i'hOM THE OHJ.C-iNAL PIC TURF. BY JT. . Iv IN TiJi: PGj-'.^KSfllON OF T! . J . U'l 1 .1. 1 ,\V . TAKKN A'J' THE AC-t C.F : IX'i'Y.
THK
W O R K S
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IV O I
B 0 S T 0 N :
•:, NTLES, AND 1!
vUKIE: A. WBITTEMOBE & •
BOSTON.
THE
WORKS
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN;
CONTAINING
SEVERAL POLITICAL AND HISTORICAL TRACTS
NOT INCLUDED IN ANY FORMER EDITION,
AND
MANY LETTERS OFFICIAL AND PRIVATE
NOT HITHERTO PUBLISHED ;
WITH
NOTES
AND
A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
BY JARED SPARKS
VOLUME II.
BOSTON: WHITTEMORE, NILES, AND HALL.
MILWAUKIE: A. WHITTEMORE & CO. 1856.
' A 'I
Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and thirty-six, by MILLIARD, GRAY, AKD Co., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
ANDOVEU: PRINTED BY AV. F. DKAPEE.
c
-509,
CONTENtS
OF
VOLUME SECOND.
ESSAYS ON RELIGIOUS AND MORAL SUBJECTS AND THE ECONOMY OF LIFE.
Page.
Articles of Belief and Acts of Religion . . . . \ \S Rules for a Club established for Mutual Improvement . (J
The Busy Body 13
" " No. 1 14
" " No. II 17
" " No. Ill 19 -
" " No. IV 23 -
" {{ No. V 30
" u No. VIII 38 -
Dialogue between Philocles and Horatio, concerning
Virtue and Pleasure 46 ^
A Second Dialogue between Philocles and Horatio,
concerning Virtue and Pleasure . . . .51 *
Public Men 57 V/
Self-Denial not the Essence of Virtue . . . .63 On the Usefulness of the Mathematics .... 66
On True Happiness 70 *
On Discoveries .73
VI CONTENTS.
Waste of Life 77
Necessary Hints to those that would be rich ... 80 The Way to make Money plenty in every Man's Pocket . 82 Rivalship in Almanac-Making ... ... 83
Rules of Health 86
Advice to a Young Tradesman 87
Plan for saving One Hundred Thousand Pounds . 89
The Way to Wealth ; being a Summary of the Maxims
and Proverbs in Poor Richard's Almanac . 92 Observations on Mayz, or Indian Corn . . . .103 Precautions to be used by those who are about to
undertake a Sea Voyage 106
Toleration in Old England and New England, . . .112
A Parable against Persecution 118
A Parable on Brotherly Love 123
Sketch of an English School 125
Observations relative to the Intentions of the original
Founders of the Academy in Philadelphia . .133 Hints for Consideration respecting the Orphan School- House in Philadelphia 159
Paper, a Poem . 161
BAGATELLES.
The Levee 164
Proposed New Version of the Bible . . . .166
Apologue 168
To Miss Georgiana Shipley, on the Loss of her Squirrel 170 The Art of procuring Pleasant Dreams . . . .171 The Ephemera, an Emblem of Human Life . . 177
The Whistle 180
A Petition of the Left Hand, to those who have the
Superintendency of Education . . . . 183 The Handsome and Deformed Leg . . . .185
CONTENTS. Vll
Morals of Chess 187
A Tale 192
An Arabian Tale 193
Dialogue between Franklin and the Gout . . .194
To Madame Helvetius, at Auteuil .... 201
To Madame Helvetius 204
An Humble Petition, presented to Madame Helvetius
by her Cats 214
To the Abbe de la Roche, at Auteuil 220
To the Abbe Morellet 222
An Economical Project 227
The Craven-Street Gazette 233
A Letter from China 241
ESSAYS ON GENERAL POLITICS, COMMERCE, AND POLITICAL ECONOMY.
A Modest Inquiry into the Nature and Necessity of a
Paper Currency ... .... 253
On Government. No. 1 278
" No. II 282
On Freedom of Speech and the Press . . . 285
Observations concerning the Increase of Mankind and
the Peopling of Countries 311 v
Remarks on some of the Foregoing Observations, showing particularly the Effects which Manners have on Population 321
Remarks on Judge Foster's Argument in Favor of the
Right of Impressing Seamen 331
Remarks and Facts relative to the American Paper
Money 340
On the Price of Corn, and Management of the Poor 355 On Smuggling, and its Various Species . . . .361
VU1 CONTENTS.
Note respecting Trade and Manufactures . . . 366
On the Laboring Poor 367
Some good Whig Principles 372
Positions to be examined, concerning National Wealth . 373
Plan for Benefiting distant unprovided Countries . . 377
Concerning the Provision made in China against Famine 381
Principles of Trade 383
Reflections on Coin in general, being an Appendix to
the above Essay .•... ...... 409
Notions concerning Trade and Merchants . . . .418
A Thought concerning the Sugar Islands . . . 419
On the Paper Money of the United States of America . 421 Comparison of Great Britain and the United States, in
Regard to the Basis of Credit in the two Countries 426 Reflections on the Augmentation of Wages, which will
be occasioned in Europe by the American
Revolution ... ..... 435
On Luxury, Idleness, and Industry 448
Remarks concerning the Savages of North America . 453 The Internal State of America ; being a true Description
of the Interest and Policy of that vast Continent 461
Information to those who would remove to America 467
On the Criminal Laws and the Practice of Privateering 478
Observations on War 487
On the Elective Franchises, enjoyed by the small
Boroughs in England 489
Sir Charles Wyvill's Answer to the foregoing Paper 492
Militia preferable to Regular Troops .... 494
On sending Felons to America 495
The Retort Courteous 498
An Account of the Supremest Court of Judicature in
Pennsylvania, viz. The Court of the Press . 503
Plan for Improving the Condition of the Free Blacks . 513 An Address to the Public ; from the Pennsylvania
Society for promoting the Abolition of Slavery,
CONTENTS. IX
and the Relief of Free Negroes unlawfully held in
Bondage 515
On the Slave-Trade 517
SUPPLEMENT.
A Lecture on the Providence of God in the Government
of the World 525
Letter from Anthony Afterwit 532
Letter from Celia Single 536
On Scandal 539
A Case of Casuistry 545
Miscellaneous Observations .... 549
Proposals and Queries for the Consideration of the Junto 551
ESSAYS
ON
AND
THE ECONOMY OF LIFE
ESSAYS
ON
RELIGIOUS AND MORAL SUBJECTS
AND THE
ECONOMY OF LIFE
ARTICLES OF BELIEF AND ACTS OF RELIGION.* PART FIRST.
" Here will I hold. If there 's a power above us, (And that there is, all nature cries aloud, Through all her works,) He must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy."
ADDISON'S CATO.
FIRST PRINCIPLES.
I BELIEVE there is one supreme, most perfect Being, author and father of the gods themselves.
For I believe that man is not the most perfect being but one, but rather that there are many degrees of beings superior to him.
Also, when I stretch my imagination through and be- yond our system of planets, beyond the visible fixed stars themselves, into that space that is every way infinite, and conceive it filled with suns like ours, each with a chorus of worlds for ever moving round him ; then this little ball on which we move, seems, even in
* This paper bears the date of November 20th, 1728, when the author was twenty-two years old. It purports to be the FIRST PART ; but the continuation has never been published. — EDITOR.
VOL. II. 1 A
2 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
my narrow imagination, to be almost nothing, and my- self less than nothing, and of no sort of consequence.
When I think thus, I imagine it great vanity in me to suppose, that the Supremely Perfect does in the least regard such an inconsiderable nothing as man ; more especially, since it is impossible for me to have any clear idea of that which is infinite and incompre- hensible, I cannot conceive otherwise, than that he the Infinite Father expects or requires no worship or praise from us, but that he is even infinitely above it.
But, since there is in all men something like a natural principle, which inclines them to DEVOTION, or the worship of some unseen powder;
And since men are endued with reason superior to all other animals, that we are in our world acquainted with ;
Therefore I think it seems required of me, and my duty as a man, to pay divine regards to SOMETHING.
I conceive, then, that the INFINITE has created many beings or gods, vastly superior to man, who can better conceive his perfections than we, and return him a more rational and glorious praise ; as, among men, the praise of the ignorant or of children is not regarded by the ingenious painter or architect, who is rather honored and pleased with the approbation of wise men and artists.
It may be these created gods are immortal ; or it may be, that, after many ages, they are changed, and others supply their places.
Howbeit, I conceive that each of these is exceeding wise and good, and very powerful ; and that each has made for himself one glorious sun, attended with a beautiful and admirable system of planets.
It is that particular wise and good God, who is the author and owner of our system, that I propose for the object of my praise and adoration.
MISCELLANEOUS. 3
For I conceive that he has in himself some of those passions he has planted in us ; and that, since he has given us reason whereby we are capable of observing his wisdom in the creation, he is not above caring for us, being pleased with our praise, and offended when we slight him, or neglect his glory.
I conceive, for many reasons, that he is a good Be- ing ; and, as I should be happy to have so wise, good, and powerful a Being my friend, let me consider in what manner I shall make myself most acceptable to him.
Next to the praise resulting from and due to his wisdom, I believe he is pleased and delights in the happiness of those he has created ; and, since without virtue a man can have no happiness in this world, I firmly believe he delights to see me virtuous, because he is pleased when he sees me happy.
And since he has created many things, which seem purely designed for the delight of man, I believe he is not offended, when he sees his children solace them- selves in any manner of pleasant exercises and innocent delights ; and I think no pleasure innocent, that is to man hurtful.
I love him therefore for his goodness, and I adore him for his wisdom.
Let me not fail, then, to praise my God continu- ally, for it is his due, and it is all I can return for his many favors and great goodness to me ; and let me resolve to be virtuous, that I may be happy, that I may please him, who is delighted to see me happy. Amen!
ADORATION.
PREL. Being mindful, that, before I address the Deity, my soul ought to be calm and serene, free from passion and perturbation, or otherwise elevated
4 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
with rational joy and pleasure, I ought to use a countenance that expresses a filial respect, mixed with a kind of smiling, that signifies inward joy, and satisfaction, and admiration.
O wise God, my good Father! Thou beholdest the sincerity of my heart and of my devotion ; grant me a continuance of thy favor !
1. O Creator, O Father! I believe that thou art good, and that thou art pleased with the pleasure of thy chil- dren.— Praised be thy name for ever!
2. By thy power hast thou made the glorious sun, with his attending worlds ; from the energy of thy mighty will, they first received [their prodigious] mo- tion, and by thy wisdom hast thou prescribed the won- drous laws, by which they move. — Praised be thy name for ever !
3. By thy wisdom hast thou formed all things ; thou hast created man, bestowing life and reason, and placed him hi dignity superior to thy other earthly creatures. — Praised be thy name for ever !
4. Thy wisdom, thy power, and thy goodness are everywhere clearly seen ; in the air and in the water, in the heavens and on the earth ; thou providest for the various winged fowl, and the innumerable inhab- itants of the water; thou givest cold and heat, rain and sunshine, in their season, and to the fruits of the earth their increase. — Praised be thy name for ever!
5. Thou abhorrest in thy creatures treachery and de- ceit, malice, revenge, [intemperance,] and every other hurtful vice ; but thou art a lover of justice and sin- cerity, of friendship and benevolence, and every virtue ; thou art my friend, my father, and my benefactor. — Praised be thy name, O God, for ever ! Amen.
MISCELLANEOUS. 5
[After this, it will not be improper to read part of some such book as Ray's Wisdom of God in the Crea- tion, or Blacknwre on the Creation, and the Archbishop of Cambray's Demonstration of the Being of a God, &c., or else spend some minutes in a serious silence, con- templating on those subjects.]
Then sing
MILTON'S HYMN TO THE CREATOR.
" These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair ; thyself how wondrous then ! Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels, for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in heaven, On earth join all ye creatures to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
" Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If rather thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st. Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st, With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies ; And ye five other wandering fires, that move In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honor to the world's great Author rise ;
A*
6 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds,
That singing, up to heaven gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise;
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise."
[Here follows the reading of some book, or part of a book, discoursing on and exciting to moral virtue.]
PETITION.
PREL. Inasmuch as by reason of our ignorance we cannot be certain that many things, which we often hear mentioned in the petitions of men to the Deity, would prove real goods, if they were in our possession, and as I have reason to hope and believe that the goodness of my heavenly Father will not withhold from me a suita- ble share of temporal blessings, if by a virtuous and holy life I conciliate his favor and kindness ; therefore I presume not to ask such things ; but rather, humbly, and with a sincere heart, express my earnest desire that Ke would graciously assist my continual endeavours and resolutions of eschewing vice and embracing vir- tue ; which kind of supplications will at the same time remind me in a solemn manner of my extensive duty.
That I may be preserved from atheism, impiety, and profaneness ; and, in my addresses to Thee, carefully avoid irreverence and ostentation, formality and odious hypocrisy, — Help me, O Father!
MISCELLANEOUS. 7
That I may be loyal to my prince, and faithful to my country, careful for its good, valiant in its defence, and obedient to its laws, abhorring treason as much as tyranny, — Help me, O Father !
That I may to those above me be dutiful, humble, and submissive ; avoiding pride, disrespect, and con- tumacy, — Help me, O Father !
That I may to those below me be gracious, conde- scending, and forgiving, using clemency, protecting in- nocent distress, avoiding cruelty, harshness, and op- pression, insolence, and unreasonable severity, — Help me, O Father!
That I may refrain from calumny and detraction ; that I may abhor and avoid deceit and envy, fraud, flattery, and hatred, malice, lying, and ingratitude, — Help me, O Father!
That I may be sincere in friendship, faithful in trust, and impartial in judgment, watchful against pride, and against anger (that momentary madness), — Help me, O Father!
That I may be just in all my dealings, temperate in my pleasures, full of candor and ingenuousness, hu- manity and benevolence, — Help me, O Father !
That I may be grateful to my benefactors, and gen- erous to my friends, exercising charity and liberality to the poor, and pity to the miserable, — Help me, O Father !
That I may possess integrity and evenness of mind, resolution in difficulties, and fortitude under affliction ; that I may be punctual in performing my promises, peaceable and prudent in my behaviour, — Help me, 0 Father!
That I may have tenderness for the weak, and rev- erent respect for the ancient ; that I may be kind to
8 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
my neighbours, good-natured to my companions, and hospitable to strangers, — Help me, O Father !
That I may be averse to craft and over-reaching, abhor extortion, perjury, and every kind of wicked- ness,— Help me, O Father!
That I may be honest and open-hearted, gentle, merciful, and good, cheerful in spirit, rejoicing in the good of others, — Help me, O Father !
That I may have a constant regard to honor and probity, that I may possess a perfect innocence and a good conscience, and at length become truly virtuous and magnanimous, — Help me, good God; help me, O Father !
And, forasmuch as ingratitude is one of the most odious of vices, let me not be unmindful gratefully to acknowledge the favors I receive from Heaven.
THANKS.
For peace and liberty, for food and raiment, for corn, and wine, and milk, and every kind of healthful nour- ishment, — Good God, I thank thee !
For the common benefits of air and light ; for use- ful fire and delicious water, — Good God, I thank thee!
For knowledge, and literature, and every useful art • for my friends and their prosperity, and for the few- ness of my enemies, — Good God, I thank .thee !
For all thy innumerable benefits ; for life, and rea- son, and the use of speech; for health, and joy, and every pleasant hour, — My good God, I thank thee!
MISCELLANEOUS.
RULES FOR A CLUB ESTABLISHED FOR MUTUAL IMPROVEMENT.*
PREVIOUS QUESTION, TO BE ANSWERED AT EVERY MEETING.
HAVE you read over these queries this morning, in order to consider what you might have to offer the Junto touching any one of them ? viz.
1. Have you met with any thing in the author you last read, remarkable, or suitable to be communicated to the Junto? particularly in history, morality, poetry, physic, travels, mechanic arts, or other parts of know- ledge.
2. What new story have you lately heard agreeable for telling in conversation 1
3. Hath any citizen in your knowledge failed in his business lately, and what have you heard of the cause ?
* These Rides were drawn up in the year 1728, and designed as general regulations for a Club, called THE JUNTO, consisting of a select number of Franklin's acquaintances in Philadelphia, whom he had in- duced to associate and hold weekly meetings for mutual improvement The plan was to propose and discuss queries on points of morals, politics, and natural philosophy. "Our debates," says Franklin, "were to be under the direction of a president, and to be conducted in the sincere spirit of inquiry after truth, without fondness for dispute, or desire of victory ; and, to prevent warmth, all expressions of positiveness in opin- ions, or direct contradiction, were, after some time, made contraband, and prohibited under small pecuniary penalties." This association produced all the advantages anticipated from it Forty years after its establish- ment, it became the basis of the AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY, of which Franklin was the first president, and the published Transactions of which have contributed largely to the advancement of science and the diffusion of valuable knowledge in the United States.
When the Philosophical Society was instituted, a book containing many of the questions discussed by the JUNTO was put into the hands of Dr. William Smith, who selected from it, and published in his " Eulogium on Franklin" (p. 13,) the following specimens. — EDITOR.
" Is sound an entity or body ?
" How may the phenomena of vapors be explained ? VOL. II. 2
10 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
4. Have you lately heard of any citizen's thriving well, and by what means ?
5. Have you lately heard how any present rich man, here or elsewhere, got his estate ?
6. Do you know of a fellow citizen, who has lately done a worthy action, deserving praise and imitation; or who has lately committed an error, proper for us to be warned against and avoid ?
7. What unhappy effects of intemperance have you lately observed or heard ; of imprudence, of passion, or of any other vice or folly ?
8. What happy effects of temperance, of prudence, of moderation, or of any other virtue ?
9. Have you or any of your acquaintance been late- ly sick or wounded? If so, what remedies were used, and what were their effects ?
10. Whom do you know that are shortly going voyages or journeys, if one should have occasion to send by them ?
^' 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 possessions 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 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 ? "
MISCELLANEOUS. 11
11. Do you think of any thing at present, in which the Junto may be serviceable to mankind, to their country, to their friends, or to themselves 1
12. Hath any deserving stranger arrived in town since last meeting, that you have heard of ? And what have you heard or observed of his character or merits ? And whether, think you, it lies hi the power of the Junto to oblige him, or encourage him as he deserves ?
13. Do you know of any deserving young beginner lately set up, whom it lies in the power of the Junto any way to encourage 1
14. Have you lately observed any defect in the laws of your country, of which it would be proper to move the legislature for an amendment ? Or do you know of any beneficial law that is wanting ?
15. Have you lately observed any encroachment on the just liberties of the people ?
16. Hath any body attacked your reputation lately ? And what can the Junto do towards securing it ?
17. Is there any man whose friendship you want, and which the Junto, or any of them, can procure for you 1
18. Have you lately heard any member's character attacked, and how have you defended it ?
19. Hath any man injured you, from whom it is in the power of the Junto to procure redress ?
20. In what manner can the Junto, or any of them, assist you in any of your honorable designs ?
21. Have you any weighty aifair on hand, in which you think the advice of the Junto may be of service ?
22. What benefits have you lately received from any man not present ?
23. Is there any difficulty hi matters of opinion, of justice, and injustice, which you would gladly have discussed at this time ?
