may be in a probable and regular capacity to pursue the intention before us?”
“I should pronounce that an ingenious society for doing good and getting good,” said Coleman, after the questions were read.
“It was so, and Cotton Mather himself was a member of twenty of these societies,” said Benjamin. “They became very popular, and I recall with what interest my father participated in the meetings. I often accompanied him, and, young as I was, they were very interesting to me. It was that fact which suggested the questions I have reported for our club.”
When a person united with the Junto, he was required to stand up, lay his hand on his heart, and answer the following questions:
“1. Have you any particular disrespect to any present member?
“_Answer_. I have not.
“2. Do you sincerely declare that you love mankind in general, of what profession or religion soever?
“_Answer_. I do.
“3. Do you think any person ought to be harmed in his body, name, or goods, for mere speculative opinion, or his external way of worship?
“_Answer_. No.
“4. Do you love truth for truth’s sake; and will you endeavor impartially to find and receive it yourself, and communicate it to others?
“_Answer_. Yes.”
At one of their earliest meetings Benjamin proposed that each member (the number of members was limited to twelve) should bring his books to the club-room for reference during their discussions.
“A capital idea,” said Coleman, “and I would suggest that each member have the privilege of reading the books belonging to other members.”
“Another good idea,” rejoined Benjamin; “I second that motion with all my heart.”
“It will not take any one of us a great while to read all the books we can muster,” suggested Potts.
At that time there was no bookstore in Philadelphia, nor was there one of considerable note anywhere in the Colonies, except in Boston. The people of Philadelphia sent to England for the books they wanted, which was expensive and inconvenient.
After this plan had been successfully used for several months, Benjamin made another proposition.
“I propose that we establish a library, interesting parties outside to join us in the enterprise.”
“Raising money for the same by subscription, do you mean?” inquired Maugridge.
“Yes; unless there is a better way of doing it.”
“I doubt if outsiders can be interested to join us in such a project,” said Grace. “Few people care enough about books to put money into such an enterprise.”
“Perhaps so; but we can try; if we fail we shall still be as well off as we are now,” was Benjamin’s answer. “Unless we make the effort we shall never know what we can do.”
“And you are the one to solicit subscriptions, Ben,” remarked Godfrey. “If anybody can succeed, you can. If I should undertake and fail, as I should, it would not prove that the scheme is impracticable.”
“I am perfectly willing to solicit subscriptions, and I will begin at once and be able to report success or failure at the next meeting,” was Benjamin’s generous offer.
At the following meeting he was able to report success, so far as he had been able to work; and he continued until fifty young tradesmen had pledged forty shillings each as a subscription, and, in addition, ten shillings per annum. This was unexpected success, and the members of the Junto were highly elated. Thus was established the first circulating library in this country. Benjamin Franklin was the author of it; and that library numbers now one hundred thousand volumes. Since that day the library scheme has proved so beneficial to individuals and the public, that there are thousands of circulating libraries in the land. Almost every town of two or three thousand inhabitants has one. It must not be forgotten, however, that Benjamin Franklin conceived and reduced the idea to practice.
The following are some of the questions discussed by members of the Junto:
“Is sound an entity or body?
“How may the phenomenon of vapors be explained?
“Is self-interest the rudder that steers mankind, the universal monarch to whom all are tributaries?
“Which is the best form of government, and what was that form which first prevailed among mankind?
“Can any one particular form of government suit all mankind?
“What is the reason that the tides rise higher in the Bay of Fundy than the Bay of Delaware?
“Is the emission of paper money safe?
“What is the reason that men of the greatest knowledge are not the most happy?
“How may the possession of the lakes be improved to our advantage?
“Why are tumultuous, uneasy sensations united with our desires?
“Whether it ought to be the aim of philosophy to eradicate the passions?
“How may smoky chimneys be best cured?
“Why does the flame of a candle tend upwards in a spire?
“Which is the least criminal, a _bad_ action joined with a _good_ intention, or a _good_ action with a _bad_ intention?
“Is it inconsistent with the principles of liberty in a free government, to punish a man as a libeller when he speaks the truth?”
The foregoing Rules and Questions show that it could not have been an ordinary class of young men to meet and discuss such subjects. Benjamin’s talent is manifest both in the organization and the themes considered.
Improvements have been the order of the day since the Junto was organized; but we doubt if there has been much improvement upon the Junto in literary organizations for the young. It is not surprising, that, of the original twelve members, two became surveyors-general; one the inventor of a quadrant; one a distinguished mechanic and influential man; one a merchant of great note and a provincial judge, and all but one respected and honored men. At the same time, Benjamin, the founder, became “Minister to the Court of St. James,” “Minister Plenipotentiary to France,” and the greatest Statesman and Philosopher of America, in the eighteenth century.
In old age Doctor Franklin said of the Junto: “It 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 on 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.”
The Junto was copied in England fifty years after Benjamin organized it in Philadelphia, by Cleming Jenkinson (who became Earl of Liverpool) and others; and, within it, they began careers that became illustrious. It has been copied in different parts of our own land down to the present day, blessing the people and the country in more ways than one.
“I can tell you how to get over the difficulty,” said Benjamin: “let each member get up a club of twelve, and that will give a chance for one hundred and forty-four members.”
“And when that number is attained, I suppose you will have each one of the one hundred and forty-four organize a Junto, and that will make the membership seventeen hundred and twenty-eight, enough to constitute a good township,” suggested Coleman, who did not endorse Benjamin’s plan.
“One Junto will be of more service to members, as well as to the public, than a dozen can be, only abolish the limit to twelve members, and allow all who desire to join,” was Coleman’s view.
“More interesting, also, to have a larger number of members,” suggested Parsons. “Numbers create enthusiasm.”
“And numbers often create friction, too,” retorted Benjamin; “we want to avoid both shoals and rocks.”
“Another thing that I object to very much is this: if each one of us organizes another Junto, we no longer associate with each other–the very thing for which this Junto was organized.” This was the strongest objection that Coleman urged.
“That is the selfish side of the question,” suggested Benjamin. “On the other hand, there will be twelve times as many persons to be benefited. If we twelve are benefited, how much better and grander to have one hundred and forty-four benefited!”
“Ben is right; and I am of the opinion that the sooner we adopt this plan the better. It will be unpleasant to sacrifice our social connections to form new ones, but the new ones may become equally pleasant.” Scull thus supported Benjamin’s proposition; and so did Meredith, Maugridge, and others.
