The Autobiography of
Benjamin Franklin:
part one
Childhood and Apprenticeship (pp.43-71)
Twyford, at the Bishop of St. Asaph's, 1771
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 some of 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 imitated.
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.
43 (22)
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.
|
The Body
of
B. 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,
For the Work shall not be wholly lost:
For it will, as he believ'd, appear once more,
In a new & more perfect Edition,
Corrected and amended
By the Author.
He was born Jan. 6, 1706
Died
17__
|
44 (22-23)
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
45 (23)
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
46 (23)
, 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.
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"Had he died on the same day," you
said, "one might have supposed a transmigration."
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.
To my Namesake upon a Report of his
Inclination to Martial Affairs, July 7th, 1710
Believe me, Ben, war is a dangerous trade.
The sword has marred as well as made;
By it do many fall, not many rise—
Makes many poor, few rich, and fewer wise;
Fills towns with ruin, fields with blood, beside
'Tis sloth's maintainer and the shield of Pride.
Fair cities, rich today in plenty flow,
War fills with want tomorrow, and with woe.
Ruined states, vice, broken limbs, and scars
Are the effects of desolating wars.
He had formed a short-hand of his own, which he taught me,
but, never practicing it,
48 (24)
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
49 (24)
went to
America, which was about fifty years since. There are many of his notes
in the margins.
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 ousted 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 Church.
50 (24-25)
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
51 (25)
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
52 (25)
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 be 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
53 (25-26)
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 (ants), 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
54 (26)
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.
55 (26-27)
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:
|
JOSIAH FRANKLIN,
And ABIAH his Wife,
Lie here interred.
They lived lovingly together in wedlock
Fifty-five years.
Without an estate, or any gainful employment,
By constant labour and industry,
With God's blessing,
They maintained a large family
Comfortably;
And brought up thirteen children
And seven grandchildren
Reputably.
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—Ætat. 89.
A.F. born 1667—Died 1752, —— 85.
|
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.
56 (27)
'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
57 (27-28)
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
58 (28)
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
rub-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.
59 (28-29)
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 has been of great use to
me in the course of my life, and was a principal means of my advancement, I
shall tell you how, in such a situation, I acquired what little ability I 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.
60 (29)
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 improvement.
61 (29)
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.
62 (29-30)
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
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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
64 (30)
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 anything 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:
65 (30-31)
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.
66 (31-32)
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
67 (32)
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
68 (32)
was continually
wishing for some opportunity of shortening it, which at length offered
in a manner unexpected.
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,
69 (32-33)
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
70 (33)
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 pocket.
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.
71 (33)
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,
72 (34)
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 Philadelphia.
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
73 (34)
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
74 (34-35)
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.
(35)