12 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
24. Do you see any thing amiss in the present cus- toms or proceedings of the Junto, which might be amended ?
Any person to be qualified [as a member of the JUNTO], to stand up, and lay his hand upon his breast, and be asked these questions, viz.
1. Have you any particular disrespect to any present members 1 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 opin- ions, or his external way of worship ? Answer. No.
4. Do you love truth for truth's sake, and will you " endeavour impartially to find and receive it yourself,
and communicate it to others 1 jlnsicer. Yes.
MISCELLANEOUS.
THE BUSY-BODY.
AFTER Franklin's return from his first visit to England, he en- paged in the printing business on his own account at Philadelphia, and formed the project of setting up a newspaper. There were at this time two other printers in the city, Keimer and Bradford, and the latter published a gazette, called The Weekly Mercury, being the first newspaper printed in Pennsylvania. Having but a poor opinion of this paper as then conducted, and yet perceiving that it was 'profitable to the proprietor, Franklin thought there was a fair opportunity for a successful rivalship. He intended to keep his design a secret, however, till he should be ready to put it in execution ; but in the mean time he unguardedly communicated it to George Webb, a journeyman printer, who applied to him for employment, and who made haste to convey the news to Keimer.
Stimulated by jealousy, or by a temper ill suited to gain or pre- serve friends, Keimer immediately resolved, in concert with Webb, to take advantage of this hint, and issued proposals for publishing a paper himself. Franklin was piqued at this ungenerous inter- ference, and he conceived it justifiable by proper means to defeat Keimer's plan. With this aim he commenced writing a series of pieces in Bradford's paper, under the title of THE BUSY-BODY, which were of an amusing cast, and designed to draw the attention of the public to that paper. He and his friend Breintnal, at the same time, united their wits in burlesquing and ridiculing Keimer's proposals. The effect was such as he desired. Keimer set his paper on foot ; but it was so ill supported, that it languished from the beginning, and before the end of the year he was glad to sell it to Franklin for a small consideration^
The Essays of THE BUSY-BODY are curious, as being the earliest regular compositions, which are known to have come from the pen of Franklin. They were written at the beginning of his twenty- third year. The style is marked by the peculiar characteristics, which prevail in all his subsequent writings ; ease, simplicity, clear- ness, and a pure English idiom ; and these qualities, indeed, in which he is everywhere unrivalled, seem to have been scarcely less VOL. II. B
14 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
a gift of nature than the effect of study. Without any display of ornament, or labored flights of fancy, his thoughts flow smoothly onward, and are conveyed in a language so lucid and expressive, that the reader's mind is never for a moment embarrassed with obscurity or doubt. In judging of the merits of these essays, in regard to the topics upon which they turn, and the mode of treating them, it would be unjust to the author not to keep in mind his pursuits and habits of life up to the time when they were written, and the forms of society with which his circumstances had neces- sarily made him familiar. And it should equally be remembered, that he did not write for literary fame, nor to win the applause of refined circles, but merely to amuse himself and effect a tem- porary purpose.
The first five numbers and the eighth of THE BUSY-BODY are considered as having been unquestionably written by Franklin. Whether he wrote more is uncertain. The series was continued to thirty-two numbers, chiefly if not wholly by Breintnal. — EDITOR.
THE BUSY-BODY. — No. I.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1728-9.
MR. ANDREW BRADFORD,
I DESIGN this to acquaint you, that I, who have long been one of your courteous readers, have lately entertained some thought of setting up for an author myself; not out of the least vanity, I assure you, or desire of showing my parts, but purely for the good of my country.
I have often observed with concern, that your Mer- cury is not always equally entertaining. The delay of ships expected in, and want of fresh advices from Europe, make it frequently very dull; and I find the freezing of our river has the same effect on news as trade. With more concern have I continually observed the growing vices and follies of my country-folk ; and, though reformation is properly the concern of every man, that is, every one ought to mend one ; yet it is
MISCELLANEOUS. 15
too true in this case, that what is every body's busi- ness is nobody's business; and the business is done accordingly. I therefore, upon mature deliberation, think fit to take nobody's business wholly into my own hands; and, out of zeal for the public good, design to erect myself into a kind of censor monim', purpos- ing, with your allowance, to make use of the Weekly Mercury as a vehicle in which my remonstrances shall be conveyed to the world.
I am sensible I have in this particular undertaken a very unthankful office, and expect little besides my labor for my pains. Nay, it is probable, I may dis- please a great number of your readers, who will not very well like to pay ten shillings a year for being told of their faults. But, as most people delight in censure when they themselves are not the objects of it, if any are offended at my publicly exposing their private vices, I promise they shall have the satisfaction, in a very little time, of seeing their good friends and neighbours in the same circumstances.
However, let the fair sex be assured, that I shall always treat them and their affairs with the utmost decency and respect. I intend now and then to dedi- cate a chapter wholly to their service ; and if my lectures any way contribute to the embellishment of their minds, and brightening of their understandings, without offending their modesty, I doubt not of having their favor and encouragement.
It is certain, that no country in the world produces naturally finer spirits than ours; men of genius for every kind of science, and capable of acquiring to per- fection every qualification that is in esteem among mankind. But as few here have the advantage of good books, for want of which good conversation is still more scarce, it would doubtless have been very
16 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
acceptable to your readers, if, instead of an old out-of- date article from Muscovy or Hungary, you had enter- tained them with some well-chosen extract from a good author. This I shall sometimes do, when I happen to have nothing of my own to say that I think of more consequence. Sometimes I purpose to deliver lec- tures of morality or philosophy, and (because I am naturally inclined to be meddling with things that do not concern me) perhaps I may sometimes talk poli- tics. And if I can by any means furnish out a weekly entertainment for the public that will give a rational diversion, and at the same time be instructive to the readers, I shall think my leisure hours well employed ; and if you publish this, I hereby invite all ingenious gentlemen and others (that approve of such an un- dertaking) to my assistance and correspondence.
It is like by this time, you have a curiosity to be acquainted with my name and character. As I do not aim at public praise, I design to remain concealed ; and there are such numbers of our family and relations at this time in the country, that though I have signed my name at full length, I am not under the least ap- prehension of being distinguished and discovered by it. My character, indeed, I would favor you with, but that I am cautious of praising myself, lest I should be told my trumpeter's dead; and I cannot find in my heart at present, to say any thing to my own disad- vantage.
It is very common with authors, in their first per- formances, to talk to their readers thus ; " If this meets with a suitable reception, or, if this should meet with due encouragement, I shall hereafter publish, &c." This only manifests the value they put on their own writings, since they think to frighten the public into their applause, by threatening, that, unless you approve
MISCELLANEOUS. 17
what they have already wrote, they intend never to write again ; when perhaps it may not be a pin matter whether they ever do or no. As I have not observed the critics to be more favorable on this account, I shall always avoid saying any thing of the kind ; and con- clude with telling you, that, if you send me a bottle of ink and a quire of paper by fiie bearer, you may depend on hearing further from, Sir, your most humble servant,
THE BUSY-BODY.
THE BUSY-BODY.— No. II.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1728-9.
All fools have still an itching to deride, And fain would be upon the laughing side.
POPE.
MONSIEUR de la Rochefoucault tells us somewhere in his Memoirs, that the Prince of Conde delighted much in ridicule, and used frequently to shut himself up for half a day together in his chamber, with a gentleman that was his favorite, purposely to divert himself with examining what was the foible or ridicu- lous side of every noted person hi the court. That gentleman said afterwards in some company, that he thought nothing was more ridiculous in anybody, than this same humor in the Prince; and I am somewhat inclined to be of this opinion. The general tendency there is among us to this embellishment, which I fear has too often grossly imposed upon my loving country- men instead of wit, and the applause it meets with from a rising generation, fill me with fearful appre- hensions for the future reputation of my country. A
VOL. II. 3 B*
18 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
young man of modesty (which is the most certain in- dication of large capacities) is hereby discouraged from attempting to make any figure in life; his apprehen- sions of being out-laughed will force him to continue in a restless obscurity, without having an opportunity of knowing his own merit himself or discovering it to the world, rather than venture to oppose himself in a place where a pun or a sneer shall pass for wit, noise for reason, and the strength of the argument be judged by that of the lungs.
Among these witty gentlemen let us take a view of Ridentius. What a contemptible figure does he make with his train of paltry admirers ! This wight shall give himself an hour's diversion with the cock of a man's hat, the heels of his shoes, an unguarded ex- pression in his discourse, or even some personal de- fect ; and the height of his low ambition is to put some one of the company to the blush, who perhaps must pay an equal share of the reckoning with himself. If such a fellow makes laughing the sole end and purpose of his life, if it is necessary to his constitu- tion, or if he has a great desire of growing suddenly fat, let him eat ; let him give public notice where any dull stupid rogues may get a quart of four-penny for being laughed at; but it is barbarously unhandsome, when friends meet for the benefit of conversation and a proper relaxation from business, that one should be the butt of the company, and four men made merry at the cost of the fifth.
How different from this character is that of the good-natured, gay Eugenius, who never spoke yet but with a design to divert and please, and who was never yet baulked in his intention. Eugenius takes more de- light in applying the wit of his friends, than in being admired himself; and if any one of the company is so
MISCELLANEOUS. 19
unfortunate as to be touched a little too nearly, he will make use of some ingenious artifice to turn the edge of ridicule another way, choosing rather to make himself a public jest, than be at the pain of seeing his friend in confusion.
Among the tribe of laughers, I reckon the petty gentlemen that write satires, and carry them about in their pockets, reading them themselves in all company they happen into ; taking an advantage of the ill taste of the town to make themselves famous for a pack of paltry, low nonsense, for which they deserve to be kicked rather. than admired, by all who have the least tincture of politeness. These I take to be the most incorrigible of all my readers ; nay, I expect they will be squibbing at the Busy-Body himself. However, the only favor he begs of them is this, that if they cannot control their overbearing itch of scribbling, let him be attacked in downright biting lyrics; for there is no satire he dreads half so much as an attempt towards a panegyric.
THE BUSY-BODY. — No. III.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1728-9.
Non vultus instantis tyranni
Mente quatit solidi, neque Auster, Dux inquieti turbidus Adrise, Nee fulminantis raagna Jovis maims.
HOR.
IT is said that the Persians, in their ancient consti- tution, had public schools in which virtue was taught as a liberal art or science ; and it is certainly of more consequence to a man, that he has learnt to govern his passions in spite of temptation, to be just in his
20 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
dealings, to be temperate in his pleasures, to support himself with fortitude under his misfortunes, to behave with prudence in all his affairs, and in every circum- stance of life ; I say, it is of much more real advantage to him to be thus qualified, than to be a master of all the arts and sciences in the world beside.
Virtue alone is sufficient to make a man great, glorious, and happy. He that is acquainted with Cato, as I am, cannot help thinking as I do now, and will acknowledge he deserves the name, without being honored by it. Cato is a man whom fortune has placed in the most obscure part of the- country. His circumstances are such, as only put him above neces- sit}r, without affording him many superfluities ; yet who is greater than Cato? I happened but the other day to be at a house hi town, where, among others, were met men of the most note in this place. Cato had business with some of them, and knocked at the door. The most trifling actions of a man, in my opinion, as well as the smallest features and lineaments of the face, give a nice observer some notion of his mind. Me- thought he rapped in such a peculiar manner, as seem- ed of itself to express there was one, who deserved as well as desired admission. He appeared in the plainest country garb ; his great coat was coarse, and looked old and threadbare ; his linen was homespun ; his beard, perhaps, of seven days' growth ; his shoes thick and heavy ; and every part of his dress corresponding. Why was this man received with such concurring re- spect from every person in the room, even from those who had never known him or seen him before? It was not an exquisite form of person, or grandeur of dress, that struck us with admiration.
I believe long habits of virtue have a sensible effect on the countenance. There was something in the air
MISCELLANEOUS. 21
of his face, that manifested the true greatness of his mind, which likewise appeared in all he said, and in every part of his behaviour, obliging us to regard him with a kind of veneration. His aspect is sweetened with humanity and benevolence, and at the same tune emboldened with resolution, equally free from diffident bashfulness and an unbecoming assurance. The con- sciousness of his own innate worth and unshaken in- tegrity renders him calm and undaunted in the pres- ence of the most great and powerful, and upon the most extraordinary occasions. His strict justice and known impartiality make him the arbitrator and decider of all differences, that arise for many miles around him, without putting his neighbours to the charge, perplex- ity, and uncertainty of law-suits. He always speaks the thing he means, which he is never afraid or ashamed to do, because he knows he always means well, and therefore is never obliged to blush, and feel the confusion of finding himself detected hi the mean- ness of a falsehood. He never contrives ill against his neighbours, and therefore is never seen with a lowering, suspicious aspect. A mixture of innocence and wis- dom makes him ever seriously cheerful. His generous hospitality to strangers, according to his ability ; his goodness, his charity, his courage in the cause of the oppressed, his fidelity in friendship, his humility, his honesty and sincerity, his moderation, and his loyalty to the government ; his piety, his temperance, his love to mankind, his magnanimity, his public-spiritedness, and, in fine, his consummate virtue, make him justly deserve to be esteemed the glory of his country.
" The brave do never shun the light ;
Just are their thoughts, and open are their tempers ; Freely without disguise they love and hate ; Still are they found in the fair face of day, And Heaven and men are judges of their actions."
HOWE.
22 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
Who would not rather choose, if it were in his choice, to merit the above character, than be the rich- est, the most learned, or the most powerful man in the province without it?
Almost every man has a strong natural desire of being valued and esteemed by the rest of his species, but I am concerned and grieved to see how few fall into the right and only infallible method of becoming so. That laudable ambition is too commonly misap- plied, and often ill employed. Some, to make them- selves considerable, pursue learning; others grasp at wealth ; some aim at being thought witty ; and others are only careful to make the most of a handsome per- son; but what is wit, or wealth, or form, or learning, when compared with virtue? It is true, we love the handsome, we applaud the learned, and we fear the rich and powerful ; but we even worship and adore the virtuous. Nor is it strange; since men of virtue are so rare, so very rare to be found. If we were as in- dustrious to become good as to make ourselves great, we should become really great by being good, and the number of valuable men would be much increased ; but it is a grand mistake to think of being great with- out goodness ; and I pronounce it as certain, that there was never yet a truly great man, that was not at the same time truly virtuous.
O Cretico! thou sour philosopher! thou cunning statesman! thou art crafty, but far from being wise. When wilt thou be esteemed, regarded, and beloved like Cato? When wilt thou, among thy creatures, meet with that unfeigned respect and warm good-will, that all good men have for him? Wilt thou never understand, that the cringing, mean, submissive de- portment of thy dependents, is (like the worship paid by Indians to the Devil) rather through fear of the
MISCELLANEOUS. 23
harm thou mayest do them, than out of gratitude for the favors they have received of thee ? Thou art not wholly void of virtue; there are many good things in thee, and many good actions reported of thee. Be advised by thy friend. Neglect those musty authors; let them be covered with dust, and moulder on their proper shelves ; and do thou apply thyself to a study much more profitable, the study of mankind and thy- self.
This is to give notice, that the Busy-Body strictly forbids all persons, from this tune forward, of what age, sex, rank, quality, degree, or denomination soever, on any pretence, to inquire who is the author of this paper, on pain of his displeasure, (his own near and dear relations only excepted.)
It is to be observed, that if any bad characters happen to be drawn in these papers, they mean no particular person, if they are not particularly applied.
Likewise, that the author is no party-man, but a general meddler.
N. B. Cretico lives in a neighbouring province.
THE BUSY-BODY. — No. IV.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1723-9.
Ne quid nimis.*
IN my first paper I invited the learned and the in- genious to join with me in this undertaking, and 1 now repeat that invitation. I would have such gentle- men take this opportunity (by trying their talent in
Nam id arbitror Apprime in vita esse utile, ut ne quid nimis.
TERENT.
24 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
writing) of diverting themselves and friends, and im- proving the taste of the town. And because I would encourage all wit of our own growth and produce, I hereby promise, that whoever shall send me a little essay on some moral or other subject, that is fit for public view in this manner, (and not basely borrowed from any other author,) I shall receive it with candor, and take care to place it to the best advantage. It will be hard if we cannot muster up in the whole country a sufficient stock of sense to supply the Busy-Body at least for a twelvemonth.
For my own part, I have already professed, that I have the good of my country wholly at heart in this design, without the least sinister view; my chief pur- pose being to inculcate the noble principles of virtue, and deprecate vice of every kind. But, as I know the mob hate instruction, and the generality would never read beyond the first line of my lectures, if they were actually filled with nothing but wholesome precepts and advice, I must therefore sometimes humor them in their own way. There are a set of great names in the province, who are the common objects of popular dislike. If I can now and then overcome my reluct- ance, and prevail with myself to satirize a little one of these gentlemen, the expectation of meeting with such a gratification will induce many to read me through, who would otherwise proceed immediately to the foreign news. As I am very well assured the greatest men among us have a sincere love for their country, notwithstanding its ingratitude, and the insinuations of the envious and malicious to the contrary, so I doubt not but they will cheerfully tolerate me in the liberty I design to take for the end above mentioned.
As yet I have but few correspondents, though they begin now to increase. The following letter, left for
MISCELLANEOUS. 25
me at the printer's, is one of the first I have received, which I regard the more for that it comes from one of the fair sex, and because I have myself oftentimes suffered under the grievance therein complained of.
"TO THE BUSY-BODY. "SIR,
" You having set yourself up for a censuror morum, (as I think you call it), which is said to mean a re- former of manners, I know no person more proper to be applied to for redress in all the grievances we suffer from want of manners in some people. You must know I am a single woman, and keep a shop in this town for a livelihood. There is a certain neighbour of mine, who is really agreeable company enough, and with whom I have had an intimacy of some time stand- ing ; but of late she makes her visits so exceedingly often, and stays so very long every visit, that I am tired out of all patience. I have no manner of time at all to myself; and you, who seem to be a wise man, must needs be sensible that every person has little secrets and privacies, that are not proper to be exposed even to the nearest friend. Now I cannot do the least thing in the world, but she must know about it ; and it is a wonder I have found an oppor- tunity to write you this letter. My misfortune is, that I respect her very well, and know not how to disoblige her so much as to tell her I should be glad to have less of her company ; for if I should once hint such a thing, I am afraid she would resent it so as never to darken my door again.
"But alas, Sir, I have not yet told you half my affliction. She has two children, that are just big enough to run about and do pretty mischief; these are continually along with mamma, either in my room or
VOL. II. 4 C
26 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
shop, if I have ever so many customers or people with me about business. Sometimes they pull the goods off my low shelves down to the ground, and perhaps where one of them has just been making water. My friend takes up the stuff, and cries, « 0 ! thou little wicked mischievous rogue ! But, however, it has done no great damage ; it is only wet a little ; ' and so puts it upon the shelf again. Sometimes they get to my cask of nails behind the counter, and divert themselves, to my great vexation, with mixing my ten-penny, and eight-penny, and four-penny, together. I endeavour to conceal my uneasiness as much as possible, and with a grave look go to sorting them out. She cries, 'Don't thee trouble thyself, neighbour; let them play a little ; I'll put all to rights before I go.' But things are never so put to rights, but that I find a great deal of work to do after they are gone. Thus, Sir, I have all the trouble and pesterment of children, without the pleasure of calling them my own; and they are now so used to being here, that they will be content no- where else. If she would have been so kind as to have moderated her visits to ten times a day, and stayed but half an hour at a time, I should have been con- tented, and I believe never have given you this trou- ble. But this very morning they have so tormented me, that I could bear no longer; for, while the mo- ther was asking me twenty impertinent questions, the youngest got to my nails, and with great delight rattled them by handfuls all over the floor; and the other, at the same time, made such a terrible din upon the counter with a hammer, that I grew half distracted. I was just then about to make myself a new suit of pinners ; but in the fret and confusion I cut it quite out of all manner of shape, and utterly spoiled a piece of the first muslin.