This discussion arose from the popularity of the Junto. It became so popular that large numbers of persons wanted to join it, and besought the members to abolish the rule limiting the membership to twelve. Hence, Benjamin’s proposition to meet the exigency, which was carried, with this amendment:
“The new clubs shall be auxiliary to this, the original one, each reporting its proceedings to the parent society, that one harmonious purpose and plan may characterize all.”
All the members did not organize a club, but five or six did, and these clubs flourished for many years, blessing the town and the whole colony.
The Junto was not many months old, when Benjamin made another proposition.
“The books we read have words and phrases in other languages, and I do not know their meaning. I studied Latin some in Boston, before I was ten years old, and Latin words I can guess at, but French I can’t. Suppose we study French.”
“You can study it if you want to,” replied Scull, “but I have not the time for another study.”
“And I have not the taste for it,” said Meredith. “One language is all that I can handle, and I can’t handle that as I want to.”
“I like the suggestion,” responded Coleman “and can give a little time to French, though not a great deal. If Ben becomes an expert linguist he can translate the foreign words and phrases for us.”
“That last suggestion is best of all,” remarked Parsons. “Ben can go ahead and become a linguist for our benefit. That is the benevolent side of this question,” punning on his argument for the benevolent side of the club question.
Whether other members of the Junto studied the languages we have no means of knowing, but Benjamin did, with remarkable success. First he studied French, and when he could read it quite well, he took up Italian and Spanish. By this time he became so interested in foreign languages that he revived his acquaintance with Latin, becoming quite a good scholar therein. It was a mystery to his companions how he found time to accomplish so much; but he did it by method and industry, improving the smallest fragments of time, working early and late. He was very fond of playing chess; but he denied himself the pleasure wholly in order that he might have the more time for study. While at Keimer’s he found more time for reading and hard study, because his employer observed Saturday as his Sabbath, giving only five days in the week to work.
XXXI.
BRIGHTER DAYS.
It would require several months for the printing outfit ordered from England to reach Philadelphia. In the mean time, Benjamin was considering what to do; and, while canvassing the field, he received the following note from Keimer:
“PHILADELPHIA, 10 Dec., 1727.
“MR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN:
“_Dear Sir_,–It is not wise for old friends like you and I to separate for a few words spoken in passion. I was very hasty, and am sorry for it. I want my old foreman back again at the old price. I have plenty of work, and if you think well of my proposition, come and see me.
“Yours truly,
“SAMUEL KEIMER.”
Benjamin’s first impulse was to destroy the letter and take no further notice of it. But the second, sober thought led him to consult Meredith, who continued to work for Keimer. Meredith read the letter, and said:
“I should advise you to accept his proposition, as you have nothing to do.”
“But can you tell me what selfish end he has in view, for Keimer would never come down like that unless he had an axe to grind?” Benjamin said.
“Most certainly I can. He can have a government job if he can do the work. The Province of New Jersey is going to make a new issue of paper money, and he can get the job; but you are the only printer in Philadelphia who can do that work, so he wants you.”
“I knew there must be something of that sort, or he never would have asked for my work again. He is too contemptible a man to work for.” Benjamin spoke with much feeling; and he was right, too.
“But here is the point,” continued Meredith. “I am poorly equipped to set up business for myself, and you can teach me. It will be anywhere from six to eight months before our outfit arrives from England, so here is a good opportunity for me to improve.”
“I suppose that is the best way of looking at it; but Keimer has so little manhood about him that I have no respect for him. I dislike to work for a man whom I despise, and can’t help it.” Benjamin’s language showed that it was almost too much to ask him to return to Keimer’s printing office; but Meredith persevered.
“For my sake, I want you should decide to accept the proposition. Keimer has made an apology, so that you can return without compromising your manhood at all. It looks to me as if it were wiser to accept his proposal than to decline it.”
“I will sleep over it to-night before I decide, and let you know in the morning,” replied Benjamin, as he took his leave.
In the morning Benjamin put in his appearance at Keimer’s office, ready for work. He received a hearty welcome, and was at once apprized of the paper-money job of New Jersey.
Benjamin succeeded in contriving and completing a copper-plate press; and when cuts and ornaments were all ready, Keimer and he proceeded to Burlington, N.J., where they remained three months to fulfill the contract. It proved a rare school for Benjamin. It brought him in contact with many prominent men, who were of much assistance to him afterwards. He was so much more intelligent than Keimer, that the latter was of little consequence, as very little notice was taken of him. One day Isaac Decon, the surveyor-general, said to him:
“You are complete master of your business, and success is before you.”
“I have improved my opportunities,” modestly answered Benjamin, “and done the best I could to learn my trade. I don’t like the half-way method of doing business.”
“I commenced business in a very humble way,” continued Decon, “without dreaming that I should ever possess such an estate as I do now.”
“What was your business?”
“I wheeled clay for the brickmakers, and had no opportunity of going to school in my boyhood. I did not learn to write until I became of age. I acquired my knowledge of surveying when I carried a chain for surveyors, who were pleased with my desire to learn the business, and assisted me. By constant industry, and close application, and not a little perseverance, I have succeeded in reaching the place where you now see me.”
“That is the only way any person ever reached an honorable position,” remarked Benjamin, after listening to the interesting story of success.
“You are right in that view, and one-half of the battle is fought when correct views of life are fixed. When an employer like Keimer is inferior to his employee in ability, tact, and enterprise, there is a very poor show for him. If you set up for yourself in Philadelphia, you will work him completely out of his business.”
Late in the spring of 1728 the printing outfit arrived from England. Benjamin and Meredith had settled with Keimer, who was unusually happy because his profits on his paper-money job in New Jersey had tided him over very discouraging embarrassments. Keimer knew nothing of their plans, however, when a settlement was consummated, as both had kept the secret. The first intimation that he, or the public, had of such an enterprise, was the opening of their printing house in the lower part of Market Street–“FRANKLIN & MEREDITH.”
“Here’s a man looking for a printer,” said George House, an old friend of Benjamin. “He inquired of me where he could get a job done, and I told him that here was the place above all others.”
“Thank you for the advertisement, George. Yes, sir, we can serve you here at short notice. What will you have done?” Benjamin won the customer over at once by his genial, familiar way.
The man made known his wants; and it proved to be a five-shilling job, all the more acceptable because it was the first.
With the members of the Junto all interested in his success, and the public men of New Jersey, who made his acquaintance at Burlington, Benjamin’s business was soon well advertised. Many people were taken by surprise, and most of them predicted a failure, since there were two printers in town already. One day Samuel Nickle, an old citizen of the town, known somewhat as a croaker, was passing by, and, looking up, he read the sign.