MISCELLANEOUS. 27
" Pray, Sir, tell me what I shall do ; and talk a little against such unreasonable visiting in your next paper ; though I would not have her affronted with me for a great deal, for sincerely I love her and her children, as well, I think, as a neighbour can, and she buys a great many things in a year at my shop. But I would beg her to consider, that she uses me unmercifully, though I believe it is only for want of thought. But I have twenty things more to tell you besides all this. There is a handsome gentleman, that has a mind (I don't question) to make love to me, but he can't get
the opportunity to O dear ! here she comes again ;
I must conclude, yours, &,c.
" PATIENCE."
Indeed, it is well enough, as it happens, that she is come to shorten this complaint, which I think is full long enough already, and probably would otherwise have been as long again. However, I must confess, I cannot help pitying my correspondent's case; and, in her behalf, exhort the visitor to remember and con- sider the words of the wise man, " Withdraw thy foot from the house of thy neighbour, lest he grow weary of thee, and so hate thee." It is, I believe, a nice thing, and very difficult, to regulate our visits in such a manner, as never to give offence by coming too seldom, or too often, or departing too abruptly, or stay- ing too long. However, in my opinion, it is safest for most people in a general way, who are unwilling to disoblige, to visit seldom, and tarry but a little while in a place, notwithstanding pressing invitations, which are many times insincere. And though more of your company should be really desired, yet in this case, too, much reservedness is a fault more easily excused than the contrary.
28 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
Men are subject to various inconveniences merely through lack of a small share of courage, which is a quality very necessary in the common occurrences of life, as well as in a battle. How many impertinences do we daily suffer with great uneasiness, because we have not courage enough to discover our dislike ? And why may not a man use the boldness and freedom of telling his friends, that their long visits sometimes in- commode him ? On this occasion, it may be entertain- ing to some of my readers, if I acquaint them with the Turkish manner of entertaining visiters, which I have from an author of unquestionable veracity ; who assures us, that even the Turks are not so ignorant of civility and the arts of endearment, but that they can practise them with as much exactness as any other nation, whenever they have a mind to show them- selves obliging.
"When you visit a person of quality," says he, "and have talked over your business, or the compli- ments, or whatever concern brought you thither, he makes a sign to have things served in for the enter- tainment, which is generally a little sweetmeat, a dish of sherbet, and another of coffee ; all which are imme- diately brought in by the servants, and tendered to all the guests in order, with the greatest care and awful- ness imaginable. At last comes the finishing part of your entertainment, which is, perfuming the beards of the company; a ceremony which is performed in this manner. They have for the purpose a small silver chafing-dish, covered with a lid full of holes, and fixed upon a handsome plate. In this they put some fresh coals, and upon them a piece of lignum aloes ; shutting it up, the smoke immediately ascends with a grateful odor through the holes of the cover. This smoke is held under every one's chin, and offered as it were a
MISCELLANEOUS. 29
sacrifice to his beard. The bristly idol soon receives the reverence done to it, and so greedily takes in and incorporates the gummy steam, that it retains the savour of it, and may serve for a nosegay a good while after.
" This ceremony may perhaps seem ridiculous at first hearing, but it passes among the Turks for a high gratification. And I will say this in its vindication, that its design is very wise and useful. For it is understood to give a civil dismission to the visitants, intimating to them that the master of the house has business to do, or some other avocations, that permits them to go away as soon as they please, and the sooner after this cere- mony the better. By this means you may, at any time, without offence, deliver yourself from being de- tained from your affairs by tedious and unseasonable visits ; and from being constrained to use that piece of hypocrisy, so common in the world, of pressing those to stay longer with you, whom perhaps in your heart you wish a great way off for having troubled you so long already."
Thus far my author. For my own part, I have taken such a fancy to this Turkish custom, that for the future I shall put something like it in practice. I have provided a bottle of right French brandy for the men, and citron-water for the ladies. After I have treated with a dram, and presented a pinch of my best snuff, I expect all company will retire, and leave me to pur- sue my studies for the good of the public.
ADVERTISEMENT.
I give notice, that I am now actually compiling, and design to publish in a short time, the true history of the rise, growth, and progress of the renowned Tiff Club. All persons who are acquainted with any facts, circumstances, characters, transactions, &,c. which will
c*
30 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
be requisite to the perfecting and embellishment of the said work, are desired to communicate the same to the author, and direct their letters to be left with the printer hereof.
The letter, signed " Would-be-something" is come to hand.
THE BUSY-BODY. — No. V.
TUESDAY, MARCH 4, 1728-9.
Vos, o patricius sanguis, quos vivere fas est Occipiti caeco, posticse occurrite sannae.
PERSIUS.
THIS paper being designed for a terrgMcTevil- doers, as well as praise to them that da -well, I am lifted up with secret joy to find, that my undertaking is ap- proved, and encouraged by the just and good, and that few are against me but those, who have reason to fear me.
There are little follies in the behaviour of most men, which their best friends are too tender to acquaint them with ; there are little vices and small crimes, which the law has no regard to or remedy for; there are likewise great pieces of villany sometimes so craftily accomplished, and so circumspectly guarded, that the law can take no hold of the actors. All these things, and all things of this nature, come within my province as Censor ; and I am determined not to be negligent of the trust I have reposed in myself, but resolve to exe- cute my office diligently and faithfully.
And that all the world may judge with how much humanity, as well as justice, I shall behave in this office; and that even my enemies may be convinced I take no delight to rake into the dunghill lives of
MISCELLANEOUS. 31
vicious men ; and to the end that certain persons may be a little eased of their fears, and relieved from the terrible palpitations they have lately felt and suffered, and do still suffer; I hereby graciously pass an act of general oblivion, for all offences, crimes, and mis- demeanors of what kind soever, committed from the beginning of the year 1681, until the day of the date of my first paper, and promise only to concern my- self with such as have been since and shall hereafter be committed. I shall take no notice who has (here- tofore) raised a fortune by fraud and oppression, nor who by deceit and hypocrisy; what woman has been false to her good husband's bed, nor what man has, by barbarous usage or neglect, broken the heart of a faithful wife, and wasted his health and substance in debauchery ; what base wretch has betrayed his friend, and sold his honesty for gold, nor what baser wretch first corrupted him, and then bought the bargain; all this, and much more of the same kind, I shall forget, and pass over in silence ; but then it is to be observed, that I expect and require a sudden and general amend- ment.
These threatenings of mine I hope will have a good effect, and, if regarded, may prevent abundance of folly and wickedness in others, and, at the same time, save me abundance of trouble ; and, that people may not flatter themselves with the hopes of concealing their loose misdemeanors from my knowledge, and in that view persist in evil-doing, I must acquaint them, that I have lately entered into an intimacy with the extra- ordinary person, who some time since wrote me the following letter ; and who, having a wonderful faculty, that enables him to discover the most secret iniquity, is capable of giving me great assistance in my designed work of reformation.
32 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
"MR. BUSY-BODY,
"I rejoice, Sir, at the opportunity you have given me to be serviceable to you, and, by your means, to this province. You must know, that such have been the circumstances of my life, and such were the mar- vellous concurrences of my birth, that I have not only a faculty of discovering the actions of persons, that are absent or asleep, but even of the devil himself, in many of his secret workings, in the various shapes, habits, and names of men and women ; and, having travelled and conversed much, and met but with a very few of the same perceptions and qualifications, I can recom- mend myself to you as the most useful man you can correspond with. My father's father's father (for we had no grandfathers in our family) was the same John Bunyan, that writ that memorable book, The Pilgrim's Progress, who had, in some degree, a natu- ral faculty of second sight. This faculty (how derived to him our family memoirs are not very clear) was enjoyed by all his descendants, but not by equal tal- ents. It was very dim hi several of my first cousins, and probably had been nearly extinct in our particular branch, had not my father been a traveller. He lived, in his youthful days, hi New England. There he married, and there was born my elder brother, who had so much of this faculty, as to discover witches in some of their occult performances.
" My parents transporting themselves to Great Brit- ain, my second brother's birth was in that kingdom. He shared but a small portion of this virtue, being only able to discern transactions about the time of, and for the most part after, their happening. My good father, who delighted in The Pilgrim's Progress, and mountainous places, took shipping, with his wife, for Scotland, and inhabited in the Highlands, where myself
MISCELLANEOUS. 33
was born ; and whether the soil, climate, or astral influences, of which are preserved divers prognostics, restored our ancestor's natural faculty of second sight, in a greater lustre to me, than it had shined in through several generations, I will not here discuss. But so it is, that I am possessed largely of it, and design, if you encourage the proposal, to take this opportunity of doing good with it, which I question not will be ac- cepted of in a grateful way by many of your honest readers, though the discovery of my extraction bodes me no deference from your great scholars and modern philosophers. This my father was long ago aware of; and, lest the name alone should hurt the fortunes of his children, he, in his shiftings from one country to another, wisely changed it.
" Sir, I have only this further to say, how I may be useful to you, and as a reason for my not making my- self more known in the world. By virtue of this great gift of nature, second-sightedness, I do continually see numbers of men, women, and children, of all ranks, and what they are doing, while I am sitting in my closet ; which is too great a burden for the mind, and makes me also conceit, even against reason, that all this host of people can see and observe me, which strongly inclines me to solitude, and an obscure living ; and, on the other hand, it will be an ease to me to disburthen my thoughts and observations in the way proposed to you by, Sir, your friend and humble servant."
I conceal this correspondent's name, in my care for his life and safety, and cannot but approve his pru- dence in choosing to live obscurely. I remember the fate of my poor monkey. He had an ill-natured trick of grinning and chattering at every thing he saw in petticoats. My ignorant country neighbours got a
VOL. II. 5
34 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
notion, that pug snarled by instinct at every female who had lost her virginity. This was no sooner generally believed, than he was condemned to death ; by whom, I could never learn, but he was assassinated in the night, barbarously stabbed and mangled hi a thousand places, and left hanging dead on one of my gate-posts, where I found him the next morning.
The Censor observing, that the itch of scribbling begins to spread exceedingly, and being carefully ten- der of the reputation of his country in point of wit and good sense, has determined to take all manner of writing, in verse or prose, that pretend to either, under his immediate cognizance ; and accordingly hereby prohibits the publishing any such for the future, till they have first passed his examination, and received his imprimatur ; for which he demands as a fee only sixpence per sheet.
N. B. He nevertheless permits to be published all satirical remarks on the Busy-Body, the above prohi- bition notwithstanding, and without examination, or requiring the said fees; which indulgence the small wits in and about this city are advised gratefully to accept and acknowledge.
The gentleman, who calls himself SHrronio, is di- rected, on receipt of this, to burn his great book of Crudities.
P. S. In compassion to that young man, on account of the great pains he has taken, in consideration of the character I have just received of him, that he is really good-natured, and on condition he shows it to no foreigner or stranger of sense, I have thought fit to reprieve his said great book of Crudities from the flames, till further order.
MISCELLANEOUS. 35
Noli me tangere.
I HAD resolved, when I first commenced this design, on no account to enter into a public dispute with any man ; for I judged it would be equally unpleasant to me and my readers, to see this paper filled with con- tentious wrangling, answers, replies, &e. ; which is a way of writing that is endless, and, at the same time, seldom contains any thing that is either edifying or entertaining. Yet, when such a considerable man as
Mr. finds himself concerned so warmly to accuse
and condemn me, as he has done hi Keimer's last Instructor, I cannot forbear endeavouring to say some- thing in my own defence, from one of the worst of characters that could be given me by a man of worth. But as I have many things of more consequence to offer the public, I declare, that I will never, after this time, take notice of any accusations, not better sup- ported with truth and reason ; much less may every little scribbler, that shall attack me, expect an answer from the Busy-Body.
The sum of the charge delivered against me, either directly or indirectly, in the said paper, is this. Not to mention the first weighty sentence concerning vanity and ill-nature, and the shrewd intimation, that I am with- out charity, and therefore can have no pretence to reli- gion, I am represented as guilty of defamation and scan- dal, the odiousness of which is apparent to every good man, and the practice of it opposite to Christianity, mo- rality, and common justice, and, in some cases, so far below all these, as to be inhuman ; as a blaster of repu- tations ; as attempting, by a pretence, to screen myself from the imputation of malice and prejudice ; as using a weapon, which the wiser and better part of mankind hold in abhorrence ; and as giving treatment, which
36 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
the wiser and better part of mankind dislike on the same principles, and for the same reason, as they do assassination, &.c. ; and all this is inferred and con- cluded from a character I have wrote in my Num- ber III.
In order to examine the justice and truth of this heavy charge, let us recur to that character. And here we may be surprised to find what a trifle has raised this mighty clamor and complaint, this grievous accu- sation ! The worst thing said of the person, in what is cafled my gross description (be he who he will to whom my accuser has applied the character of Cretico), is, that he is a sour philosopher, crafty, but not wise. Few human characters can be drawn, that will not fit somebody, in so large a country as this ; but one would think, supposing I meant Cretico a real person, I had sufficiently manifested my impartiality, when I said, in that very paragraph, that Cretico is not without virtue ; that there are many good things in him, and many good actions reported of him ; which must be allowed, in all reason, very much to overbalance in his favor those worst words, sour-tempered and cunning. Nay, my very enemy and accuser must have been sensible of this, when he freely acknowledges, that he has been seriously considering, and cannot yet determine, which he would choose to be, the Cato or Cretico of that paper ; since my Cato is one of the best of characters. Thus much in my own vindication.
As to the only reasons there given, why I ought not to continue drawing characters, viz. Why should any man's picture be published, which he never sat for ; or his good name taken from him, any more than his money or possessions, at the arbitrary will of another, &,c. ? I have but this to answer. The money or possessions, 1 presume, are nothing to the purpose,
MISCELLANEOUS. 37
since no man can claim a right either to those or a good name, if he has acted so as to forfeit them. And are not the public the only judges what share of rep- utation they think proper to allow any man? Sup- posing I was capable, and had an inclination to draw all the good and bad characters in America, why should a good man be offended with me for drawing good characters ? And if I draw ill ones, can they fit any but those that deserve them? And ought any but such to be concerned that they have their deserts 1 I have as great an aversion and abhorrence for defa- mation and scandal as any man, and would with the utmost care avoid being guilty of such base things ; besides, I am very sensible and certain, that if I should make use of this paper to defame any person, my reputation would be sooner hurt by it than his, and the Busy-Body would quickly become detestable ; be- cause, in such a case, as is justly observed, the pleas- ure arising from a tale of wit and novelty soon dies away in generous and honest minds, and is followed with a secret grief to see their neighbours calum- niated.
But if I myself was actually the worst man in the province, and any one should draw my true character, would it not be ridiculous in me to say he had defamed and scandalized me, unless he had added hi a matter of truth 1 If any thing is meant by asking, why any man's picture should be published, which he never sat for, it must be, that we should give no character with- out the owner's consent. If I discern the wolf dis- guised in harmless wool, and contriving the destruction of my neighbour's sheep, must I have his permission before I am allowed to discover and prevent him ? If I know a man to be a designing knave, must I ask his consent to bid my friends beware of him ? If so, then,
VOL. II. D
50X4,
38 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
by the same rule, supposing the Busy-Body had really merited all his enemy had charged him with, his con- sent likewise ought to have been obtained before so terrible an accusation was published against him.
I shall conclude with observing, that hi the last paragraph save one of the piece now examined, much ill-nature and some good sense are co-inhabitants (as he expresses it). The ill-nature appears in his endeav- ouring to discover satire where I intended no such thing, but quite the reverse ; the good sense is this, that drawing too good a character of any one is a re- fined manner of satire, that may be as injurious to him as the contrary, by bringing on an examination that undresses the person, and, in the haste of doing it, he may happen to be stript of what he really owns and deserves. As I am Censor, I might punish the first, but I forgive it. Yet I will not leave the latter un- rewarded ; but assure my adversary, that in considera- tion of the merit of those four lines, I am resolved to forbear injuring him on any account in that refined manner.
I thank my neighbour P W for his kind
letter.
The lions complained of shall be muzzled.
THE BUSY-BODY.— No. VIII.
TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 1729.
Quid non mortalia pectora cogis, Auri sacra fames ?
VIRGIL.
of the greatest pleasures an author can have, is certainly the hearing his works applauded. The
MISCELLANEOUS. 39
hiding from the world our names, while we publish our thoughts, is so absolutely necessary to this self- gratification, that I hope my well-wishers will congrat- ulate me on my escape from the many diligent but fruitless inquiries, that have of late been made after me. Every man will own, that an author, as such, ought to be tried by the merit of his productions only ; but pride, party, and prejudice at this time run so very high, that experience shows we form our notions of a piece by the character of the author. Nay, there are some very humble politicians in and about this city, who will ask on which side the writer is, before they presume to give their opinion of the thing wrote. This ungenerous way of proceeding I was well aware of before I published my first speculation, and therefore concealed my name. And I appeal to the more gen- erous part of the world, if I have, since I appeared in the character of the Busy-Body, given an instance of my siding writh any party more than another, in the unhappy divisions of my country ; and I have, above all, this satisfaction in myself, that neither affection, aversion, nor interest has biassed me to use any par- tiality towards any man, or set of men ; but whatso- ever I find nonsensical, ridiculous, or immorally dis- honest, I have, and shall continue openly to attack, with the freedom of an honest man and a lover of my country.
I profess I can hardly contain myself, or preserve the gravity and dignity, that should attend the cen- sorial office, when I hear the odd and unaccountable expositions, that are put upon some of my works, through the malicious ignorance of some, and the vain pride of more than ordinary penetration in others ; one instance of which many of my readers are acquainted with. A certain gentleman has taken a great deal of
40 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
pains to write a key to the letter in my Number IV., wherein he has ingeniously converted a gentle satire upon tedious and impertinent visitants, into a libel on some of the government. This I mention only as a specimen of the taste of the gentleman I am, forsooth, bound to please in my speculations ; not that I sup- pose my impartiality will ever be called in question on that account. Injustices of this nature I could com- plain of in many instances ; but I am at present di- verted by the reception of a letter, which, though it regards me only in my private capacity as an adept, yet I venture to publish it for the entertainment of my readers.
To Censor Morum, Esq., Busy-Body General of the Province of Pennsylvania, and the Counties of New- castle, Kent, and Sussex upon Delaware.
"HONORABLE SIR,
"I judge by your lucubrations, that you are not only a lover of truth and equity, but a man of parts and learning and a master of science ; as such I honor you. Know, then, most profound Sir, that I have, from my youth up, been a very indefatigable student in and admirer of that divine science, astrology. I have read over Scot, Albertus Magnus, and Cornelius Agrippa, above three hundred times ; and was in hopes, by my knowledge and industry, to gain enough to have recompensed me for my money expended and time lost in the pursuit of this learning. You cannot be ignorant, Sir, (for }^our intimate second-sighted correspondent knows all things) that there are large sums of money hidden under ground in divers places about this town, and in many parts of the country ; but, alas, Sir, notwithstanding I have used all the
MISCELLANEOUS. 41
means laid down in the immortal authors before mentioned, and when they failed, the ingenious Mr. P — d — 1, with his mercurial wand and magnet, I have still failed in my purpose. This therefore I send, to propose and desire an acquaintance with you ; and I do not doubt, notwithstanding my repeated ill fortune, but we may be exceedingly serviceable to each other in our discoveries ; and that if we use our united en- deavours, the time will come when the Busy-Body, his second- sighted correspondent, and your very hum- ble servant, will be three of the richest men in the province. And then, Sir, what may we not do? A word to the wise is sufficient. I conclude, with all demonstrable respect, yours and Urania's votary,
" TITAN PLEIADES."*
* Titan Pleiades was not the only man in the colonies, who had faith in the virtues of the Divining Rod. The following extract will show that there were persons of intelligence and high official rank, who could solve their doubts only by assenting to its marvellous properties. The passage is taken from a manuscript letter, written by Mr. Peter Oliver, (for many years Chief Justice of Massachusetts,) to the Reverend Jared Eliot, of Killingworth in Connecticut, a man much devoted to philosophical stud- ies, and an intimate friend and correspondent of Dr. Franklin.
" For the present I desist from experiments in natural philosophy," said Chief Justice Oliver, " and perhaps shall not displease you by relating an experiment in what I call Preternatural Philosophy. It is by what is called the Virgvla Divinatoria, long since exploded. Two or three per- sons have lately been found in Middleborough, and, I suppose, may be found elsewhere, who, by holding a twig of a tree (with some prepared matters in it) in their hands, can find copper, silver, or gold, either in the mine or in substance. When I first heard the fact I disbelieved it, as doubtless you will take the same liberty on my relating it ; but at last I was induced to make the experiment critically, which exceeded what I had heard. The person holds the twig by its two branches in both hands, and grasps them close, with the upper part erect If any metal or mine is nigh, its fibres, though never so fast held in the hand, will twist till it points to the object ; and if the metal or mine is under, it will twist to a perpendicular situation. I have seen it point to a single dollar under ground, at sixty or seventy feet distance ; and to a quantity of silver at a mile distance ; and, what is more remarkable, when it is in motion to its VOL. II. 6 D *
42 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
In :he evening, after I had received this letter, I made a visit to my second-sighted friend, and com- municated to him the proposal. When he had read it, he assured me, that, to his certain knowledge, there is not at this time so much as one ounce of silver or gold hid under ground in any part of this province ; for that the late and present scarcity of money had obliged those, who were living, and knew where they had formerly hid any, to take it up, and use it in their own necessary affairs ; and as to all the rest, which was buried by pirates and others hi old times, who were never like to come for it, he himself had dug it all up and applied it to charitable uses; and this he de- sired me to publish for the general good. For, as he acquainted me, there are among us great numbers of honest artificers and laboring people, who, fed with a vain hope of growing suddenly rich, neglect their busi- ness, almost to the ruining of themselves and families, and voluntarily endure abundance of fatigue in a fruit- less search after imaginary hidden treasure. They wander through the woods and bushes by day, to dis- cover the marks and signs ; at midnight they repair to the hopeful spots with spades and pickaxes ; full of expectation, they labor violently, trembling at the same time in every joint, through fear of certain malicious demons, who are said to haunt and guard such places. At length a mighty hole is dug, and perhaps several cart-loads of earth thrown out; but, alas, no keg or iron pot is found ! No seaman's chest crammed with
object, upon the person's closing his eyes, it will make a full stop, but, if the eyes are turned from the twig and open, it will continue its motion. It is owing to what I call the idiosyncracy of the person's body, who holds the twig, for I believe there is not one in five hundred in whose hands it will move. I am apt to think it will occasion as much speculation as elec- tricity, and I believe will tend to public benefit." — Middltborougli, March 31st, 1756. — EDITOR.
MISCELLANEOUS. 43
Spanish pistoles, or weighty pieces of eight! Then they conclude, that, through some mistake in the pro- cedure, some rash word spoke, or some rule of art neglected, the guardian spirit had power to sink it deeper into the earth, and convey it out of their reach. Yet, when a man is once thus infatuated, he is so far from being discouraged by ill success, that he is rather animated to double his industry, and will try again and again in a hundred different places, in hopes at last of meeting with some lucky hit, that shall at once sufficiently reward him for all his expense of time and labor.
This odd humor of digging for money, through a belief that much has been hid by pirates formerly frequenting the river, has for several years been mighty prevalent among us ; insomuch that you can hardly walk half a mile out of the town on any side, with- out observing several pits dug with that design, and perhaps some lately opened. Men, otherwise of very good sense, have been drawn into this practice through an overweening desire of sudden wealth, and an easy credulity of what they so earnestly wished might be true ; while the rational and almost certain methods of acquiring riches by industry and frugality are neg- lected or forgotten. There seems to be some peculiar charm in the conceit of finding money ; and if the sands of Schuylkill were so much mixed with small grains of gold, that a man might in a day's time, with care and application, get together to the value of half a crown, I make no question but we should find several people employed there, that can with ease earn five shillings a day at their proper trades.
Many are the idle stories told of the private success of some people, by which others are encouraged to proceed ; and the astrologers, with whom the country
44 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
swarms at this time, are either in the belief of these things themselves, or find their advantage in persuading others to believe them ; for they are often consulted about the critical tunes for digging, the methods of laying the spirit, and the like whimseys, which renders them very necessary to, and very much caressed by, the poor deluded money-hunters.
There is certainly something very bewitching in the pursuit after mines of gold and silver and other valu- able metals, and many have been ruined by it. A sea- captain of my acquaintance used to blame the English for envying Spain their mines of silver, and too much despising or overlooking the advantages of their own industry and manufactures. "For my part," says he, " I esteem the Banks of Newfoundland to be a more valuable possession than the mountains of Potosi ; and, when I have been there on the fishing account, have looked upon every cod pulled up into the vessel as a certain quantity of silver ore, which required only carry- ing to the next Spanish port to be coined into pieces of eight ; not to mention the national profit of fitting out and employing such a number of ships and sea- men."
Let honest Peter Buckram, who has long without success been a searcher after hidden money, reflect on this, and be reclaimed from that unaccountable folly. Let him consider, that every stitch he takes, when he is on his shopboard, is picking up part of a grain of gold, that will in a few days' time amount to a pistole ; and let Faber think tjie same of every nail he drives, or every stroke with his plane. Such thoughts may make them industrious, and, in consequence, in time they may be wealthy. But how absurd is it to neglect a certain profit for such a ridiculous whimsey ; to spend whole days at the George, in company with an idle
MISCELLANEOUS. 45
pretender to astrology, contriving schemes to discover what was never hidden, and forgetful how carelessly business is managed at home in their absence ; to leave their wives and a warm bed at midnight (no matter if it rain, hail, snow, or blow a hurricane, provided that be the critical hour), and fatigue themselves with the violent exercise of digging for what they shall never find, and perhaps getting a cold that may cost their lives, or at least disordering themselves so as to be fit for no business beside for some days after. Surely this is nothing less than the most egregious folly and madness.
I shall conclude with the words of my discreet friend Agricola, of Chester county, when he gave his son a good plantation. "My son," said he, "I give thee now a valuable parcel of land ; I assure thee I have found a considerable quantity of gold by digging there ; thee mayst do the same ; but thee must care- fully observe this, Never to dig more than plough-deep."
46 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN PHILOCLES AND HORATIO, MEET- ING ACCIDENTALLY IN THE FIELDS, CONCERNING VIR- TUE AND PLEASURE.
FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, JUNE 23, 1730.
Philocles. My friend Horatio! I am very glad to see you. Prithee, how came such a man as you alone ? And musing too 1 What misfortune in your pleasures has sent you to philosophy for relief?
Horatio. You guess very right, my dear Philocles ; we pleasure-hunters are never without them ; and yet, so enchanting is the game, we cannot quit the chase. How calm and undisturbed is your life ! How free from present embarrassments and future cares ! I know you love me, and look with compassion upon my con- duct ; show me then the path which leads up to that constant and invariable good, which I have heard you so beautifully describe, and which you seem so fully to possess.
Phil. There are few men in the world I value more than you, Horatio ; for, amidst all your foibles and painful pursuits of pleasure, I have oft observed in you an honest heart, and a mind strongly bent towards virtue. I wish, from my soul, I could assist you in acting vsteadily the part of a reasonable creature ; for, if you would not think it a paradox, I should tell you I love you better than you do yourself.
Hor. A paradox indeed ! Better than I do myself ! When I love my dear self so well, that I love every thing else for my own sake.
Phil. He only loves himself well, who rightly and judiciously loves himself.
Hor. What do you mean by that, Philocles ? You
MISCELLANEOUS. 47
men of reason and virtue are always dealing in mys- teries, though you laugh at them when the church makes them. I think he loves himself very well and very judiciously too, as you call it, who allows himself to do whatever he pleases.
Phil. What, though it be to the ruin and destruction of that very self which he loves so well 1 That man alone loves himself rightly, who procures the greatest possible good to himself through the whole of his ex- istence; and so pursues pleasure as not to give for it more than it is worth.
HOT. That depends all upon opinion. Who shall judge what the pleasure is worth ? Suppose a pleasing form of the fair kind strikes me so much, that I can enjoy nothing without the enjoyment of that one ob- ject ; or, that pleasure in general is so favorite a mis- tress, that I \vill take her as men do their wives, for better, for worse; minding no consequences, nor re- garding what is to come. Why should I not do it ?
Phil. Suppose, Horatio, that a friend of yours entered into the world about two-and-twenty, with a healthful vigorous body, and a fair plentiful estate of about five hundred pounds a year ; and yet, before he had reach- ed thirty, should, by following his own pleasures, and not as you duly regarding consequences, have run out of his estate, and disabled his body to that degree, that he had neither the means nor capacity of enjoy- ment left, nor any thing else to do but wisely shoot himself through the head to be at rest; what would you say to this unfortunate man's conduct? Is it wrong by opinion or fancy only 1 Or is there really a right and wrong in the case? Is not one opinion of life and action juster than another? Or one sort of conduct preferable to another? Or does that miserable son of pleasure appear as reasonable and lovely a being in
48 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
your eyes, as a man who, by prudently and rightly gratifying his natural passions, had preserved his body in full health, and his estate entire, and enjoyed both to a good old age, and then died with a thankful heart for the good things he had received, and with an entire submission to the will of Him who first called him into being ? Say, Horatio, are these men equally wise and happy ? And is every thing to be measured by mere fancy and opinion, without considering whether that fancy or opinion be right ?
Har. Hardly so neither, I think; yet sure the wise and good Author of nature could never make us to plague us. He could never give us passions, on pur- pose to subdue and conquer them; nor produce this self of mine, or any other self, only that it may be denied; for that is denying the works of the great Creator himself. Self-denial, then, which is what I suppose you mean by prudence, seems to me not only absurd, but very dishonorable to that Supreme Wisdom and Goodness, which is supposed to make so ridiculous and contradictory a creature, that must be always fighting with himself in order to be at rest, and under- go voluntary hardships in order to be happy. Are we created sick, only to be commanded to be sound ? Are we born under one law, our passions, and yet bound to another, that of reason ? Answer me, Philocles, for I am warmly concerned for the honor of Nature, the mother of us all.
Phil. I find, Horatio, my two characters have af- frighted you ; so that you decline the trial of what is good, by reason ; and had rather make a bold attack upon Providence, the usual way of you gentlemen of fashion, who, when by living in defiance of the eternal rules of reason, you have plunged yourselves into a thousand difficulties, endeavour to make yourselves
MISCELLANEOUS. 49
easy by throwing the burden upon Nature. You are, Horatio, in a very miserable condition indeed ; for you say you cannot be happy if you control your passions ; and you feel yourself miserable by an unrestrained gra- tification of them ; so that here is evil, irremediable evil, either way.
Hor. That is very true ; at least it appears so to me. Pray what have you to say, Philocles, in honor of Nature or Providence ? Methinks I am in pain for her. How do you rescue her, poor lady ?
Phil. This, my dear Horatio, I have to say; that what you find fault with and clamor against, as the most terrible evil in the world, self-denial, is really the greatest good, and the highest self-gratification. If, in- deed, you use the word in the sense of some weak moralists, and much weaker divines, you will have just reason to laugh at it ; but if you take it, as under- stood by philosophers and men of sense, you will pres- ently see 'her charms, and fly to her embraces, not- withstanding her demure looks, as absolutely necessary to produce even your own darling sole good, pleasure ; for self-denial is never a duty, or a reasonable action, but as it is a natural means of procuring more pleasure than you can taste without it ; so that this grave, saint- like guide to happiness, as rough and dreadful as she has been made to appear, is in truth the kindest and most beautiful mistress in the world.
Hor. Prithee, Philocles, do not wrap yourself in allegory and metaphor. Why do you tease me thus ? I long to be satisfied, what is this philosophical self- denial, the necessity and reason of it ; I am impatient, and all on fire. Explain, therefore, in your beautiful, natural, easy way of reasoning, what I am to under- stand by this grave lady of yours, with so forbidding, downcast looks, and yet so absolutely necessary to
VOL. II. 7 E
50 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
my pleasures. I stand to embrace her, for, you know, pleasure I court under all shapes and forms.
Phil. Attend, then, and you will see. the reason of this philosophical self-denial. There can be no abso- lute perfection in any creature ; because every creature is derived from something of a superior existence, and dependent on that source for its own existence. No created being can be all-wise, all-good, and all-power- ful, because his powers and capacities are finite and limited ; consequently whatever is created must, in its own nature, be subject to error, irregularity, excess, and imperfectness. All intelligent, rational agents find hi themselves a power of judging what kind of beings they are, what actions are proper to preserve them, ' and what consequences will generally attend them, what pleasures they are for, and to what degree their natures are capable of receiving them. All we have to do then, Horatio, is to consider, when we are sur- prised with a new object, and passionately desire to enjoy it, whether the gratifying that passion be con- sistent with the gratifying other passions and appetites, equally if not more necessary to us ; and whether it consists with our happiness to-morrow, next week, or next year ; for, as we all wish to live, we are obliged by reason to take as much care for our future, as our present happiness, and not build one upon the ruins of the other. But if, through the strength and power of a present passion, and through want of attending to consequences, we have erred and exceeded the bounds which nature and reason have set us ; we are then, for our own sakes, to refrain, or deny ourselves a present momentary pleasure for a future, constant, and durable one. So that this philosophical self-denial is only refusing to do an action which you strongly desire, because it is inconsistent with health, convenience, or
MISCELLANEOUS. 51
circumstances in the world ; or, in other words, because it would cost you more than it was worth. You would lose by it, as a man of pleasure. Thus you see, Ho- ratio, that self-denial is not only the most reasonable, but the most pleasant thing in the world.
Hor. We are just coming into town, so that we cannot pursue this argument any farther at present; you have said a great deal for nature, Providence, and reason; happy are they who can follow such divine guides.
Phil. Horatio, good night ; I wish you wise in your pleasures.
Hor. I wish, Philocles, I could be as wise in my pleasures as you are pleasantly wise ; your wisdom is agreeable, your virtue is amiable, and your philosophy the highest luxury. Adieu, thou enchanting reasoner !
A SECOND DIALOGUE BETWEEN PHILOCLES AND HORA- TIO, CONCERNING VIRTUE AND PLEASURE.
FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, JULY 9, 1730.
Philocles. Dear Horatio, where hast thou been these three or four months'? What new adventures have you fallen upon since I met you in these delightful, all-inspiring fields, and wondered how such a pleasure- hunter as you could bear being alone 1
Horatio. O Philocles, thou best of friends, because a friend to reason and virtue, I am very glad to see you. Do not you remember, I told you then, that some misfortunes in my pleasures had sent me to philosophy for relief? But now I do assure you I can, without a sigh, leave other pleasures for those of phi- losophy ; I can hear the word reason mentioned, and
52 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
virtue praised, without laughing. Do not I bid fair for conversion, think you ?
Phil. Very fair, Horatio; for I remember the time when reason, virtue, and pleasure, were the same thing with you; when you counted nothing good but what pleased, nor any thing reasonable but what you gained by ; when you made a jest of mind, and the pleasures of reflection, and elegantly placed your sole happiness, like the rest of the animal creation, in the gratification of sense.
Hor. I did so; but in our last conversation, when walking upon the brow of this hill, and looking down on that broad, rapid river, and yon widely-extended, beautifully- varied plain, you taught me another doc- trine ; you showed me, that self-denial, which above all things I abhorred, was really the greatest good, and the highest self-gratification, and absolutely necessary to produce even my own darling sole good, pleasure.
Phil. True; I told you that self-denial was never a duty, but when it was a natural means of procuring more pleasure than we could taste without it ; that as we all strongly desire to live, and to live only to enjoy, we should take as much care about our future as our present happiness, and not build one upon the ruins of the other; that we should look to the end, and regard consequences ; and if, through want of attention we had erred, and exceeded the bounds which nature had set us, we were then obliged, for our own sakes, to refrain or deny ourselves a present momentary pleasure for a future, constant, and durable good.
Hor. You have shown, Philocles, that self-denial, which weak or interested men have rendered the most forbidding, is really the most delightful and amiable, the most reasonable and pleasant thing in the world. In a word, if I understand you aright, self-denial is,
MISCELLANEOUS. 53
in truth, self-recognising, self-acknowledging, or self- owning. But now, my friend, you are to perform another promise, and show me the path that leads up to that constant, durable, and invariable good, which I have heard you so beautifully describe, and which you seem so fully to possess. Is not this good of yours a mere chimera ? Can any thing be constant in a world which is eternally changing, and which appears to exist by an everlasting revolution of one thing into another, and where every thing without us, and every thing within us, is in perpetual motion ? What is this con- stant, durable good, then, of yours ? Prithee, satisfy my soul, for I am all on fire, and impatient to enjoy her. Produce this eternal blooming goddess with never-fading charms, and see whether I will not embrace her with as much eagerness and rapture as you.
Phil. You seem enthusiastically warm, Horatio; I will wrait till you are cool enough to attend to the sober, dispassionate voice of reason.
Hor. You mistake me, my dear Philocles ; my warmth is not so great as to run away with my reason ; it is only just raised enough to open my faculties, and fit them to receive those eternal truths, and that durable good, which you so triumphantly boasted of. Begin, then ; I am prepared.
Phil. I will. I believe, Horatio, with all your skep- ticism about you, you will allow that good to be con- stant which is never absent from you, and that to be durable which never ends but with your being.
Hor. Yes, go on.
Phil. That can never be the good of a creature, which when present, the creature may be miserable, and when absent, is certainly so.
Hor. I think not ; but pray explain what you mean ;
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for I am not much used to this abstract way of rea- soning.