“Another printing house!” he said to himself. “And two in town already! Who can be so thoughtless?” He stopped and mused a few moments, and then entered.
“Are you the young man who has opened this printing house?” he inquired of Benjamin.
“I am, sir.”
“I am very sorry for you. You are throwing away your money; you can’t succeed with two old printing houses here. You will fail.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because Philadelphia is degenerating, and half the people are now bankrupt, or nearly so, and how can they support so many printers?”
“But the appearance of Philadelphia indicates thrift,” answered Benjamin. “See how many buildings are going up, and how rents are rising every month. This does not look like going backward, it seems to me.”
“These are the very things that will ruin us,” responded Nickle. “They are no evidence of prosperity, but of extravagance, that will bring disaster sooner or later.”
“That sort of disaster is what we want,” suggested Benjamin; “the more of it the better. If Philadelphia ever becomes much of a town, it will be in just that way.” Benjamin saw at once that he was talking with a croaker and treated him accordingly.
There was an organization of business men in Philadelphia at that time, known as the “Merchants’ Every-Night Club,” answering, perhaps, to a “Board of Trade” of our day. Its purpose was to advance the business interests of the town. A member raised the question, “Can another printing house prosper in town?”
“Not with the present population,” was the view of one member.
“It will be a long time before three printing houses will be required,” remarked another.
“They could not have had very discreet advisers, it seems to me,” still another remarked.
In this manner the subject was canvassed, every member but one predicting the failure of the enterprise. That one was Doctor Baird, a prominent physician, and he said:
“It will prove a success. For the industry of that Franklin 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.”
“Doctor, I guess you are right, I did not think of that when I spoke,” remarked one who had predicted failure. This member was so much impressed by Doctor Baird’s remark that he subsequently went to Benjamin and made this proposition:
“I think you can add a stationer’s department to your business, and thus increase your profits; and if you think so, I will furnish you with stock on credit.”
“Your offer is a very generous one, and I thank you for it,” answered Benjamin; “but I think we had better stick to our trade at present and not put too many irons in the fire at once.”
“That is a wise caution, I think, and I am all the more impressed that you are a young man of sound judgment, and you will succeed.”
He had no doubt now that the printing house would succeed.
“Your good opinion encourages me very much, and I shall do my best to have it realized,” replied Benjamin. “I thank you very much for your generous offer, and, perhaps, at some future day, I shall wish to accept it.”
“Let me know whenever you are ready for it,” said the gentleman as he took his departure.
“We will start a weekly paper as soon as we are able,” said Benjamin to Meredith one day; “the _Mercury_ is as near nothing as it can be. I believe that an able paper here, abreast with the times, will succeed.”
“You can make it succeed if any one can,” replied Meredith, to whom his partner had given a full account of his connection with the _New England Courant_ in Boston.
They canvassed the subject until it was decided to start a weekly paper as soon as their pecuniary condition would permit. Just then the Oxford student, whose time Keimer had bought, called upon Benjamin.
“Will you employ me as journeyman printer?” he asked.
“Employ you?” responded Benjamin with much surprise. “I thought your time was Keimer’s for four years.”
“It was; but it is not now; I have bought it back.”
“I am glad to hear that; you will be more of a man for it; and, before long, I think we should like your work; just now we are not in want of more help.”
“Your work is increasing, I suppose?” said Webb; “hope I shall not have to wait long.”
“If you can keep a secret, Webb, I will let you into it,” continued Benjamin. “I expect to start a weekly paper before many weeks have passed; and then I shall have plenty of work.”
“How long shall I have to wait?”
“I can’t say. It is possible I may want you before I start the newspaper; work is coming in very well. But you must not let Keimer know about the paper. When it starts I want it should be a surprise to him and the public.”
“I will not divulge your secret,” was Webb’s ready promise.
Nevertheless, Webb did disclose the secret to Keimer himself, who proceeded to start a paper of his own, called the _Pennsylvania Gazette_, and he hired Webb, at good wages, to work on it. It proved to be a miserable affair, without ability or intelligent enterprise, so that a sharp, witty young man like Benjamin could readily make it a “laughing-stock.”
“I will show up his ignorance and conceit in the _Mercury_” (name of the paper already published by Bradford), he said to Meredith. “See if I don’t.”
“A good idea, Ben; go ahead; it will create a sensation. Bradford will be glad to publish any thing you may write.”
“I will see him at once.” And Benjamin hastened to the office of the _Mercury_, made known his purpose to Bradford, who caught at it at once.”
“Just the thing I want,” responded Bradford. “Let me have something for the next issue.”
“Certainly; you shall have the first article to-morrow morning.”
Benjamin hurried away with his mind completely absorbed upon the subjects he should take up. The result was a series of amusing articles, in which he burlesqued Keimer’s proposals, and ridiculed his editorials, which really deserved nothing better. He continued to write in this way several months, signing all his articles “_Busy Body_.” The public were greatly interested in the communications, because of their real merit. They were bright, even sparkling, full of humor, logical to sharpness, and charged with ability. They drew public attention to Bradford’s paper, and public ridicule to Keimer’s; so that the subscription list of the former increased, while that of the latter never had over ninety subscribers. People on every hand inquired, “Who is _Busy Body_?” And, finally, the public learned that it was “that young Franklin, the printer.” Keimer learned who his critic was; and, after the lapse of six or eight months from the time the first number was issued, who should appear before Benjamin at his office but him, saying:
“I understand that you think of starting a weekly newspaper; and I have come to sell you mine.”
“How is that? Can’t you make it go?” Benjamin replied in a familiar way.
“No, not as I want to. I don’t think I am exactly qualified to run a newspaper.”
“How many subscribers have you?”
“Ninety.”
“Only ninety?” exclaimed Benjamin. “That number will be of no aid in starting a paper; might as well start new; new paper, new title, new editor, new every thing.”
The conclusion of the interview was, however, that Benjamin purchased the paper, took possession immediately, advertised his literary enterprise, and “it proved,” as he said, “in a few years extremely profitable to me.”
His economy was equal to his industry. He arrayed himself in the plainest manner, although he aimed to look neat and tidy. His board was simple and cheap, and every thing about his business was conducted on the most economical principles. He wheeled home the paper which he bought, boarded himself some of the time, sleeping in the office, and never stopped to consider whether it was compromising the dignity of a printer to do such things.