Phil. I mean all the pleasures of sense. The good of man cannot consist in the mere pleasures of sense ; because, when any one of those objects which you love is absent, or cannot be come at, }ou are certainly miserable; and if the faculty be impaired, though the object be present, you cannot enjoy it. So that this sensual good depends upon a thousand things without and within you, and all out of your power. Can this then be the good of man? Say, Horatio, what think you, is not this a checkered, fleeting, fantastical good ? Can that, in any propriety of speech, be called the good of man which, even while he is tasting, he may be miserable ; and which when he cannot taste, he is necessarily so ? Can that be our good, which costs us a great deal of pains to obtain, which cloys in possess- ing, for which we must wait the return of appetite before we can enjoy again? Or is that our good, which we can come at without difficulty, which is heightened by possession, which never ends in weari- ness and disappointment, and which, the more we enjoy, the better qualified we are to enjoy on ?
HOT. The latter, I think ; but why do you torment me thus ? Philocles, show me this good immediately.
Phil. I have showed you what it is not; it is not sensual, but it is rational and moral good. It is doing all the good we can to others, by acts of humanity, friendship, generosity, and benevolence; this is that constant and durable good, which will afford content- ment and satisfaction always alike, without variation or diminution. I speak to your experience now, Ho- ratio. Did you ever find yourself weary of relieving the miserable ? or of raising the distressed into life or hap- piness ? Or rather, do not you find the pleasure grow
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upon you by repetition, and that it is greater in the reflection than in the act itself? Is there a pleasure upon earth to be compared with that whictf arises from the sense of making others happy ? Can this pleasure ever be absent, or ever end but with your being ? Does it not always accompany you ? Doth not it lie down and rise with you, live as long as you live, give you consolation in the hour of death, and remain with you when all other things are going to forsake you, or you them?
Hor. How glowingly you paint, Philocles. Methinks Horatio is amongst the enthusiasts. I feel the passion ; I am enchantingly convinced, but I do not know why ; overborne by something stronger than reason. Sure some divinity speaks within me. But prithee, Philo- cles, give me the cause, why this rational and moral good so infinitely excels the mere natural or sensual.
Phil. I think, Horatio, that I have clearly shown you the difference between merely natural or sensual good, and rational or moral good. Natural or sensual pleasure continues no longer than the action itself; but this divine or moral pleasure continues when the action is over, and swells and grows upon your hand by re- flection. The one is inconstant, unsatisfying, of short duration, and attended with numberless ills ; the other is constant, yields full satisfaction, is durable, and no evils preceding, accompanying, or following it. But if you inquire farther into the cause of this difference, and would know why the moral pleasures are greater than the sensual, perhaps the reason is the same as in all other creatures, that their happiness or chief good consists in acting up to their chief faculty, or that faculty which distinguishes them from all creatures of a different species. The chief faculty in man is his reason, and consequently his chief good, or that which
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may be justly called his good, consists not merely in action, but in reasonable action. By reasonable ac- tions, we understand those actions which are preserv- ative of the human kind, and naturally tend to produce real and unmixed happiness; and these actions, by way of distinction, we call actions morally good.
Hor. You speak very clearly, Philocles; but, that no difficulty may remain on my mind, pray tell me what is the real difference between natural good and evil, and moral good and evil? for I know several people who use the terms without ideas.
Phil. That may be. The difference lies only in this ; that natural good and evil are pleasure and pain ; moral good and evil are pleasure or pain produced with intention and design; for it is the intention only that makes the agent morally good or bad.
Hor. But may not a man, with a very good inten- tion, do an evil action ?
Phil. Yes ; but then he errs in his judgment, though his design be good. If his error is 'inevitable, or such as, all things considered, he could not help, he is in- culpable ; but, if it arose through want of diligence in forming his judgment about the nature of human ac- tions, he is immoral and culpable.
Hor. I find, then, that in order to please ourselves rightly, or to do good to others morally, we should take great care of our opinions.
Phil. Nothing concerns you more ; for, as the happi- ness or real good of men consists in right action, and right action cannot be produced without right opinion, it behoves us, above all things in this world, to take care that our own opinions of things be according to the nature of things. The foundation of all virtue and happiness is thinking rightly. He who sees an action is right, that is, naturally tending to good, and does it
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because of that tendency, he only is a moral man ; and he alone is capable of that constant, durable, and in- variable good, which has been the subject of this con- versation.
Hor. How, my dear philosophical guide, shall I be able to know, and determine certainly, what is right and wrong in life ?
Phil. As easily as you distinguish a circle from a square, or light from darkness. Look, Horatio, into the sacred book of nature ; read your own nature, and view the relation which other men stand in to you, and you to them, and you will immediately see what con- stitutes human happiness, and consequently what is right.
Hor. We are just coming into town, and can say no more at present. You are my good genius, Philo- cles. You have showed me what is good. You have redeemed me from the slavery and misery of folly and vice, and made me a free and happy being.
Phil. Then I am the happiest man hi the world. Be you steady, Horatio. Never depart from reason and virtue.
Hor. Sooner will I lose my existence. Good night, Philocles.
Phil. Adieu, dear Horatio !
PUBLIC MEN.
FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, SEPT. 3, 1730.
THE following is a dialogue between Socrates, the great Athenian philosopher, and one Glaucon, a private man, of mean abilities, but ambitious of being chosen a senator, and of governing the republic; wherein
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Socrates in a pleasant manner convinces him of his incapacity for public affairs, by making him sensible of his ignorance of the interests of his country in their several branches, and entirely dissuades him from any attempt of that nature. There is also added, at the end, part of another dialogue the same Socrates had with one Charmidas, a worthy man, but too modest, wherein he endeavours to persuade him to put himself forward and undertake public business, as being very capable of it. The whole is taken from Xenophon's Memorable Things of Socrates, Book Third.
"A certain man, whose name was Glaucon, the son of Ariston, had so fixed it in his mind to govern the republic, that he frequently presented himself before the people to discourse of affairs of state, though all the world laughed at him for it; nor was it in the power of his relations or friends to dissuade him from that design. But Socrates had a kindness for him, on account of Plato, his brother, and he only it was who made him change his resolution. He met him, and accosted him in so winning a manner, that he first obliged him to hearken to his discourse. He began with him thus ;
" ' You have a mind then to govern the republic 1 '
" ' I have so,' answered Glaucon.
" ' You cannot,' replied Socrates, ' have a more noble design; for if you can accomplish it so as to be- come absolute, you will be able to serve your friends, you will raise your family, you will extend the bounds of your country, you will be known, not only in Athens, but through all Greece, and perhaps your renown will fly even to the barbarous nations, as did that of The- mistocles. In short, wherever you come, you will have the respect and admiration of all the world.'
"These words soothed Glaucon, and won him to
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give ear to Socrates, who went on in this manner. ' But it is certain, that if you desire to be honored, you must be useful to the state.'
" * Certainly,' said Glaucon.
" ' And in the name of all the gods,' replied Socrates, 'tell me, what is the first service that you intend to render the state ? '
"Glaucon was considering what to answer, when Socrates continued. * If you design to make the for- tune of one of your friends, you will endeavour to make him rich, and thus perhaps you will make it your business to enrich the republic?'
" ' I would,' answered Glaucon.
" Socrates replied ; * Would not the way to enrich the republic be to increase its revenue ? '
" ' It is very likely it would,' answered Glaucon.
" ' Tell me then, in what consists the revenue of the state, and to how much it may amount? I presume you have particularly studied this matter, to the end that, if any thing should be lost on one hand, you might know where to make it good on another, and that, if a fund should fail on a sudden, you might immediately be able to settle another in its place ? '
" * I protest,' answered Glaucon, ' I have never thought of this.'
" ' Tell me at least the expenses of the republic, for no doubt you intend to retrench the superfluous ? '
" * I never thought of this either,' said Glaucon.
" ' You were best then to put off to another time your design of enriching the republic, which you can never be able to do while you are ignorant both of its ex- penses and revenue.'
" * There is another way to enrich a state,' said Glau- con, * of which you take no notice, and that is, by the ruin [spoils] of its enemies.'
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"'You are in the right/ answered Socrates; 'but to this end it is necessary to be stronger than they, otherwise we shall run the hazard of losing what we have. He, therefore, who talks of undertaking a war, ought to know the strength on both sides, to the end that if his party be the stronger he may boldly advise for war, and that if it be the weaker he may dissuade the people from engaging themselves in so dangerous an enterprise.'
"'All this is true.'
"'Tell me, then,' continued Socrates, 'how strong our forces are by sea and land, and how strong are our enemies.'
" ' Indeed,' said Glaucon, ' I cannot tell you on a sudden.'
" ' If you have a list of them in writing, pray show it me ; I should be glad to hear it read.'
" ' I have it not yet.'
" ' I see, then,' said Socrates, ' that we shall not en- gage in war so soon ; for the greatness of the under- taking will hinder you from maturely weighing all the consequences of it in the beginning of your govern- ment. But,' continued he, 'you have thought of the defence of the country ; you know what garrisons are necessary, and what are not ; you know what number of troops is sufficient in one, and not sufficient in another ; you will cause the necessary garrisons to be reinforced, and will disband those that are useless ? '
" ' I should be of opinion,' said Glaucon, ' to leave none of them on foot, because they ruin a country on pretence of defending it.'
" ' But,' Socrates objected, ' if all the garrisons were taken away, there would be nothing to hinder the first comer from carrying off what he pleased ; but how come you to know that the garrisons behave themselves
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so ill? Have you been upon the place? Have you seen them ? '
" < Not at all ; but I suspect it to be so.'
" ' When therefore we are certain of it,' said Socrates, ' and can speak upon better grounds than simple con- jectures, we will propose this advice to the senate.'
" ' It may be well to do so,' said Glaucon.
" « It comes into my mind, too,' continued Socrates, 'that you have never been at the mines of silver, to examine why they bring not in so much now as they,, did formerly.'
" ' You say true ; I have never been there.'
" ' Indeed they say the place is very unhealthy, and that may excuse you.'
" ' You rally me now,' said Glaucon.
" Socrates added, ' But I believe you have at least observed how much corn our lands produce, how long it will serve to supply our city, and how much more we shall want for the whole year; to the end you may not be surprised with a scarcity of bread, but may give timely orders for the necessary provisions.'
" ' There is a deal to do,' said Glaucon, ' if we must take care of all these things.'
" ( There is so,' replied Socrates ; * and it is even im- possible to manage our own families well, unless we know all that is wanting, and take care to provide it. As you see, therefore, that our city is composed of above ten thousand families, and it being a difficult task to watch over them all at once, why did you not first try to retrieve your uncle's affairs, which are running to decay? and after having given that proof of your in- dustry, you might have taken a greater trust upon you. But now, when you find yourself incapable of aiding a private man, how can you think of behaving yourself so as to be useful to a whole people ? Ought a man,
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who has not strength enough to carry a hundred pound weight, to undertake to carry a heavier burden ? '
" ' I would have done good service to my uncle,' said Glaucon, * if he would have taken my advice.'
"'How,' replied Socrates, 'have you not hitherto been able to govern the mind of your uncle, and do you now believe yourself able to govern the minds of all the Athenians, and his among the rest? Take heed, my dear Glaucon, take heed lest too great a desire of power should render you despised ; consider how dan- gerous it is to speak and entertain ourselves concerning things we do not understand ; what a figure do those forward and rash people make in the world who do so ; and judge yourself, whether they acquire more esteem than blame, whether they are more admired than contemned. Think, on the contrary, with how much more honor a man is regarded, who understands perfectly what he says and what he does, and then you will confess, that renown and applause have always been the recompense of true merit, and shame the reward of ignorance and temerity. If, therefore, you would be honored, endeavour to be a man of true merit; and, if you enter upon the government of the republic with a mind more sagacious than usual, I shall not wonder if you succeed in all your designs.' "
Thus Socrates put a stop to the disorderly ambition of this man ; but, on an occasion quite contrary, he in the following manner exhorted Charmidas to take an employment.
" He was a man of sense, and more deserving than most others in the same post; but, as he was of a modest disposition, he constantly declined, and made great difficulties of engaging himself in public business. Socrates therefore addressed himself to him in this manner ;
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" ' If you knew any man that could gain the prizes in the public games, and by that means render himself illustrious, and acquire glory to his country, what would you say of him if he refused to offer himself to the combat ? '
" ' I would say,' answered Charmidas, ' that he was a mean-spirited, effeminate fellow.'
" ' And if a man were capable of governing a republic, of increasing its power by his advice, and of raising himself by this means to a high degree of honor, would you not brand him likewise with meanness of soul, if he would not present himself to be employed ? '
" ' Perhaps I might,' said Charmidas ; * but why do you ask me this question?' Socrates replied, 'Be- cause you are capable of managing the affairs of the republic ; and nevertheless you avoid doing so, though hi quality of a citizen you are obliged to take care of the commonwealth. Be no longer then thus negli- gent in this matter; consider your abilities and your duty with more attention, and let not slip the occasions of serving the republic, and of rendering it, if possible, more flourishing than it is. This will be a blessing, whose influence will descend not only on the other citizens, but on your best friends and yourself.' "
SELF-DENIAL NOT THE ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, FEB. 18, 1734.
IT is commonly asserted, that without self-denial there is no virtue, and that the greater the self-denial the greater the virtue.
If it were said, that he who cannot deny himself any thing he inclines to, though he knows it will be to his
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hurt, has not the virtue of resolution or fortitude, it would be intelligible enough ; but, as it stands, it seems obscure or erroneous.
Let us consider some of the virtues singly.
If a man has no inclination to wrong people in his dealings, if he feels no temptation to it, and therefore never does it, can it be said that he is not a just man ? If he is a just man, has he not the virtue of justice ?
If to a certain man idle diversions have nothing in them that is tempting, and therefore he never relaxes his application to business for their sake, is he not an industrious man? Or has he not the virtue of industry ?
I might in like manner instance in all the rest of the virtues; but, to make the thing short, as it is certain that the more we strive against the temptation to any vice, and practise the contrary virtue, the weaker will that temptation be, and the stronger will be that habit, till at length the temptation has no force, or entirely vanishes; does it follow from thence, that in our endeavours to overcome vice we grow continually less and less virtuous, till at length we have no virtue at all?
I If self-denial be the essence of virtue, then it follows that the man, who is naturally temperate, just, &c., is not virtuous ; but that in order to be virtuous, he must, in spite of his natural inclination, wrong his neighbours, ind eat, and drink, &,c., to excess.
But perhaps it may be said, that by the word virtue in the above assertion, is meant merit ; and so it should stand thus ; Without self-denial there is no merit, and the greater the self-denial the greater the merit.
The self-denial here meant, must be when our in- clinations are towards vice, or else it would still be nonsense.
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By merit is understood desert; and, when we say a man merits, we mean that he deserves praise or reward.
We do not pretend to merit any thing of God, for he is above our services ; and the benefits he confers on us are the effects of his goodness and bounty. /
All our merit, then, is with regard to one another, " and from one to another.
Taking, then, the assertion as it last stands,
If a man does me a service from a natural benevolent inclination, does he deserve less of me than another, who does me the like kindness against his inclination ?
If I have two journeymen, one naturally industrious, the other idle, but both perform a day's work equally good, ought I to give the latter the most wages ?
Indeed lazy workmen are commonly observed to be more extravagant in their demands than the in- dustrious ; for, if they have not more for their work, they cannot live as well. But though it be true to a proverb, that lazy folks take the most pains, does it follow that they deserve the most money ?
If you were to employ servants in affairs of trust, would you not bid more for one you knew was naturally honest, than for one naturally roguish, but who has lately acted honestly ? For currents whose natural channel is dammed up, till the new course is by time worn sufficiently deep, and become natural, are apt to break their banks. If one servant is more valuable than another, has he not more merit than the other? and yet this is not on account of superior self-denial.
Is a patriot not praiseworthy, if public spirit is natural to him?
Is a pacing-horse less valuable for being a natural v/
pacer ?
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Nor, in my opinion, has any man less merit for having in general natural virtuous inclinations.
The truth is, that temperance, justice, charity, &c. are virtues, whether practised with, or against our in- clinations, and the man, who practises them, merits our love and esteem; and self-denial is neither good nor bad, but as it is applied. He that denies a vicious inclination, is virtuous in proportion to his resolution ; but the most perfect virtue is above all temptation; such as the virtue of the saints in heaven; and he, who does a foolish, indecent, or wicked thing, merely because it is contrary to his inclination (like some mad enthusiasts I have read of, who ran about naked, under the notion of taking up the cross), is not practising
the reasonable science of virtue, but is a lunatic.
• .
ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE MATHEMATICS.
FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, OCT. 30, 1735.
MATHEMATICS originally signifies any kind of dis- cipline or learning, but now it is taken for that science, which teaches or contemplates whatever is capable of being numbered or measured. That part of the mathematics, which relates to numbers only, is called arithmetic ; and that, which is concerned about measure in general, whether length, breadth, motion, force, £,c., is called geometry.
As to the usefulness of arithmetic, it is well known, that no business, commerce, trade, or employment whatsoever, even from the merchant to the shopkeeper, &c., can be managed and carried on without the assist- ance of numbers ; for by these the trader computes the value of all sorts of goods that he dealeth in, does his
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business with ease and certainty, and informs himself how matters stand at any time with respect to men, money, or merchandise, to profit and loss, whether he goes forward or backward, grows richer or poorer. Neither is this science only useful to the merchant, but is reckoned the primum mobile (or first mover) of all mundane affairs in general, and is useful for all sorts and degrees of men, from the highest to the lowest.
As to the usefulness of geometry, it is as certain that no curious art, or mechanic work, can either be invented, improved, or performed, without its assisting principles.
It is owing to this, that astronomers are put into a way of making their observations, coming at the know- ledge of the extent of the heavens, the duration of time, the motions, magnitudes, and distances of the heavenly bodies, their situations, positions, risings, settings, aspects, and eclipses; also the measure of seasons, of years, and of ages.
It is by the assistance of this science, that geogra- phers present to our view at once the magnitude and form of the whole earth, the vast extent of the seas, the divisions of empires, kingdoms, and provinces.
It is by the help of geometry the ingenious mariner is instructed how to guide a ship through the vast ocean, from one part of the earth to another, the nearest and safest way, and in the shortest time.
By help of this science the architects take their just measures for the structure of buildings, as private houses, churches, palaces, ships, fortifications, &,c.
By its help engineers conduct all their works, take the situation and plan of towns, forts, and castles, measure their distances from one another, and carry their measures into places that are only accessible to the eye.
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From hence also is deduced that admirable art of drawing sun-dials on any plane howsoever situate, and for any part of the world, to point out the exact time of the day, sun's declination, altitude, amplitude, azi- muth, and other astronomical matters.
By geometry the surveyor is directed how to draw a map of any country, to divide his lands, and to lay down and plot any piece of ground, and thereby discover the area in acres, rods, and perches ; the ganger is instructed how to find the capacities or solid contents of all kinds of vessels, in barrels, gallons, bushels, &c. ; and the measurer is furnished with rules for finding the areas and contents of superficies and solids, and casting up all manner of workmanship. All these, and many more useful arts, too many to be enumerated here, wholly depend upon the aforesaid sciences, viz. arithmetic and geometry.
This science is descended from the infancy of the world, the inventors of which were the first propa- gators of human kind, as Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and divers others.
There has not been any science so much esteemed and honored as this of the mathematics, nor with so much industry and vigilance become the care of great men, and labored in by the potentates of the world, viz. emperors, kings, princes, &,c.
Mathematical demonstrations are a logic of as much or more use, than that commonly learned at schools, serving to a just formation of the mind, enlarging its capacity, and strengthening it so as to render the same capable of exact reasoning, and discerning truth from falsehood in all occurrences, even subjects not mathe- matical. For which reason it is said, the Egyptians, Persians, and Lacedaemonians seldom elected any new kings, but such as had some knowledge in the mathe-
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matics, imagining those, who had not, men of imperfect judgments, and unfit to rule and govern.
Though Plato's censure, that those who did not understand the 117th proposition of the 13th book of Euclid's Elements, ought not to be ranked amongst rational creatures, was unreasonable and unjust; yet to give a man the character of universal learning, who is destitute of a competent knowledge in the mathe- matics, is no less so.
The usefulness of some particular parts of the mathe- matics, in the common affairs of human life, has ren- dered some knowledge of them very necessary to a great part of mankind, and very convenient to all the rest, that are any way conversant beyond the limits of their own particular callings.
Those whom necessity has obliged to get their bread by manual industry, where some degree of art is re- quired to go along with it, and who have had some insight into these studies, have very often found ad- vantages from them sufficient to reward the pains they were at hi acquiring them. And whatever may have been imputed to some other studies, under the notion of insignificancy and loss of time, yet these, I believe, never caused repentance in any, except it was for their remissness in the prosecution of them.
Philosophers do generally affirm that human know- ledge to be most excellent, which is conversant amongst the most excellent things. What science then can there be more noble, more excellent, more useful for men, more admirably high and demonstrative, than this of the mathematics ?
I shall conclude with what Plato says, in the seventh book of his Republic, with regard to the excellence, and usefulness of geometry, being to this purpose ;
" Dear friend ; you see then that mathematics are
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necessary, because, by the exactness of the method, we get a habit of using our minds to the best advan- tage. And it is remarkable, that, all men being capable by nature to reason and understand the sciences, the less acute, by studying this, though useless to them in every other respect, will gain this advantage, that their minds will be improved in reasoning aright; for no study employs it more, nor makes it susceptible of attention so much; and those, who we find have a mind worth cultivating, ought to apply themselves to this study."
ON TRUE HAPPINESS.
FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, NOV. 20, 1735.
THE desire of happiness in general is so natural to us, that all the world are in pursuit of it ; all have this one end hi view, though they take such different methods to attain it, and are so much divided in their notions of it.
Evil, as evil, can never be chosen ; and, though evil is often the effect of our own choice, yet we never desire it, but under the appearance of an imaginary good.
Many things we indulge ourselves in may be con- sidered by us as evils, and yet be desirable ; but then they are only considered as evils in their effects and consequences, not as evils at present, and attended wiih immediate misery.
^Reason represents things to us, not only as they are at present, but as they are in their whole nature and tendency; passion only regards them in their former light. J When this governs us, we are regardless
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of the future, and are only affected with the present. It is impossible ever to enjoy ourselves rightly, if our conduct be not such as to preserve the harmony and order of our faculties, and the original frame and constitution of our minds ; all true happiness^ jis all that is truly beautiful, can only result from order.
Whilst there is a conflict betwixt the two principles of passion and reason, we must be miserable in pro- portion to the struggle; and when the victory is gamed, and reason so far subdued as seldom to trouble us with its remonstrances, the happiness we have then is not the happiness of our rational nature, but the happiness only of the inferior and sensual part of us, and consequently a very low and imperfect happiness, to what the other would have afforded us.
If we reflect upon any one passion and disposition of mind, abstract from virtue, we shall soon see the disconnexion between that and true, solid happiness. It is of the very essence, for instance, of envy to be uneasy and disquieted. Pride meets with provocations and disturbances upon almost every occasion. Covet- ousness is ever attended with solicitude and anxiety. Ambition has its disappointments to sour us, but never the good fortune to satisfy us; its appetite grows the keener by indulgence, and all we can gratify it with at present serves but the more to inflame its insatia- ble desires.
The passions, by being too much conversant with earthly objects, can never fix in us a proper composure and acquiescence of mind, f Nothing but an indiffer- ence to the things of this world, an entire submission to the will of Providence here, and a well-grounded expectation of happiness hereafter, can give us a true satisfactory enjoyment of ourselves. J Virtue is the best guard against the many unavoidable evils incident to
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us; nothing better alleviates the weight of the afflic- tions, or gives a truer relish of the blessings, of human life.
What is without us has not the least connexion with happiness, only so far as the preservation of our lives and health depends upon it. Health of body, though so far necessary that we cannot be perfectly happy without it, is not sufficient to make us happy of itself. Happiness springs immediately from the mind ; health is but to be considered as a condition or cir- cumstance, without which this happiness cannot be tasted pure and unabated.
Virtue is the best preservative of health, as it pre- scribes temperance, and such a regulation of our pas- sions as is most conducive to the well-being of the animal economy; so that it is, at the same time, the only true" happiness of the mind, and the best means of preserving the health of the body.
If our desires are to the things of this world, they are never to be satisfied. If our great view is upon those of the next, the expectation of them is an in- finitely higher satisfaction than the enjoyment of those of the present.
There is no happiness, then, but in a virtuous and self-approving conduct. Unless our actions will bear the test of our sober judgments and reflections upon them, they are not the actions, and consequently not the happiness, of a rational being.
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ON DISCOVERIES.
FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, OCT. 14, 1736.
THE world but a few ages since was in a very poor condition, as to trade and navigation ; nor indeed were they much better in other matters of useful knowledge. It was a green-headed time ; every useful improvement was hid from them; they had neither looked into heaven nor earth, into the sea nor land, as has been done since. They had philosophy without experiments, mathematics without instruments, geometry without scale, astronomy without demonstration.
They made war without powder, shot, cannon, or mortars; nay, the mob made their bonfires without squibs or crackers. They went to sea without com- pass, and sailed without the needle. They viewed the stars without telescopes, and .measured latitudes without observation. Learning had no printing-press, writing no paper, and paper no ink. The lover was forced to send his mistress a deal board for a love-letter, and a billet-doux might be about the size of an ordinary trencher. They were clothed without manufacture, and their richest robes were the skins of the most formidable monsters. They carried on trade without books, and correspondence without posts; their mer- chants kept no accounts, their shopkeepers no cash- books; they had surgery without anatomy, and phy- sicians without the materia medica ; they gave emetics without ipecacuanha, drew blisters without cantharides, and cured agues without the bark.
*As for geographical discoveries, they had neither seen the North Cape, nor the Cape of Good Hope south. All the discovered inhabited world, which they knew and conversed with, was circumscribed within
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very narrow limits, viz. France, Britain, Spain, Italy, Germany, and Greece ; the lesser Asia, the west part of Persia, Arabia, the north parts of Africa, and the islands of the Mediterranean sea, and this was the whole world to them; not that even these countries were fully known either, and several parts of them not inquired into at all. Germany was known little further than the banks of the Elbe; Poland as little beyond the Vistula, or Hungary as little beyond the Danube ; Muscovy or Russia perfectly unknown, as much as China beyond it ; and India only by a little commerce upon the coast, about Surat and Malabar. Africa had been more unknown, but by the ruin of the Cartha- ginians ; all the western coast of it was sunk out of knowledge again, and forgotten ; the northern coast of Africa, in the Mediterranean, remained known, and that was all ; for the Saracens overrunning the nations which were planted there, ruined commerce, as well as religion. The Baltic sea was not discovered, nor even the navigation of it known; for the Teutonic knights came not thither till the thirteenth century.
America was not heard of, nor so much as a sug- gestion in the minds of men that any part of the world lay that way. The coasts of Greenland, or Spits- bergen, and the whale-fishing, not known; the best navigators in the world, at that time, would have fled from a whale, with much more fright and horror, than from the Devil, in the most terrible shapes they had been told he appeared in.
The coasts of Angola, Congo, the Gold and the Grain coasts, on the west side of Africa, whence, since that time, such immense wealth has been drawn, not discovered, nor the least inquiry made after them. All the East India and China trade, not only undiscovered, but out of the reach of expectation ! Coffee and tea
MISCELLANEOUS. 75
(those modern blessings of mankind) had never been heard of. All the unbounded ocean, we now call the South Sea, was hid and unknown. All the Atlantic ocean beyond the mouth of the Straits, was frightful and terrible in the distant prospect, nor durst any one peep into it, otherwise than as they might creep along the coast of Africa, towards Sallee, or Santa Cruz. The North Sea was hid in a veil of impenetrable darkness. The White Sea, or Archangel, was a very modern discovery ; not found out till Sir Hugh Wil- loughby doubled the North Cape, and paid dear for the adventure, being frozen to death with all his crew, on the coast of Lapland; while his companions' ship, with the famous Mr. Chancellor, went on to the gulf of Russia, called the White Sea, where no Christian strangers had ever been before him.
In these narrow circumstances stood the world's knowledge at the beginning of the fifteenth century, when men of genius began to look abroad, and about them. Now, as it was wonderful to see a world so full of people, and people so capable of improving, yet so stupid and so blind, so ignorant and so perfectly un- improved ; it was wonderful to see, with what a general alacrity they took the alarm, almost all together, pre- paring themselves as it were on a sudden, by a general inspiration, to spread knowledge through the earth, and to search into every thing that it was possible to un- cover.
How surprising is it to look back, so little a way behind us, and see, that even in less than two hundred years, all this (now so self-wise) part of the world did not so much as know whether there was any such place as a Russia, a China, a Guinea, a Greenland, or a North Cape! That as to America, it was never
76 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
supposed there was any such place; neither had the world, though they stood upon the shoulders of four thousand years' experience, the least thought, so much as that there was any land that way ! *
As they were ignorant of places, so of things also ; so vast are the improvements of science, that all our knowledge of mathematics, of nature, of the brightest part of human wisdom, had their admission among us within these two last centuries.
What was the world, then, before? And to what were the heads and hands of mankind applied 1 The rich had no commerce, the poor no employment; war and the sword was the great field of honor, the stage of preferment ; and you have scarce a man eminent in the world for any thing, before that tune, but for a furious, outrageous falling upon his fellow-creatures, like Nimrod, and his successors of modern memory.
The world is now daily increasing in experimental knowledge ; and let no man flatter the age, with pre- tending we have arrived at a perfection of discoveries.
What's now discovered, only serves to show, That nothing 's known, to what is yet to know.
* Scandinavian literature was less known when this was written than at present The learned suppose, that the Icelandic SAGAS have thrown new light upon the history of early discoveries, and that there is good evidence for believing that the American continent was known to the Norwegians more than four hundred years before the birth of Colum- bus. — See WHEATON'S History of the Northmen, Chap. II. The best opportunity was afforded to Mr. Wheaton, during his residence in a public capacity at Copenhagen, of ascertaining the genuineness and authenticity of these ancient records, and he appears to place full con- fidence in them. His opinion is, however, that " the illustrious Genoese " could not have had the slightest knowledge of the discoveries of those northern adventurers, and that the colony begun by them was probably cut off at an early period, in the same manner a3 the first establish- ments in Greenland. — EDITOR.
MISCELLANEOUS. 77
THE WASTE OF LIFE.
FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, NOV. 18, 1736.
AISTERGUS was a gentleman of a good estate; he was bred to no business, and could not contrive how to waste his hours agreeably; he had no relish for any of the proper, works of life, nor any taste at all for the improvements of the mind ; he spent generally ten hours of the four-and-twenty in his bed; he dozed away two or three more on his couch, and as many were dissolved in good liquor every evening, if he met with company of his own humor. Five or six of the rest he sauntered away with much indolence ; the chief business of them was to contrive his meals, and to feed his fancy beforehand with the promise of a dinner and supper ; not that he was so absolute a glutton, or so entirely devoted to appetite; but, chiefly because he knew not how to employ his thoughts better, he let them rove about the sustenance of his body. Thus he had made a shift to wear off ten years since the paternal estate fell into his hands; and yet, according to the abuse of words in our day, he was called a man of virtue, because he was scarce ever known to be quite drunk, nor was his nature much inclined to lewdness.
One evening, as he was musing alone, his thoughts happened to take a most unusual turn, for they cast a glance backward, and began to reflect on his manner of life. He bethought himself what a number of living beings had been made a sacrifice to support his car- cass, and how much corn and wine had been mingled with those offerings. He had not quite lost all the arithmetic that he had learned when he was a boy,
G*
78 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
and he set himself to compute what he had devoured since he came to the age of man.
"About a dozen of feathered creatures, small and great, have, one week with another," said he, " given up their lives to prolong mine, which in ten years amounts to at least six thousand.
"Fifty sheep have been sacrificed in a year, with half a hecatomb of black cattle, that I might have the choicest part offered weekly upon my table. Thus a thousand beasts out of the flock and the herd have been slain in ten years' time to feed me, besides what the forest has supplied me with. Many hundreds of fishes have, in all their varieties, been robbed of life for my repast, and of the smaller fry as many thou- sands.
"A measure of corn would hardly afford me fine flour enough for a month's provision, and this arises to above six score bushels; and many hogsheads of ale and wine, and other liquors, have passed through this body of mine, this wretched strainer of meat and drink.
"And what have I done all this time for God or man ? What a vast profusion of good things upon a useless life, and a worthless liver! There is not the meanest creature among all these which I have de- voured, but hath answered the end of its creation better than I. It was made to support human nature, and it hath done so. Every crab and oyster I have eat, and every grain of corn I have devoured, hath filled up its place in the rank of beings with more pro- priety and honor than I have done. O shameful waste of life and time ! "
In short, he carried on his moral reflections with so just and severe a force of reason, as constrained him to change his whole course of life, to break off hi?
MISCELLANEOUS. 79
follies at once, and to apply himself to gain some useful knowledge, when he was more than thirty years of age. He lived many following years, with the char- acter of a worthy man and an excellent Christian; he performed the kind offices of a good neighbour at home, and made a shining figure as a patriot in the senate-house ; he died with a peaceful conscience, and the tears of his country were dropped upon his tomb.
The world, that knew the whole series of his life, stood amazed at the mighty change. They beheld him as a wonder of reformation, while he himself confessed and adored the Divine power and mercy, which had transformed him from a brute to a man.
But this was a single instance ; and we may almost venture to write MIRACLE upon it. Are there not num- bers of both sexes among our young gentry, in this degenerate age, whose lives thus run to utter waste, without the least tendency to usefulness?
When I meet with persons of such a worthless character as this, it brings to my mind some scraps of Horace ;
" Nos numerus sumus, et fruges consumere nati,
Alcinoique
juventus,
Cui pulchrum fuit in medios dormire dies," &c.
PARAPHRASE.
There are a number of us creep Into this world, to eat and sleep ; And know no reason why they're born, But merely to consume the corn, Devour the cattle, fowl, and fish, And leave behind an empty dish. Though crows and ravens do the same, Unlucky birds of hateful name, Ravens or crows might fill their places, And swallow corn and eat carcases.
80 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
Then, if their tomb-stone, when they die, Be n't taught to flatter and to lie, There's nothing better will be said, Than that they 've eat up all their bread, Drunk all their drink, and gone to bed.
There are other fragments of that heathen poet, which occur on such occasions ; one in the first of his Satires, the other in the last of his Epistles, which seem to represent life only as a season of luxury.
. . " Exacto contentus tempore vitse Cedat, uti conviva satur." " Lusisti satis, edisti satis, atque bibisti ; Tempus abire tibi est."
WTiich may be thus put into English.
Life's but a feast; and when we die, Horace would say, if he were by, " Friend, thou hast eat and drunk enough, 'Tis time now to be marching off; Then like a well-fed guest depart, With cheerful looks, and ease at heart; Bid all your friends good night, and say, You 've done the business of the day."
NECESSARY HINTS TO THOSE THAT WOULD BE RICH.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1736.
THE use of money is all the advantage there is in having money.
For six pounds a year you may have the use of one hundred pounds, provided you are a man of known prudence and honesty.
He that spends a groat a day idly, spends idly above six pounds a year, which is the price for the use of one hundred pounds.
MISCELLANEOUS. 81
He that wastes idly a groat's worth of his time per day, one day with another, wastes the privilege of using one hundred pounds each day.
He that idly loses five shillings' worth of time, loses five shillings, and might as prudently throw five shil- lings into the sea.
He that loses five shillings, not only loses that sum, but all the advantage that might be made by turning it in dealing, which, by the tune that a young man becomes old, will amount to a considerable sum of money.
Again ; he that sells upon credit, asks a price for what he sells equivalent to the principal and interest of his money for the time he is to be kept out of it ; therefore he that buys upon credit, pays interest for what he buys, and he that pays ready money, might let that money out to use; so that he that possesses any thing he has bought, pays interest for the use of it.
Yet, in buying goods, it is best to pay ready money, because he that sells upon credit, expects to lose five per cent by bad debts ; therefore he charges, on all he sells upon credit, an advance that shall make up that deficiency.
Those who pay for what they buy upon credit, pay their share of this advance.
He that pays ready money, escapes, or may escape, that charge.
A penny saved is two pence clear, A pin a day 's a groat a year.
VOL. II. 11
82 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
THE WAY TO MAKE MONEY PLENTY IN EVERY MAN'S POCKET.*
AT this time, when the general complaint is that "money is scarce," it will be an act of kindness to inform the moneyless how they may reinforce their pockets. I will acquaint them with the true secret of money-catching, the certain way to fill empty purses, and how to keep them always full. Two simple rules, well observed, will do the business.
First, let honesty and industry be thy constant com- panions; and
Secondly, spend one penny less than thy clear gains.
Then shall thy hide-bound pocket soon begin to thrive, and will never again cry with the empty belly- ache; neither will creditors insult thee, nor want op- press, nor hunger bite, nor nakedness freeze thee. The whole hemisphere will shine brighter, and pleasure spring up in every corner of thy heart. Now, there- fore, embrace these rules and be happy. Banish the bleak winds of sorrow from thy mind, and live inde- pendent. Then shalt thou be a man, and not hide thy face at the approach of the rich, nor suffer the pain of feeling little when the sons of fortune walk at thy right hand; for independency, whether with little or much, is good fortune, and placeth thee on even ground with the proudest of the golden fleece. Oh, then, be wise, and let industry walk with thee in the morning, and attend thee until thou reachest the evening hour
* A gentleman, who was a particular friend of Dr. Franklin, and much used to his style of writing and conversation, has expressed a belief to the Editor, that this piece was not from his pen. The internal evidence is certainly but little in its favor, and it is retained here chiefly because it is comprized in the edition published by his grandson, although there is no proof that he had any positive authority for adopting it. — EDITOR.
MISCELLANEOUS. 83
for rest. Let honesty be as the breath of thy soul, and never forget to have a penny when all thy ex- penses are enumerated and paid ; then shalt thou reach the point of happiness, and independence shall be thy shield and buckler, thy helmet and crown ; then shall thy soul walk upright, nor stoop to the silken wretch because he hath riches, nor pocket an abuse because the hand which offers it wears a ring set with dia- monds.
RIVALSHIP IN ALMANAC-MAKING. FROM POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC, 1742.