Keimer left no stone unturned to secure business and cripple Franklin and Meredith. He was never half so active and enterprising as he became after these two young men set up for themselves. One day Keimer was in Benjamin’s printing office to transact some business, when the latter said to him:
“Look here, Keimer; come with me into the back room.”
“What you got there?” Keimer answered, following.
“See that!” Benjamin said, pointing to a half-devoured loaf and pitcher of water, that he had just made a meal off.
“What of that?” said Keimer, not comprehending the drift of Benjamin’s remark.
“Unless you can live cheaper than I can, it is no use for you to attempt to run me out of business.”
Both laughed, and Keimer departed.
The _Gazette_ flourished finely from the time it came under Benjamin’s management. He was able to discuss public questions of importance with manifest ability, and his articles created interest and discussion among public men, who became subscribers in consequence. A dispute was going on between Governor Burnett and the Massachusetts Assembly, and Benjamin commented upon it with so much wisdom and originality that his intimate acquaintance was sought by the most distinguished men.
Benjamin’s work as a printer excelled that of either Keimer or Bradford. The latter did the government printing, and often it was done in a very bungling manner. This was notably so when he printed an address of the House to the Governor. It was a very inferior job; whereupon Benjamin printed it elegantly and correctly and sent a copy to each member of the House. The House voted to give him the government printing thereafter. By his method of doing the _best_ he could every time, he built up a business rapidly, and won a reputation for industry, integrity, and ability that was worth more than money.
To return to Meredith. He had become more intemperate than ever. His father, too, did not find relief from pecuniary embarrassment as he expected. He was to pay two hundred pounds currency for the printing house, and had paid one-half of it. But the other half was not paid when due, for which all three were sued.
“Perhaps your father is not pleased with your partner,” said Benjamin to Meredith. “If that is the reason he does not advance the money, I will retire, and you shall run the whole thing.”
“No; my father is well satisfied with my partner, and so am I; so that you need not think he is withholding money for the purpose of getting rid of you. He is really embarrassed.”
“Then he could not take the concern into his own hands for you to run?”
“No, indeed; that would be quite impossible. Besides, I do not want it on my hands.”
“Why?” inquired Benjamin.
“Because I am satisfied that I am not adapted to this business. I was bred a farmer, and ought not to have left that occupation.”
“Drink water, as I do, and you may succeed as well at printing as farming. A farmer who drinks to excess never succeeds.”
“Drink or no drink,” retorted Meredith, “I am sick of this business and shall quit. Many of our Welsh people are going to settle in North Carolina, where land is cheap, and I am going with them, and shall follow my old employment.”
“Then you will sell out your interest to me, if I understand you?” That was what Benjamin wanted.
“Certainly; you can get enough friends to help you. If you will take the debts of the company upon you, return to my father the hundred pounds 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 will accept your proposition, and we will draw up the papers at once,” said Benjamin.
The bargain was consummated; and the proper papers were prepared, signed, and sealed. Benjamin accepted the generous aid of Coleman and Grace, and became sole proprietor of the printing house and _Pennsylvania Gazette_. This was near the close of the year 1729, a few months after the _Gazette_ came into his hands.
A few months more elapsed, when he concluded to accept the offer of the gentleman, spoken of on a previous page, to provide a stock of stationery, and opened a stationer’s shop in his building. This proved a good investment, and led to his marriage, September 1, 1730, to Miss Deborah Read.
While Benjamin was thus prospering, Keimer was going to the wall; and finally his printing office, with all its furniture, was sold under the hammer to pay his creditors; and he went to Barbadoes, where he lived in poverty.
Thus changes brought Benjamin to the front, and his printing house was the best, doing the most business, of any one in the whole country, except Boston. True, Bradford continued his business and paper; but in a very small way, in no sense a rival to our hero. He stood at the head.
XXXII.
NO LONGER A SKEPTIC.
“Time is money,” Doctor Franklin wrote in age. It was what he practised when he conducted his printing business in Philadelphia. One day a lounger stepped into his shop, and, after looking over the articles, asked:
“What is the price of that book?” holding it up in his hand. Benjamin had commenced to keep a few books on sale.
“One dollar,” answered the apprentice in attendance.
“One dollar,” repeated the lounger; “can’t you take less than that?”
“No less; one dollar is the price.”
Waiting a few moments, and still looking over the book, he said, at length:
“Is Mr. Franklin at home?”
“He is in the printing office.”
“I want to see him; will you call him?”
Franklin was called.
“Mr. Franklin, what is the lowest price you will take for this book?” at the same time holding up the book.
“One dollar and a quarter,” answered Franklin, who had heard the lounger’s parleying with his apprentice.
“One dollar and a quarter! Your young man asked but a dollar.”
“True,” answered Franklin, “and I could have better afforded to take a dollar then, than to have been called from my business.”
The Customer seemed puzzled for a few moments, but, finally, concluded that the proprietor was joking. He had not been wont to place so great value upon time.
“Come, now, tell me just the lowest you will take for it,” he said.
“One dollar and a half.”
“A dollar and a half! Why you offered it yourself for a dollar and a quarter.”
“True, and I had better taken the price then, than a dollar and a half now,” retorted Benjamin with a good deal of spirit.
The buyer got the truth into his head at last, paid the price of the book, and sneaked away, with the rebuke lying heavily on his heart.
Benjamin wrote of his industry at that time, as follows:
“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 thence considered industry as a means of obtaining wealth and distinction, which encouraged me; though 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.”
It is not strange that such a young man should write such maxims as the following, in his riper years:
“Pride breakfasts with plenty, dines with poverty, and sups with infamy.”
“It is as truly folly for the poor to ape the rich, as for the frog to swell in order to equal the ox.”
“It is easier to suppress the first desire, than to satisfy all that follow it.”
His integrity was no less marked. Strict honesty characterized all his dealings with men. An exalted idea of justice pervaded his soul. His word of honor was as good as his note of hand. Even his disposition to castigate and censure in his writings, so manifest in Boston, at sixteen years of age, and which his father rebuked, was overcome. After he had set up a paper in Philadelphia, a gentleman handed him an article for its columns.
“I am very busy now,” said Benjamin, “and you will confer a favor by leaving it for perusal at my leisure.”
“That I will do, and call again to-morrow.”
The following day the author put in his appearance quite early.
“What is your opinion of my article?” he asked.
“Why, sir, I am sorry to say that I can not publish it.”
“Why not? What is the matter with it?”