COURTEOUS READER,
THIS is the ninth year of my endeavours to serve thee in the capacity of a calendar-writer. The en- couragement I have met with must be ascribed, in a great measure, to your charity, excited by the open, honest declaration I made of my poverty at my first appearance. This my brother Philomaths could, with- out being conjurers, discover ; and Poor Richard's suc- cess has produced ye a Poor Will, and a Poor Robin ; and no doubt Poor John, &c. will follow, and we shall all be, in name, what some folks say we are already in fact, a parcel of poor almanac-makers. During the course of these nine years, what buffetings have I not sustained ! The fraternity have been all in arms. Honest Titan, deceased, was raised, and made to abuse his old friend. Both authors and printers were angry. Hard names, and many, were bestowed on me. They de- nied me to be the author of my own works ; declared there never was any such person ; asserted that I was dead sixty years ago; prognosticated my death to happen
84 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
within a twelvemonth ; with many other malicious in- consistencies, the effects of blind passion, envy at my success, and a vain hope of depriving me, dear reader, of thy wonted countenance and favor. WJio knows him 1 they cry ; where does he live 1 But what is that to them ? If I delight in a private life, have they any right to drag me out of my retirement? I have good reasons for concealing the place of my abode. It is time for an old man, as I am, to think of preparing for his great remove. The perpetual teasing of both neigh- bours and strangers to calculate nativities, give judg- ments on schemes, and erect figures, discover thieves, detect horse-stealers, describe the route of runaways and strayed cattle ; the crowd of visiters with a thou- sand trifling questions, Will my ship return safe ?• Will my mare win the race 1 Will her next colt be a pacer ? When will my wife die 1 Who shall be my husband ? and HOW LONG first? When is the best time to cut hair, trim cocks, or sow sallad ? these and the like impertinences I have now neither taste nor leisure for. I have had enough of them. All that these angry folks can say, will never provoke me to tell them where I live ; I would eat my nails first.
My last adversary is /. / n, Philomat., who de- clares and protests (in his preface, 1741), that the false prophecy put in my Jllmanac, concerning him, the year before, is altogether false and untrue, and that I am one of Baal's false prophets. This false, false prophecy he speaks of related to his reconciliation with the church of Rome ; which, notwithstanding his declaring and protesting, is, I fear, too true. Two things in his elegiac verses confirm me in this suspicion. He calls the first of November Jill-Hallows Day. Reader, does not this smell of Popery ? Does it in the least savour of the pure language of Friends? But the plainest
MISCELLANEOUS. 85
thing is his adoration of saints, which he confesses to be his practice, in these words, page 4,
" When any trouble did me befall, To my dear Mary then I would call."
Did he think the whole world \vere so stupid as not to take notice of this? So ignorant as not to know, that all Catholics pay the highest regard to the Virgin Mary? Ah, friend John, we must allow you to be a poet, but you are certainly no Protestant. I could heartily wish your religion were as good as your verses.
RICHARD SAUNDERS.*
* Some parts of this humorous Piece will be explained by the follow- ing address, contained in Poor Richard's Jttmanac for the year 1736. " LOVING READERS,
" Ycur kind acceptance of my former labors has encouraged me to continue writing, though the general approbation you have been so good as to favor me with has excited the envy of some, and drawn upon me the malice of others. These ill-willers of mine, despited at the great reputation I gained by exactly predicting another man's death, have en- deavoured to deprive me of it all at once in the most effectual manner, by reporting that I myself was never alive. They say in short, Tliat there is no such man as I am; and have spread this notion so thoroughly in the country, that I have been frequently told it to my face by those that don't know me. This is not civil treatment, to endeavour to deprive me of my very being, and reduce me to a nonentity hi the opinion of the public. But so long as I know myself to walk about, eat, drink, and sleep, I am satisfied that there is really such a man as I am, whatever they may say to the contrary. And the world may be satisfied likewise ; for if there were no such man as I am, how is it possible I should ap- pear publicly to hundreds of people, as I have done for several years past, in print? I need not, indeed, have taken any notice of so idle a report, if it had not been for the sake of my printer, to whom my enemies are pleased to ascribe my productions ; and who, it seems, is as unwilling to father my offspring, as I am to lose the credit of it. Therefore to clear him entirely, as well as to vindicate my own honor, I make this public and serious declaration, which I desire may be believed, to wit, that what 1 have ivritten heretofore, and do now write, neither was nor is written by any other man or men, person or persons, ichntsoever. Those who are not satis- fied with this, must needs be very unreasonable.
" My performance for this year follows. It submits itself, kind reader, to thy censure, but hopes for thy candor to forgive its faults It devotes VOL. II. H
86
FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
RULES OF HEALTH. FROM POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC, 1742.
EAT and drink such an exact quantity as the con- stitution of thy body allows of, in reference to the services of the mind.
They that study much, ought not to eat so much as those that work hard, their digestion bein- not so good.
The exact quantity and quality, being found out, is to be kept to constantly.
Excess in all other things whatever, as weU as in meat and drink, is also to be avoided.
Youth, age, and the sick, require a different quantity.
And so do those of contrary complexions; for that which is too much for a phlegmatic man, is not suffi- cient for a choleric.
The measure of food ought to be (as much as pos- bly may be) exactly proportionable to the quality and condition of the stomach, because the stomach digests it.
That quantity that is sufficient, the stomach can perfectly concoct and digest, and it sufficeth the due nourishment of the body.
A greater quantity of some things may be eaten
itself entirely to thy service, and will serve thee
And if it has enough f^ the R. SAUNDERS."
it f t 8OTt' SeaS°ned by a Httle humor> M always,
B true of the most refined quality, but suited to the general taste of the tomes,) that he won the attention of his readers, and^prepa ed , em to listen with approbation to the graver counsels of wisdom, and le ons of economy and V1rtue, which abounded in Poor Richar(f ™
gained for it an unprecedented circulation. — EDITOR.
MISCELLANEOUS. 87
than of others, some being of lighter digestion than others.
The difficulty lies in finding out an exact measure ; but eat for necessity, not pleasure ; for lust knows not where necessity ends.
Wouldst thou enjoy a long life, a healthy body, and a vigorous mind, and be acquainted also with the wonderful works of God, labor in the first place to bring thy appetite to reason.
ADVICE TO A YOUNG TRADESMAN.
WRITTEN IN THE TEAR 1748.
To MY FRIEND, A. B.
As you have desired it of me, I write the following hints, which have been of service to me, and may, if observed, be so to you.
Remember, that time is money. He that can earn ten shillings a day by his labor, and goes abroad, or sits idle, one half of that day, though he spends but sixpence during his diversion or idleness, ought not to reckon that the only expense ; he has really spent, or rather thrown away, five shillings besides.
Remember, that credit is money. If a man lets his money lie in my hands after it is due, he gives me the interest, or so much as I can make of it during that time. This amounts to a considerable sum where a man has good and large credit, and makes good use of it.
Remember, that money is of the prolific, generating nature. Money can beget money, and its offspring can beget more, and so on. Five shillings turned is six, turned again it is seven and three-pence, and so on
88 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
till it becomes an hundred pounds. The more there is of it, the more it produces every turning, so that the profits rise quicker and quicker. He that kills a breeding sow, destroys all her offspring to the thou- sandth generation. He that murders a crown, destroys all that it might have produced, even scores of pounds.
Remember, that six pounds a year is but a groat a day. For this little sum (which may be daily wasted either in time or expense unperceived) a man of credit may, on his own security, have the constant possession and use of an hundred pounds. So much in stock, briskly turned by an industrious man, produces great advantage.
Remember this saying, The good paymaster is lord of another man's purse. He that is known to pay punctually and exactly to the time he promises, may at any time, and on any occasion, raise all the money his friends can spare. This is sometimes of great use. After industry and frugality, nothing contributes more to the raising of a young man in .the world than punc- tuality and justice in all his dealings; therefore never keep borrowed money an hour beyond the time you promised, lest a disappointment shut up your friend's purse for ever.
The most trifling actions that affect a man's credit are to be regarded. The sound of your hammer at five in the morning, or nine at night, heard by a cred- itor, makes him easy six months longer; but, if he sees you at a billiard-table, or hears your voice at a tavern, when you should be at work, he sends for his money the next day; demands it, before he can re- ceive it, in a lump.
It shows, besides, that you are mindful of what you owe; it makes you appear a careful as well as an honest man, and that still increases your credit.
MISCELLANEOUS. 89
Beware of thinking all your cwn that you possess, and of living accordingly. It is a mistake that many people who have credit fall into. To prevent this, keep an exact account for some time, both of your expenses and your income. If you take the pains at first to mention particulars, it will have this good effect; you will discover how wonderfully small, trifling ex- penses mount up to large sums, and will discern what might have been, and may for the future be saved, without occasioning any great inconvenience.
In short, the way to wealth, if you desire it, is as plain as the way to market. It depends chiefly on two words, industry and fiiigality ; that is, waste neither time nor money, but make the best use of both. Without industry and frugality nothing will do, and with them every thing. He that gets all he can hon- estly, and saves all he gets (necessary expenses ex- cepted), will certainly become rich, if that Being who governs the world, to whom all should look for a blessing on their honest endeavours, doth not, in his wise providence, otherwise determine.
AN. OLD TRADESMAN.
PLAN FOR SAVING ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. FROM POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC, 1756.
As I spent some weeks last winter in visiting my old acquaintance in the Jerseys, great complaints I heard for want of money, and that leave to make more paper bills could not be obtained. Friends and Coun- trymen ; my advice on this head shall cost you nothing ; and, if you will not be angry with me for giving it, I promise you not to be offended if you do not take it.
VOL. II. 12 H*
90 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
You spend yearly at least two hundred thousand pounds, it is said, in European, East-Indian, and West- Indian commodities. Supposing one half of this ex- pense to be in things absolutely necessary, the other half may be called superfluities, or, at best, conven- iences, which, however, you might live without for one little year, and not suffer exceedingly. Now, to save this half, observe these few directions.
1. When you incline to have new clothes, look first well over the old ones, and see if you cannot shift with them another year, either by scouring, mending, or even patching if necessary. Remember, a patch on your coat, and money in your pocket, is better and more creditable, than a writ on your back, and no money to take it off.
2. When you incline to buy China ware, chintzes, India silks, or any other of their flimsy, slight manufac- tures, I would not be so hard with you, as to insist on your absolutely resolving against it ; all I advise is, to put it off (as you do your repentance) till another year; and this, in some respects, may prevent an occasion of repentance.
3. If you are now a drinker of punch, wine, or tea, twice a day, for the ensuing year drink them but once a day. If you now drink them but once a day, do it but every other day. If you do it now but once a week, reduce the practice to once a fortnight. And, if you do not exceed in quantity as you lessen the times, half your expense in these articles will be saved.
4. When you incline to drink rum, fill the glass half with water.
Thus at the year's end, there will be a hundred thousand pounds more money m your country.
If paper money hi ever so great a quantity could be made, no man could get any of it without giving some-
MISCELLANEOUS. 91
thing for it. But all he saves in this way, will be his own for nothing, and his country actually so much richer. Then the merchants' old and doubtful debts may be honestly paid off, and trading become surer thereafter, if not so extensive.*
* The humor and quaintness of POOR RICHARD sometimes appeared in the advertisements, setting forth the contents of his Almanacs. The following is from The Pennsylvania Gazette, November 6th, 1755.
" Next week will be published, and sold by the printers hereof, POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC for 1756, containing, besides the usual astronomical calculations, a variety of useful and entertaining observations ; viz. How Pennsylvania may save three millions two hundred and eighty thousand pounds in seven years, of which every farmer may, if he pleases, have his share ; the praises of astronomy ; the praises of religion ; conversation, rules to be agreeable in it ; how New Jersey may clear one hundred thousand pounds in the year 1756 ; the advantage of temperance in pro- moting men to high stations ; the distinguishing honors conferred by God on men industrious in their calling ; rule to prevent malignant fevers or fluxes ; Newton's eulogy ; noble character of a general ; difference be- tween a person of honor, and a man of honor ; settlement of a man's moral accounts ; how to feed sixty thousand men at 2s. 8d. a day ; proper victualling for long marches in the woods ; excellent remedies for the cure of fluxes, dry gripes, and fevers, &c. &c. &c."
It will be recollected, that the parts relating to the feeding and march- ing of armies were applicable to the times. The French and Indian war was then raging on the frontiers of all the colonies. The hint respecting the " settlement of a man's moral accounts " is found at the beginning of the month of December.
" Well, my friend, thou art now just entering the last month of another year. If thou art a man of business, and of prudent care, belike thou wilt settle thy accounts, to satisfy thyself whether thou hast gained or lost in the year past, and how much of either, the better to regulate thy future industry or thy common expenses. This is commendable. But it is not all. Wilt thou not examine also thy moral accounts, and see what improvements thou hast made in the conduct of life, what vice sub- dued, what virtue acquired ; how much better, and how much wiser, as well as how much richer, thou art grown ? ' What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul ?' Without some care in this matter, though thou mayest come to count thy thousands, thou wilt possibly still appear poor in the eyes of the discerning, even here, and be really so for ever hereafter" — EDITOR.
92 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
THE WAY TO WEALTH,
AS CLEARLY SHOWN IN THE PREFACE OF AN OLD PENNSYLVANIA ALMANAC, ENTITLED, " POOR RICHARD IMPROVED."
FEW compositions in any language have been so widely read, as this summary of the maxims and proverbs of Poor Richard. The following account is given of it by Dr. Franklin, in his Memoirs.
"In 1732 I first published my Almanac under the name of Richard Saunders ; it was continued by me about twenty-five years, and commonly called Poor Richard's Almanac. I endeav- oured to make it both entertaining and useful, and it accordingly came to be in such demand, that I reaped considerable profit from it, vending annually near ten thousand. And observing that it was generally read, (scarce any neighbourhood in the province being without it,) I considered it as a proper vehicle for conveying instruction among the common people, who bought scarcely any other books. I therefore filled" all the little spaces, that occurred between the remarkable days in the Calendar, with proverbial sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and frugality, as the means of procuring wealth, and thereby securing virtue ; it being more difficult for a man in want to act always honestly, as (to use here one of those proverbs) ' It is hard for an empty sack to stand upright.' These proverbs, which contained the wisdom of many ages and nations, I assembled and formed into a con- nected discourse, prefixed to the Almanac of 1757, as the harangue of a wise old man to the people attending an auction. The bringing all these scattered counsels thus into a focus, enabled them to make greater impression. The piece, being universally approved, was copied in all the newspapers of the American Continent, reprinted in Britain on a large sheet of paper to be stuck up in houses ; two translations were made of it in France, and great numbers bought by the clergy and gentry, to distribute gratis among their poor parishioners and tenants. In Pennsylvania, as it discouraged useless expense in foreign superfluities, some thought it had its share of influence in producing that growing plenty of money, which was observable for several years after its publication."
MISCELLANEOUS. 93
In more recent times the piece has hardly been less popular. It is suited, indeed, to every country, and to all states of society. There have been, at least, three translations made of it into French. The first is contained in M. Dubourg's OEuvres de Franklin, published in two volumes, quarto, at Paris, in 1773. It is there entitled Le Moycn de s'enrichir ; and the translator calls the Almanac-maker Le Pauvre Henri a son aise, to avoid, as Mr. Vaughan suggests, the jtu de mots, which would have occurred if he had written, Le Pauvre Richard. However this may be, M. Dubourg has rendered the sense of his author with much fidelity. The next version was by Q,uetant, a second edition of which appeared in 1778 ; and an improved edition in 1794, to which M. Ginguene prefixed an abridged life of the author. The title given in this version is La Science du Bonhomme Richard; Ou Moyen Facile de payer les Impots. A beautiful edition of the same, in connexion with the English, was printed at Dijon in 1795. This translation is diffuse, and less faithful than that of Dubourg. Not satisfied with either of them, Castera made a new one, entitled Le Chemin de la Fortune; Ou La Science du Bon- homme Richard, which is among the other writings of Franklin, translated by him, and published in two volumes, at Paris, in 1798. This is a closer version than that of duetant, and per- haps more elegant than Dubourg's ; which, however, conforms more nearly to the meaning and spirit of the original, than either of the others.
A translation of " Poor Richard " in modern Greek was printed at Didot's press, in Paris, in the year 1823, entitled c// : ' Emory [iij TOV Ku).ov ' ' Pi%uQSov, avvTt&tlaa vno TOV B. <I>guyx),ivov. A brief account of the author's life in the same language is prefixed.
Some copies of THE WAY TO WEALTH begin in the following manner.
" I have heard, that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted by other learned authors. This pleasure I have seldom enjoyed ; for, though I have been, if I may say it without vanity, an eminent author (of Almanacs) annually now a full quarter of a century, my brother authors in the same way, for what reason I know not, have ever been very sparing in their applauses ; and no other author has taken the least notice of me ; so that, did not my writings produce me some solid pudding, the great deficiency of praise would have quite discouraged me. I concluded, at length, that the people were the best judges of my merit, for they buy my works ; and besides, in my rambles, where
94 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
I am not personally known, I have frequently heard one or other of my adages repeated, with * As poor Richard says,' at the end on't. This gave me some satisfaction, as it showed not only that my instructions were regarded, but discovered likewise some re- spect for my authority ; and I own, that, to encourage the prac- tice of remembering and reading those wise sentences, I have sometimes quoted myself with great gravity. Judge, then, &c."
This paragraph is now seldom inserted. Indeed it was omitted in Mr. Vaughan's edition, which was printed with the knowledge and approbation of the author. Nor is it contained in Dubourg's translation, which appeared earlier; but it is found in the version by Quetant, and is retained in the beautiful Dijon edition. It has passed thence into the modern Greek. — EDITOR.
COURTEOUS READER,
I HAVE heard, that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted by others. Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped my horse lately, where a great number of people were collected at an auction of merchants' goods. The hour of the sale not being come, they were conversing on the badness of the times ; and one of the company called to a plain, clean, old man, with white locks, " Pray, Father Abraham, what think you of the times? Will not these heavy taxes quite ruin the country ? How shall we ever be able to pay them? What would you advise us to?" Father Abraham stood up, and replied, " If you would have my advice, I will give it you in short ; for Ji word to the wise is enough, as Poor Richard says." They joined in desir- ing him to speak his mind, and gathering round him, he proceeded as follows.
"Friends," said he, "the taxes are indeed very heavy, and, if those laid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we might more easily
MISCELLANEOUS. 95
discharge them ; but we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly ; and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease or deliver us, by allowing an abatement. However, let us hearken to good advice, and something may be done for us ; God helps them that help themselves, as Poor Richard says.
"I. It would be thought a hard government, that should tax its people one-tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service; but idleness taxes many of us much more ; sloth, by bringing on diseases, ab- solutely shortens life. Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears ; while the used key is always bright, as Poor Richard says. But dost thou love life, then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of, as Poor Richard says. How much more than is neces- sary do we spend in sleep, forgetting, that The sleeping fox catches no poultry, and that There will be sleeping enough in the grave, as Poor Richard says.
" If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be, as Poor Richard says, the greatest pro- digality ; since, as he elsewhere tells us, Lost time is never found again; and what we call time enough, always proves little enough. Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose ; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity. Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy ; and He that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night ; while Laziness travels so slowly, that Poverty soon overtakes him. Drive thy business, let not that drive thee ; and Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise, as Poor Richard says.