“It is highly scurrilous and defamatory,” replied Benjamin; “but being at a loss, on account of my poverty, whether to reject it or not, I thought I would put it to this issue. At night when my work was done, I bought a twopenny loaf, on which I supped heartily, and then, wrapping myself in my great coat, slept very soundly on the floor until morning, when another loaf and mug of water afforded a pleasant breakfast. Now, sir, since I can live very comfortably in this manner, why should I prostitute my press to personal hatred or party passion for a more luxurious living?”
We have seen that Benjamin began to revise his religious opinions on his return voyage from England. He continued to reflect much upon his loose ways; and there is no doubt that his integrity, industry, economy, and desire to succeed in business had something to do with his moral improvement. He confessed that, along from 1725 to 1730 he was immoral, and was sometimes led astray; but his conscience made him much trouble, and, finally, it asserted its supremacy, and he came off conqueror over his evil propensities. A change from skepticism or deism to a decided belief in the Christian Religion, no doubt exerted the strongest influence in making him a better man.
In 1728 he prepared “_Articles of Belief and Acts of Religion_” for his own use every day. This was his ritual, beginning and closing with an humble prayer.
Three or four years later, he appears to have taken up this thought of a religious life anew; and he prepared a code of morals, perhaps a revision of his former Articles of Faith, wrote them out carefully in a blank book for use, as follows:
“1. TEMPERANCE.–Eat not to dulness; 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; that is, waste nothing.
“6. INDUSTRY.–Lose no time; be always employed 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 extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
“10. CLEANLINESS.–Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation.
“11. TRANQUILITY.–Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
“12. CHASTITY….
“13. HUMILITY.–Imitate Jesus and Socrates.”
At one time he seriously thought of organizing a “United Party for Virtue,” in connection with which he prepared this religious creed:
“That there is one God, who made all things.
“That he governs the world by his providence.
“That he ought to be worshipped by adoration, prayer and thanksgiving.
“But that the most acceptable service to God is doing good to man.
“That the soul is immortal.
“And that God will certainly reward virtue and punish vice, either here or hereafter.”
His letters to relatives and friends, from this time, contained strong words for the Christian Religion, and for the imitation of the virtues practised by its Author. Through his long and useful life, he continued to observe the doctrines and precepts that he named in the foregoing extracts. He was a delegate to the convention for forming a Constitution of the United States, which met at Philadelphia, May, 1787, and he introduced the motion for daily prayers, with remarks thus:
“In the beginning of the contest with Britain, when we were sensible of danger, we had daily prayers in this room for the Divine protection. Our prayers, Sir, were heard; and they were graciously answered. All of us, who were engaged in the struggle, must have observed frequent instances of a superintending Providence in our favor. To that kind Providence we owe this happy opportunity of consulting in peace on the means of establishing our future national felicity. And have we now forgotten that powerful Friend? or do we imagine we no longer need his assistance? I have lived, Sir, a long time; and, the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth, _that_ GOD _governs in the affairs of men_. And, if a sparrow can not fall to the ground without his notice, is it probably that an empire can rise without his aid? We have been assured, Sir, in the sacred writings, that ‘except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it.’ I firmly believe this; and I also believe that, without His concurring aid, we shall succeed in this political building no better than the builders of Babel; we shall be divided by our little, partial, local interests, our projects will be confounded, and we ourselves shall become a reproach and a by-word down to future ages.”
We will only add here an epitaph that he wrote for his own monument at twenty-three years of age, supposed to have been a paper for the Junto:
“THE BODY OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, PRINTER (LIKE THE COVER OF AN OLD BOOK, ITS CONTENTS TORN OUT, AND STRIPT OF ITS LETTERING AND GILDING), LIES HERE, FOOD FOR WORMS. BUT THE WORK ITSELF SHALL NOT BE LOST, FOR IT WILL, AS HE BELIEVED, APPEAR ONCE MORE, IN A NEW AND MORE ELEGANT EDITION, REVISED AND CORRECTED BY THE AUTHOR.”
XXXIII.
POOR RICHARD’S ALMANAC.
“I shall have to publish an almanac to be in fashion,” remarked Franklin to his old friend Coleman. “Every printer in this country issues one, so far as I know.”
From this point, we shall drop the Christian name, Benjamin, and use the surname, Franklin.
“A good theme to discuss in the Junto,” replied Coleman. “You would publish a better one than the country ever had, if you should undertake it.”
“I shall make one that differs from all issued hitherto, in some respects. I have devoted considerable thought to the subject, and have formed a plan, although it has not taken an exact shape yet in my own mind. I think I will bring it up in the Junto.”
“By all means do it,” added Coleman; “two or more heads may be better than one alone, even if the one contains more than all the rest.”
“Much obliged,” answered Franklin. “It will aid me essentially to mature my plans, to exchange views with the members of the Junto. I will introduce it at the very next meeting.”
The subject was introduced into the Junto, as proposed, and every member hailed the project with delight. Franklin’s paper had become the most popular one in the country, in consequence of the ability with which it discussed public questions, and the sharp, crisp wisdom and wit that made every issue entertaining; and the members believed that he could make an almanac that would take the lead. The discussion in the Junto settled the question of issuing the almanac. Its appearance in 1732 proved a remarkable event in Franklin’s life, much more so than his most sanguine friends anticipated.
The Almanac appeared, with the title-page bearing the imprint: “By Richard Saunders, Philomat. Printed and sold by B. Franklin.”
From the opening to the close of it proverbial sayings, charged with wisdom and wit, were inserted wherever there was space enough to insert one. The following is a sample:
“Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears, while the used key is always bright.”
“Lost time is never found again; and what we call time enough always proves little enough.”
“Drive thy business, let not that drive thee.”
“Industry need not hope, and he that lives upon hope will die fasting.”
“He that hath a trade hath an estate; and he that hath a calling hath an office of profit and honor.”
“At the working-man’s house hunger looks in, but dares not enter.”
“Never leave that till to-morrow, which you can do to-day.”
“A life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things.”
“If you would have your business done, go–if not, send.”
“What maintains one vice would bring up two children.”
“When the well is dry they know the worth of water.”
“Pride is as loud a beggar as want, and a great deal more saucy.”
“Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other.”
“The good paymaster is lord of another man’s purse.”
These jets of wisdom made the Almanac sparkle. The mechanical execution of the work excelled that of any of its predecessors; but this literary feature marked the Almanac as marvellous. It became popular at once. Every body who saw it, admired and bought it. The Philadelphians were proud that such a document originated in their town. Copies were sent to friends in other parts of the country, until “Poor Richard’s Almanac” was known throughout the land. Three editions were exhausted in about a month. For twenty-five years Franklin continued to publish a similar Almanac, the average annual circulation of which was ten thousand copies.
The large stock of wisdom and wit which the Almanac contained added wonderfully to Franklin’s fame. From the first issue his mental powers were widely praised. He was only twenty-six years of age, but now his intellectual ability was considered superior to that of any other living man under fifty years of age. The members of the Junto were greatly elated over his success.
“You have beaten yourself,” remarked Coleman to him, “exceeded by far what I expected, high as my expectations were. Nothing has been published yet, that has created so profound interest as the Almanac.”
“That is all true,” said Grace. “Franklin is the theme of remark now everywhere. People seem to be surprised that he could produce a document of so much value. Both his business and newspaper will be advanced by this stroke of wisdom.”
“And the Junto, too,” suggested Parsons; “the father of the Junto can not receive so much applause without benefiting his child. Every body will want to join now, to meet him here.”
Each member present was too much elated to remain silent. No words were too extravagant to express their admiration of Franklin’s ability. To their decided friendship and respect was now added an honorable pride in being able to point to such a friend and associate.
The success of his newspaper and Almanac provided Franklin with a supply of money, which he wisely invested. His own words about it were:
“My business was now constantly augmenting, and my circumstances growing daily easier; my newspaper having become very profitable, as being, for a time, almost the only one in this and the neighboring provinces. I experienced, too, the truth of the observation, ‘_that after getting the first hundred pounds, it is more easy to get the second_’; money itself being of a prolific nature.”
Franklin was aided very much, in the conduct of his paper, by the Junto, where different features of journalism were often discussed.
“In Boston I made a mistake,” he said. “I was but a boy then, without experience or discretion, and found great delight in personalities. I mean to steer clear of libelling and personal abuse.”
“You have so far,” replied Coleman; “and thereby you have added to the dignity and influence of your paper. There is a kind of sharpness and critical remark that ought to characterize a good paper; and the _Gazette_ is not deficient in that.”
“That is what makes it sparkle, in my judgment,” remarked Scull. “It is not best to be too cautious; some things ought to be hit hard; and that is true of some men, not to say women.”
“That is one thing a newspaper is for,” interjected Parsons, “to expose and remove social and public evils, and, in doing that, some men will get hit.”
“You do not quite understand me,” answered Franklin; “I accept all that Scull and Parsons say, which is not what I mean by libelling and personal abuse. Here is a case. A few days ago a gentleman called with an article for the _Gazette_, I looked it over, and found it very objectionable.
“‘I can not publish that,’ I said to him.
“‘Why not?’ he asked.
“‘Because it deals in personal abuse, if not in downright libelling.’
“‘I will pay for its insertion,’ he said.
“‘So much the worse for me, to insert a libelous article for money,’ I said. ‘On the face of it it appears a personal pique against the party.’
“‘But we have a free press in this country,’ he insisted.
“‘Free to do right, and be just and honorable toward all men, and not free to injure or abuse them,’ I retorted.
“‘I supposed that a newspaper was like a stage coach, in which any one, who pays for a place, has it,’ he continued.
“‘That is true of some newspapers, but not of mine,’ I answered. ‘But I will do this: I will print your article separately, and furnish you with as many copies as you want, and you can distribute them where you please, but I will not lumber my columns with detraction, and insult patrons to whom I am pledged to furnish a good paper for their families.’ The party did not accept my proposition, but left in high temper.”
Every member acquiesced in Franklin’s views, and encouraged him to continue the conduct of his paper on that line. It was an age of vituperation and libelling. Probably there never has been a time since when so many editors, in proportion to the number of papers, believed that the newspaper was for that purpose. The gentleman of whom Franklin spoke wanted to abuse another; but would have complained bitterly, no doubt, to have been the object of abuse himself.
Franklin’s stationer’s shop proved a success; and very soon he added a small collection of books. From 1733 he imported books from London, and aimed to keep the market supplied with all that were popular there. His trade in books grew to considerable proportions.
With all his business, and the improvement of odd moments in reading and study, he found time to attend to music, and became quite an accomplished player on the harp, guitar, and violin. His family and company were often entertained by his musical performances.
In 1733 Franklin resolved to visit Boston. He had not visited there for ten years.
“I must go now,” he said to his foreman, “because my brother at Newport is so feeble that he is not expected to live long. I shall stop at Newport on my way back.”
“And when will you return?”
“As soon as possible. It is only a flying visit I propose to make. I have some business in Boston, and wish to spend a little time with my parents, who are getting old and infirm.”
He put every thing into a good condition for his foreman to handle in his absence, and then left for Boston, where his parents embraced him with tears of joy. There was no trace of the boy left on him now,–he was a man in the noblest sense of the word.
Necessity compelled Franklin to cut short his visit and return, stopping at Newport to see his brother. This was his brother James, the printer to whom he was apprenticed in Boston. He had a prosperous printing business in that town.
“I am very glad to see you,” said James, giving his brother a cordial and tender welcome. “You find me very feeble; and I was afraid that I should never see you again.”
“I hear of your sickness, and felt that I must come to see you at once,” Franklin replied. “I hope that your prospects are more favorable than you appear to think they are.”
“It is only a question of time; and short time, too. My disease is incurable, and I am waiting for the end. We will let by-gones be by-gones; I have only love for you now, my dear brother.”
“You can hardly conceive how glad I am to hear you say that; for I cherish only the sincerest affection for you. I am truly sorry for any wrong I did you in Boston.”
“That is all blotted out now,” continued James, “I have one request to make, and, if you can grant it, I shall be very happy.”
“What is it?”
“My son is now ten years old, and the loss of his father will, indeed, be a great loss to him. I had intended to instruct him in my trade; and, after my death, I want you should take him to your home in Philadelphia, where he can learn the printer’s trade, and, when he understands the business well, return him to his mother and sisters, who will continue the printing house here.”
“With all my heart I will do it; and I am glad to grant this favor, not only for your sake, but for my own,” responded Benjamin. “He shall be one of my family, and I will be to him as a father, and he shall be to me as a son.”
Thus, at the grave’s side, the two brothers were thoroughly reconciled to each other, and it was not long before Franklin had James’ son in his own family.
In 1736 Franklin buried a son, four years old, a child so bright and beautiful that strangers would stop on the street to behold him. It was a terrible blow to the parents. He was laid in Christ Church burying ground, where the defaced and much-broken headstone still bears this inscription:
“FRANCIS F.,
SON OF BENJAMIN AND DEBORAH FRANKLIN, DECEASED NOV. 21, 1736,
AGED 4 YEARS, 1 MONTH, AND 1 DAY.