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" So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times ? We may make these times better, if we bestir ourselves. Industry need not wish, and he that lives upon hopes will die fasting. There are no gains with- out pains ; then help, hands, for I have no lands ; or, if I have, they are smartly taxed. He that hath a trade hath an estate ; and he that hath a calling, hath an office of profit and honor, as Poor Richard says; but then the trade must be worked at, and the calling followed, or neither the estate nor the office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious, we shall never starve ; for, At the working man's house hunger looks in, but dares not enter. Nor will the bailiff or the constable enter, for Industry pays debts, while despair increaseth them. What though you have found no treasure, nor has any rich relation left you a legacy, Diligence is the mother of good luck, and God gives all things to in- dustry. Then plough deep while sluggards sleep, and you shall have corn to sell and to keep. Work while it is called to-day, for you know not how much you may be hindered to-morrow. One to-day is worth two to-morrows, as Poor Richard says ; and further, Never leave that till to-morrow, which you can do to-day. If you were a servant, would you not be ashamed that a good master should catch you idle ? Are you then your own master ? Be ashamed to catch yourself idle, when there is so much to be done for yourself, your family, your country, and your king. Handle your tools without mittens ; remember, that The cat in gloves catches no mice, as Poor Richard says. It is true there is much to be done, and perhaps you are weak-handed ; but stick to it steadily, and you will see great effects ; for Constant dropping wears away stones ; and By dili- gence and patience the mouse ate in two the cable ; and Little strokes fell great oaks.
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" Methinks I hear some of you say, * Must a man afford himself no leisure 1 ' I will tell thee, my friend, what Poor Richard says, Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure ; and, since thou art not sure o a minute, throw not away an hour. Leisure is time for doing something useful; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never ; for A life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things. Many, idthout labor, would live by their wits only, but they break for want of stock ; whereas industry gives com- fort, and plenty, and respect Fly pleasures, and they will follow you. The diligent spinner has a large shift ; and now I have a sheep and a cow, everybody bids me good morrow.
"II. But with our industry we must likewise be steady, settled, and careful, and oversee our own affairs with our own eyes, and not trust too much to others ; for, as Poor Richard says, . . .
I never saw an oft-removed tree,
Nor yet an oft-removed family,
That throve so well as those that settled be.
And again, Three removes are as bad as a fire ; and again, Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee ; and again, If you woidd have your business done, go ; if not, send. And again,
He that by the plough would thrive, Himself must cither hold or drive.
And again, The eye of a master will do more work than both his hands ; and again, Want of care does us more damage than want of knowledge ; and again, JYbt to oversee workmen, is to leave them your purse open. Trusting too much to others' care is the ruin of many ; for In the affairs of this world men are saved, not by faith, but by the want of it ; but a man's own care is profitable ; for, If you would have a faithful servant, and
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98 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
one that you like, seme yourself. Jl little neglect may breed great mischief; for want of a nail the shoe was lost ; for want of a shoe the horse was lost ; and for want of -a, horse the rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the enemy ; all for want of a little care about a horse-shoe nail.
"III. So much for industry, my friends, and atten- tion to one's own business ; but to these we must add frugality, if we would make our industry more certainly successful. A man may, if he knows not how to save as he gets, keep his nose all his life to the grindstone, and die not worth a groat at last. Jl fat kitchen makes a lean will ; andj
Many estates are spent in the getting,
Since women for tea forsook spinning and knitting,
And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting.
If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting. The Indies have not made Spain rich, because her outgoes are greater than her incomes.
"Away then with your expensive follies, and you will not then have so much cause to complain of hard tunes, heavy taxes, and chargeable families; for
Women and wine, game and deceit,
Make the wealth small and the toant great.
And further, What maintains one vice would bring up two children. You may think, perhaps, that a little tea, or a little punch now and then, diet a little more costly, clothes a little finer, and a little entertainment now and then, can be no great matter; but remem- ber, Many a little makes a mickle. Beware of little expenses ; Jl small leak will sink a great ship, as Poor Richard says ; and again, WTio dainties love, shall beggars prove ; and moreover, Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them.
MISCELLANEOUS. 99
" Here you are all got together at this sale of fineries and knick-knacks. You call them goods ; but, if you do not take care, they will prove evils to some of you. You expect they will be sold cheap, and perhaps they may for less than they cost ; but, if you have no occasion for them, they must be dear to you. Remember what Poor Richard says; Buy what thou hast no need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy necessaries. C And again, Jit a great pennyworth pause a while. / He means, that perhaps the cheapness is apparentTonly, and not real; or the bargain, by straitening thee in thy business, may do thee more harm than good. For in another place he says, Many have been ruined by buying good pennyworths. Again, It is foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repentance ; and yet this folly is practised every day at auctions, for want of minding the Almanac. Many a one, for the sake of finery on the back, have gone with a hungry belly and half-starved their families. Silks and satins, scarlet and velvets, put out the kitchen fire, as Poor Richard says.
" These are not the necessaries of life ; they can scarcely be called the conveniences; and yet, only because they look pretty, how many want to have them ! By these, and other extravagances, the genteel are reduced to poverty, and forced to borrow of those whom they formerly despised, but who, through in- dustry and frugality, have maintained their standing; in which case it appears plainly, that A ploughman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his knees, as Poor Richard says. |_ Perhaps they have had a small estate left them, which they knew not the getting of; they think, It is day, and will never be night ; that a little to be spent out of so much is not worth minding ; but Always taking out of the meal-tub, and never putting
100 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
in, soon comes to the bottom, as Poor Richard says ; and then, When the well is dry, they know the worth of water. '* But this they might have known before, if they had taken his advice. If you would know the value of money, go and try to borrow some ; for he that goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing, as Poor Richard says ; and indeed so does he that lends to such people, when he goes to get it in again, f Poor Dick further advises, and says,
Fond pride of dress is sure a very curse ; Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse. I
JAnd again, Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, and a great deal more saucy. When you have bought one fine thing, you must buy ten more, that your appear- ance may be all of a piece ; but Pqor Dick says, It is easier to suppress the first desire, than to satisfy all that follow it. And it is as truly folly for the poor to ape the rich, as for the frog to swell in order to equal the ox.
Vessels large may venture more, But little boats should keep near shore.
It is, however, a folly soon punished; for, as Poor Richard says, Pride that dines on vanity, sups on con- tempt. Pride breakfasted with Plenty, dined with Pov- erty, and supped with Infamy. And, after all, of what use is this pride of appearance, for which so much is risked, so much is suffered ? It cannot promote health, nor ease pain ; it makes no increase of merit in the person ; it creates envy ; it hastens misfortune.
"But what madness must it be to run in debt for these superfluities ? We are offered by the terms of this sale, six months' credit ; and that, perhaps, has induced some of us to attend it, because we cannot spare the ready money, and hope now to be fine with- out it. But, ah ! think what you do when you run in
MISCELLANEOUS. 101
debt; you give to another power over your liberty. If you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see your creditor; you will be in fear when you speak to him; you will make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, and, by degrees, come to lose your veracity, and sink into base, downright lying; for The second vice is lying) the first is running in debt, as Poor Richard says ; and again, to the same purpose, Lying rides upon Debt's back; Whereas a free-born English- man ought not to be ashamed nor afraid to see or speak to any man living. But poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue. It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright.
"What would you think of that prince, or of that government, who should issue an edict forbidding you to dress like a gentleman or gentlewoman, on pain of imprisonment or servitude? Would you not say that you were free, have a right to dress as you please, and that such an edict would be a breach of your privileges, and such a government tyrannical ? And yet you are about to put yourself under such tyranny, when you run in debt for such dress! Your creditor has au- thority, at his pleasure, to deprive you of your liberty, by confining you in gaol till you shall be able to pay him. When you have got your bargain, you may, perhaps, think little of payment ; but, as Poor Richard says, Creditors have better memories than debtors ; cre- ditors are a superstitious sect, great observers of set days and times. The day comes round before you are aware, and the demand is made before you are pre- pared to satisfy it ; or, if you bear your debt in mind, the term, which at first seemed so long, will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. Time will seem to have added wings to his heels as well as his shoulders. ; Those Imve a short Lent, who owe money to be paid
i*
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at Easter. At present, perhaps, you may think your- selves in thriving circumstances, and that you can bear a little extravagance without injury ; but
For age and want save while you may ; No morning sun lasts a whole day.
Gain may be temporary and uncertain, but ever, while you live, expense is constant and certain ; and It is easier to build two chimneys, than to keep one in fuel, as Poor Richard says ; so, Rather go to bed supperless, than rise in debt.
Get wliat you can, and what you get hold;
' Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold.
And, when you have got the Philosopher's stone, sure you will no longer complain of bad times, or the diffi- culty of paying taxes.
" IV. This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wis- dom ; but, after all, do not depend too much upon your own industry, and frugality, and prudence, though ex- cellent things ; for they may all be blasted, without the blessing of Heaven ; and, therefore, ask that blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that at pres- ent seem to want it, but comfort and help them. Remember, Job suffered, and was afterwards pros- perous.
"And now, to conclude, Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other, as Poor Richard says, and scarce in that ; for, it is true, We may give advice, but we, cannot give conduct. However, remem- ber this, They that will not be counselled, cannot be helped; and further, that, If you will not hear Reason, she will surely rap your knuckles, as Poor Richard says."
Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard it, and approved the doctrine ; and imme- diately practised the contrary, just as if it had been a common sermon; for the auction opened, and they
MISCELLANEOUS. 103
began to buy extravagantly. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my Almanacs, and digested all I had dropped on these topics during the course of twenty-five years. The frequent mention he made of me must have tired any one else ; but my vanity was wonderfully delighted with it, though I was conscious that not a tenth part of the wisdom was my own; which he ascribed to me, but rather the gleanings that I had made of the sense of all ages and nations. However, I resolved to be the better for the echo of it; and, though I had at first determined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away resolved to wear my old one a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy profit will be as great as mine. I am, as ever, thine to serve thee,
RICHARD SAUJVDERS.
OBSERVATIONS ON MAYZ, OR INDIAN CORN.
IT is remarked in North America, that the English farmers, when they first arrive there, finding a soil and climate proper for the husbandry they have been accus- tomed to, and particularly suitable for raising wheat, they despise and neglect the culture of mayz,* or In- dian corn ; but, observing the advantage it affords their neighbours, the older inhabitants, they by degrees get more and more into the practice of raising it ; and the face of the country shows, from time to time, that the culture of that grain goes on visibly augmenting.
The inducements are, -the many different ways in which it may be prepared, so as to afford a wholesome
* This word seems to have no settled orthography. It is written nayz, mai:, maize. The last is, perhaps, the most usual. — EDITOR.
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and pleasing nourishment to men and other animals. 1st. The family can begin to make use of it before the time of full harvest ; for the tender green ears, stripped of their leaves, and roasted by a quick fire till the grain is brown, and eaten with a little salt or butter, are a delicacy. 2dly. When the grain is ripe and harder, the ears, boiled in their leaves, and eaten with butter, are also good and agreeable food. The tender green grains, dried, may be kept all the year, and, mixed with green haricots* also dried, make at any time a pleasing dish, being first soaked some hours in water, and then boiled. When the grain is ripe and hard, there are also several ways of using it. One is, to soak it all night in a lessive or lye, and then pound it in a large wooden mortar with a wooden pestle ; the skin of each grain is by that means skinned off, and the farinaceous part left whole, which, being boiled, swells into a white soft pulp, and eaten \vith milk, or with butter and sugar, is delicious.f The dry grain is also sometimes ground loosely, so as to be broke into pieces of the size of rice, and being winnowed to separate the bran, it is then boiled and eaten with turkeys or other fowls, as rice. Ground into a finer meal, they make of it by boiling a hasty-pudding, or bouilli, to be eaten with milk, or with butter and sugar ; this resembles what the Italians call polenta. They make of the same meal, with water and salt, a hasty cake, which, being stuck against a hoe or other flat iron, is placed erect before the fire, and so baked, to be used as bread. Broth is also agreeably thickened with the same meal. They also parch it in this manner. An iron pot is filled with sand, and set on the fire till the sand is very hot. Two
* Kidney beans.
| Called hominy, and much used in the Southern States, but seldom in New England. — EDITOR.
MISCELLANEOUS. 105
or three pounds of the grain are then thrown in, and well mixed with the sand by stirring. Each grain bursts and throws out a white substance of twice its bigness. The sand is separated by a wire sieve, and returned into the pot, to be again heated and repeat the operation with fresh grain. That which is parched is pounded to a powder in mortars. This, being sifted, will keep long for use. An Indian will travel far and subsist long on a small bag of it, taking only six or eight ounces of it per day, mixed with water.
The flour of mayz, mixed with that of wheat, makes excellent bread, sweeter and more agreeable than that of -wheat alone.* To feed horses, it is good to soak the grain twelve hours ; they mash it easier with their teeth, and it yields them more nourishment. The leaves, stripped off the stalks after the grain is ripe, and tied up in bundles when dry, are excellent forage for horses, cows, &c. The stalks, pressed like sugar-cane, yield a sweet juice, which, being fermented and dis- tilled, yields an excellent spirit ; boiled without fermen- tation, it affords a pleasant syrup. In Mexico, fields are sown with it thick, that multitudes of small stalks may arise, which, being cut from time to time like asparagus, are served in deserts, and their sweet juice extracted in the mouth by chewing them. The meal wetted is excellent food for young chickens, and the whole grain for grown fowls.
* Mixed with rye flour or meal, it is not less palatable or nutritious. This mixture forms the common brown bread of New England. — EDITOR.
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106 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
PRECAUTIONS TO BE USED BY THOSE WHO ARE ABOUT TO UNDERTAKE A SEA VOYAGE.*
WHEN you intend to take a long voyage, nothing is better than to keep it a secret till the moment of your departure. Without this, you will be continually in- terrupted and tormented by visits from friends and acquaintances, who not only make you lose your valu- able time, but make you forget a thousand things, which you wish to remember ; so that, when you are embarked, and fairly at sea, you recollect, with much uneasiness, affairs which you have not terminated, ac- counts that you have not settled, and a number of things which you proposed to carry with you, and which you find the want of every moment. Would it not be attended with the best consequences to reform such a custom, and to suffer a traveller, without de- ranging him, to make his preparations in quietness, to set apart a few days, when these are finished, to take leave of his friends, and to receive their good wishes for his happy return 1
It is not always in one's power to choose a captain ; though great part of the pleasure and happiness of the passage depends upon this choice, and though one must for a time be confined to his company, and be in some measure under his command. If he is a social, sensible man, obliging, and of a good disposition, you will be so much the happier. One sometimes meets with people of this description, but they are not com- mon ; however, if yours be not of this number, if he be a good seaman, attentive, careful, and active in the management of his vessel, you must dispense with the rest, for these are essential qualities.
* The date of this piece is uncertain, but it was probably written during the author's residence in England. — EDITOR.
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Whatever right you may have, by your agreement with him, to the provisions he has taken on board for the use of the passengers, it is always proper to have some private store, which you may make use of occa- sionally. You ought, therefore, to provide good water, that of the ship being often bad ; but you must put it into bottles, without which you cannot expect to preserve it sweet. You ought also to cany with you good tea, ground coffee, chocolate, wine of that sort which you like best, cider, dried raisins, almonds, sugar, capillaire, citrons, rum, eggs dipped in oil, port- able soup, bread twice baked. With regard to poultry, it is almost useless to carry any with you, unless you resolve to undertake the office of feeding and fattening them yourself. With the little care, which is taken of them on board ship, they are almost all sickly, and their flesh is as tough as leather.
All sailors entertain an opinion, which has undoubt- edly originated formerly from a want of water, and when it has been found necessary to be sparing of it, that poultry never know when they have drunk enough; and that when water is given them at dis- cretion, they generally kill themselves by drinking be- yond measure. In consequence of this opinion, they give them water only once in two days, and even then in small quantities ; but as they pour this water into troughs inclining on one side, which occasions it to run to the lower part, it thence happens that they are obliged to mount one upon the back of another in order to reach it; and there are some which cannot even dip their beaks in it. Thus continually tantalized and tormented by thirst, they are unable to digest their food, which is very dry, and they soon fall sick and die. Some of them are found thus every morning, and are thrown into the sea; whilst those which are
108 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
killed for the table are scarcely fit to be eaten. To remedy this inconvenience, it will be necessary to divide their troughs into small compartments, in such a manner that each of them may be capable of con- taining water ; but this is seldom or never done. On this account sheep and hogs are to be considered as the best fresh provision that one can have at sea; mutton there being in general very good, and pork excellent.
It may happen that some of the provisions and stores, which I have recommended, may become al- most useless, by the care which the captain has taken to lay in a proper stock ; but in such a case you may dispose of it to relieve the poor passengers, who, pay- ing less for their passage, are stowed among the com- mon sailors, and have no right to the captain's pro- visions, except such part of them as is used for feeding the crew. These passengers are sometimes sick, melancholy, and dejected ; and there are often women and children among them, neither of whom have any opportunity of procuring those things which I have mentioned, and of which, perhaps, they have the greatest need. By distributing amongst them a part of your superfluity, you may be of the greatest assist- ance to them. You may restore their health, save their lives, and in short render them happy; which always affords the liveliest sensation to a feeling mind.
The most disagreeable thing at sea is the cookery ; for there is not, properly speaking, any professed cook on board. The worst sailor is generally chosen for that purpose, who for the most part is equally dirty. Hence comes the proverb used among the English sailors, that God sends meat, and the Devil sends cooks. Those, however, wrho have a better opinion of Provi- dence, will think otherwise. Knowing that sea air,
MISCELLANEOUS. 109
and the exercise or motion, which they receive from the rolling of the ship, have a wonderful effect in whetting the appetite, they will say that Providence has given sailors bad cooks to prevent them from eating too much; or that, knowing they would have bad cooks, he has given them a good appetite to prevent them from dying with hunger. However, if you have no confidence in these succours of Providence, you may yourself, with a lamp and a boiler, by the help of a little spirits of wine, prepare some food, such as soup, hash, &,c. A small oven made of tin plate is not a bad piece of furniture ; your servant may roast in it a piece of mutton or pork. If you are ever tempted to eat salt beef, which is often very good, you will find that cider is the best liquor to quench the thirst generally caused by salt meat or salt fish. Sea biscuit, which is too hard for the teeth of some people, may be softened by steeping it; but bread double-baked is the best ; for being made of good loaf- bread cut into slices, and baked a second time, it readily imbibes water, becomes soft, and is easily digested ; it consequently forms excellent nourishment, much superior to that of biscuit, which has not been fermented.
I must here observe, that this double-baked bread was originally the real biscuit prepared to keep at sea ; for the word biscuit, in French, signifies twice baked.* Pease often boil badly, and do not become soft; in such case, by putting a two-pound shot into the kettle, the rolling of the vessel, by means of this bullet, will convert the pease into a kind of porridge, like mustard.
Having often seen soup, when put upon the table at sea in broad, flat dishes, thrown out on every side
* It is derived from bis, again, and cuit, baked. VOL. II. J
110 FRANKLIN'S WRITINGS.
by the rolling of the vessel, I have wished that our tinmen would make our soup-basins with divisions or compartments, forming small plates, proper for contain- ing soup for one person only. By this disposition, the soup, in an extraordinary roll, would not be thrown out of the plate, and would not fall into the breasts of those who are at table, and scald them.
Having entertained you with these things of little importance, permit me now to conclude with some general reflections