THE DELIGHT OF ALL THAT KNEW HIM.”
Franklin proved a staunch friend of the celebrated George Whitefield when he visited Philadelphia in 1739. There was great opposition to his work. At first, one or two pastors admitted him to their pulpits; but the opposition grew so intense, that all the churches were closed against him, and he was obliged to preach in the fields. Franklin denounced this treatment in his paper and by his voice, in the Junto and on the street.
“You talk about being called to the work of the ministry,” he said to one of the Philadelphia clergy; “if ability and great power in the pulpit are evidence of being called of God, then Whitefield must have had a louder call than any of you.”
“But he is very peculiar in his methods, and harsh in his treatment of sinners,” suggested the minister.
“But if we sinners do not object, why should you saints? We have heard him say nothing but the truth yet.”
“All that may be true,” continued the preacher, “but so much excitement is not healthy for the spiritual growth of the people.”
“When did you, or any one else, ever see so great moral and spiritual improvement of the people,” said Franklin, “as we have seen since Whitefield has been preaching here? The whole population appears to be thinking about religion.”
“Excitement! excitement!” exclaimed the minister; “and when Whitefield is gone, there will be a reaction, and the last state of the people will be worse than the first.”
So Franklin supported Whitefield, was a constant attendant upon his ministrations, and a lasting friendship grew up between them.
“Let us put up a building for him to preach in, now that he is excluded from the churches,” proposed Franklin to a number of Whitefield’s friends, who were discussing the situation. “A preacher of so much power and self-denial should be sustained.”
“A capital suggestion!” answered one of the number, “and you are the man to carry the measure into effect.”
“A rough building is all that is necessary for our purpose; the finish will be in the preaching,” added Franklin. “A preacher of any denomination whatever, who comes here to instruct the people, without money and without price, should be provided with a place for worship.”
“Yes, even if the Mufti of Constantinople were to send a missionary here, I would provide a place for him to hold forth and not turn him into the street,” responded Coleman.
“I will announce in the _Gazette_ at once what our purpose is, and call a meeting,” continued Franklin. “The announcement will test the feelings of the people on the subject.”
“Let it be done in a hurry, too,” said Coleman. “Public sentiment is ripe for something now, and I think the citizens will endorse the scheme.”
The project was announced, a meeting called, and subscriptions obtained with little effort, to erect a building one hundred feet long and seventy wide. In an almost incredibly short time the house of worship was completed, and Whitefield occupied it.
XXXIV.
MORE HONORS AND MORE WORK.
Franklin, in 1736, was chosen Clerk of the General Assembly, and in 1737 appointed Postmaster of Philadelphia. The first position assured him all the Government printing, and introduced him to influential men, who would very naturally become the patrons of his printing house. The second position was of great value to his newspaper, as it “facilitated the correspondence that improved it, and increased its circulation” quite largely, thus making it a source of considerable income. Members of the Junto were as much pleased with his promotion as Franklin himself.
“We are not at all surprised,” said Coleman to Colonel Spotswood; “we are familiar with Franklin; I mean, we members of the Junto, as no other persons are. He will fill ably any position you can give him.”
“That was my estimate of the man,” answered Spotswood, who was Postmaster-General; “and so I appointed him my deputy here. From all I could learn of him, I thought he would be exact in his way of doing business and reporting to the Government. His predecessor was careless, and even neglectful, so that it was difficult to get any sort of a report from him.”
“You will find no trouble with Franklin on that score,” rejoined Coleman. “He is one of the most exact men I ever knew, and his judgment is remarkable for one of his years. He appears to succeed in whatever he undertakes because of his sound judgment, and great capacity for work. His appointment as Postmaster of Philadelphia gives great satisfaction.”
“I thought it would,” continued Spotswood. “The position should be occupied by a wise man, who challenges public confidence and respect.”
“And Franklin is the wisest man I ever knew,” interjected Coleman. “We see him in this role, in the Junto, as men outside do not. For he lays before us his plans, and reads important articles that he writes, on various subjects, for criticism, before they are published. He has just read a paper on the ‘Night-watch,’ exposing the worthlessness of the present system, and proposing a remedy; also, another paper on establishing a fire-department for the town. When made public, both of these measures will commend themselves to the people.”
The discussion over the night-watch and fire-department in the Junto was both animated and instructive. Both projects were entirely new, and were born of Franklin’s fertile brain.
“The most cumbersome and awkward arrangement I ever heard of,” said Franklin, in the Junto; “to have the constable of each ward, in turn, summon to his aid several housekeepers for the night, and such ragamuffins as most of them summon to their assistance!”
“A glass of grog will enlist some of them for a whole night,” remarked Parsons. “I think the town is safer without any watchmen, unless more responsible men can be employed.”
“Of course it is,” responded Coleman; “the six shillings paid annually to the constable by each man who does not wish to serve is a corruption fund. The constable can pocket three-fourths of it, and, with the other fourth, he can employ the irresponsible characters he does. I wonder the people don’t rebel.”
“That is not all, nor the worst,” remarked Breintnal. “A poor widow, with less than fifty pounds to her name, must pay the six shillings just as the wealthiest citizen, with thousands of pounds in his own right, does. It is very unjust.”
“And my plan removes all of these difficulties and burdens,” added Franklin. “I propose to hire suitable men, whose business shall be to watch at night, levying a tax to pay for the same in proportion to property. A man who makes it his business to watch is worth much more than one who occasionally serves under the present system.”
Franklin ventilated the subject in the _Gazette_, eliciting remarks pro and con, gradually educating the people; and finally, after several years, he had the satisfaction of seeing his plan adopted. Franklin was the author of the “Night-watch” system of our land.
His paper on the frequency of fires, from carelessness and accidents, with suggestions as to preventing them and, also, extinguishing them, elicited equal interest in the Junto.
“Your suggestion to organize a company to extinguish fires is a capital one,” remarked Potts, after listening to Franklin’s paper. “It is not only practical, but it can be done very easily; every citizen must appreciate the measure.”
“If I understand the plan,” remarked Maugridge, “each member will be obliged to keep several leathern buckets, in order for instant use, and strong bags, for receiving goods to be conveyed to a place of safety, will be provided.”
“Yes; and the members must be so well organized and drilled, that when a fire breaks out, each will know just what to do,” added Franklin. “It will be necessary for the members of the company to meet monthly, or oftener, to exchange views and make suggestions as to the best way of conducting the organization. Experience will teach us very much.”
“How many members should the organization embrace?” inquired Scull.
“That is immaterial,” replied Coleman; “a large or small number can be used to advantage, I should say.”
“The company must not be too large,” responded Franklin. “I should think that thirty members would be as many as could work to advantage. If double that number desire to become members it would be better to organize two companies, to work in different wards.”
“And how about money? Can’t maintain such an organization without money,” suggested Potts.
“We can raise money for the outfit of leathern buckets and bags by subscription,” replied Franklin; “and we can impose a fine upon members for being absent from meetings.”
“Then, why is not the whole subject fairly before us?” remarked Coleman. “I move that we proceed to organize a fire-company of thirty members at once.”
Coleman’s proposition was adopted unanimously. Franklin discussed the plan in the _Gazette_, and all the members of the Junto worked hard for it outside. Within a short time the first company was organized, then another, and another, the good work continuing until a large part of the property-owners in town belonged to fire-companies. And this method continued until the invention of fire-engines, fire-hooks, and ladders, with other modern implements to assist in extinguishing fires. Franklin was the originator of fire-companies.
“It is high time that our people were thinking of paving the streets,” said Franklin, at a meeting of the Junto. “It will facilitate cleaning them wonderfully.”
“You must give us a paper on the subject, and write it up in the _Gazette_,” replied Parsons. “People must be enlightened before they will adopt the measure. The mass of them know nothing about it now.”
“You are right,” responded Franklin; “and it will take a good while to enlighten them. The expense of the measure will frighten them.”
“How expensive will such a measure be? What does paving cost a square yard?”
“I am not able to say now; I have not examined that part of it yet; but I shall. I will prepare a paper for the Junto at the earliest possible date.”
Franklin had canvassed the subject considerably before he introduced it to the members of the Junto. In wet weather the mud in the streets was trodden into a quagmire, and quantities of it carried on the feet into stores and houses. In dry weather the wind blew the abundance of dust into the faces and eyes of pedestrians, and into the doors and windows of dwellings and shops. In his paper, read at the Junto, Franklin set forth these discomforts, with others, and showed how the evil would be remedied by pavement. The members of the Junto were unanimous in supporting his views.
From week to week he discussed the subject in the _Gazette_, literally giving line upon line and precept upon precept. Nor did he seem to make much of an impression for many months. But, finally, a strip of brick pavement having been laid down the middle of Jersey Market, he succeeded in getting the street leading thereto paved.
“Now I have a project to enlist citizens in paving all the streets,” he said at the Junto. “I have hired a poor man to sweep the pavement now laid, and keep it as clean and neat as a pin, that citizens may see for themselves the great benefit of paving the streets.”
“That is practical,” exclaimed Coleman. “You are always practical, Franklin; and you will make a success of that.”
“I expect to succeed. After two or three weeks I shall address a circular to all housekeepers enjoying the advantages of the pavement, asking them to join with me in paying a sixpence each per month to keep the pavement clean.”
“A _sixpence_ a month only!” responded Potts, who had listened to Franklin’s plan; “is that all it will cost?”
“Yes, that is all; and I think that all will be surprised that the work can be done for that price; and, for that reason, they will readily join in the measure.”
Franklin went forward with his enterprise, and every citizen appealed to accepted his proposition; and out of it grew a general interest to pave the streets of the city. Franklin drafted a bill to be presented to the General Assembly, authorizing the work to be done; and, through the influence of another party, the bill was amended by a provision for lighting the streets at the same time, all of which was agreeable to Franklin. Here, again, we see that Franklin was the originator of another method of adding to the comfort and beauty of cities and large towns.
“I will read you a paper to-night upon smoky chimneys,” remarked Franklin at the Junto, as he drew from his pocket a written document.
“Smoky chimneys!” ejaculated Grace. “I wonder what will command your attention next. A fruitful theme, though I never expected we should discuss it here.”
“It is, indeed, a fruitful theme,” responded Franklin; “for more chimneys carry some of the smoke into the room than carry the whole out of the top; and nobody can tell why.”
“I had supposed it was because masons do not understand the philosophy of chimney-building,” remarked Coleman.
“That is it exactly. The subject is not understood at all, because it has not been examined. Men build chimneys as they do, not because they know it is the best way, but because they do not know any thing about it. For instance, nearly every one thinks that smoke is lighter than air, when the reverse is true.”
“I always had that idea,” remarked Potts; “not because I knew that it was, but somehow I got that impression. But let us have your paper, and then we will discuss it.”
Franklin read his paper, which was more elaborate and exhaustive than any thing of the kind ever published at that time. It named several definite causes of smoky chimneys, and furnished a remedy for each. What is still more remarkable, it suggested a plan of a fire-place or stove, that might remedy the smoking evil of some chimneys, and save much fuel in all. Subsequently, he invented what is known as the Franklin stove, or fire-place, though it was sometimes called the “Pennsylvania stove.” It was regarded as a very useful invention, and, for many years, was in general use.
“Apply for a patent on your stove,” suggested Coleman; “there is much money in it; and you ought to have it if any one.”
“Not I,” responded Franklin. “I am not a believer in patents. If the invention is a real public benefit, the people should have the advantage of it.”
“Nonsense,” retorted Coleman; “no one but you harbors such an idea. I do not see why a man should not receive pay for his invention as much as another does for a day’s work.”
“And there is no reason why the inventor should not give the public the benefit of it, if he chooses,” answered Franklin. “Governor Thomas offered to give me a patent on it, but I told him this: As we enjoy great advantages from the invention of others, we should be glad of an opportunity to serve others by any invention of ours; and this we should do freely and generously.”
“And nobody will ever thank you for it,” added Coleman.
“I don’t ask them to thank me for it; I give it to them without asking one thank-you for it,” replied Franklin, who was in a very happy mood.
“Well,” added Coleman, “the more I see of you, the more I am satisfied that there is but one Ben Franklin in these parts.”
In brief, we may add here, that Franklin presented the model to a member of the Junto, Robert Grace, who run a furnace, and, for many years, “he found the casting of the plates for these stoves a profitable thing.”
Still another enterprise which Franklin brought to the attention of the Junto was the founding of an Academy or University for the higher education of youth. He wrote often and much for the _Gazette_ upon doing more for the education of the young. At last, he prepared and printed a pamphlet, entitled “Proposals Relating to the Education of