Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, The

<h4><SPAN name="II" id="II" />II</h4> <h4>BEGINNING LIFE AS A PRINTER</h4> <p><ANTIMG src="images/block-f.jpg" class="floatLeft" alt="block-F" /> ROM a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money that came into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased with the <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>, my first collection was of John Bunyan's works in separate little volumes. I afterward sold them to enable me to buy R. Burton's <i>Historical Collections</i>; they were small chapmen's books, <SPAN name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16" /><SPAN href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</SPAN> and cheap, 40 or 50 in all. My father's little library consisted chiefly of books in polemic divinity, most of which I read, and have since often regretted that, at a time when I had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper books had not fallen in my way, since it was now resolved I should not be a clergyman. Plutarch's <i>Lives</i> there was in which I read abundantly, and I still think that time spent to great advantage. There was also a book of DeFoe's, called an <i>Essay on Projects</i>, and another of Dr. Mather's, called <i>Essays to do Good</i>, which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking that had an influence on some of the principal future events of my life.</p> <p>This bookish inclination at length determined my father to make me a printer, though he had already one son (James) of that profession. In 1717 my brother James returned from England with a press and letters to set up his business in Boston. I liked it much better than that of my father, but still had a hankering for the sea. To prevent the apprehended effect of such an inclination, my father was impatient to have me bound to my brother. I stood out some time, but at last was persuaded, and signed the indentures when I was yet but twelve years old. I was to serve as an apprentice till I was twenty-one years of age, only I was to be allowed journeyman's wages during the last year. In a little time I made great proficiency in the business, and became a useful hand to my brother. I now had access to better books. An acquaintance with the apprentices of booksellers enabled me sometimes to borrow a small one, which I was careful to return soon and clean. Often I sat up in my room reading the greatest part of the night, when the book was borrowed in the evening and to be returned early in the morning, lest it should be missed or wanted.</p> <p>And after some time an ingenious tradesman, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had a pretty collection of books, and who frequented our printing-house, took notice of me, invited me to his library, and very kindly lent me such books as I chose to read. I now took a fancy to poetry, and made some little pieces; my brother, thinking it might turn to account, encouraged me, and put me on composing occasional ballads. One was called <i>The Lighthouse Tragedy</i>, and contained an account of the drowning of Captain Worthilake, with his two daughters: the other was a sailor's song, on the taking of <i>Teach</i> (or Blackbeard) the pirate. They were wretched stuff, in the Grub-street-ballad style;<SPAN name= "FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17" /><SPAN href="#Footnote_17" class= "fnanchor">[17]</SPAN> and when they were printed he sent me about the town to sell them. The first sold wonderfully, the event being recent, having made a great noise. This flattered my vanity; but my father discouraged me by ridiculing my performances, and telling me verse-makers were generally beggars. So I escaped being a poet, most probably a very bad one; but as prose writing has been of great use to me in the course of my life, and was a principal means of my advancement, I shall tell you how, in such a situation, I acquired what little ability I have in that way.</p> <p>There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name, with whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond we were of argument, and very desirous of confuting one another, which disputatious turn, by the way, is apt to become a very bad habit, making people often extremely disagreeable in company by the contradiction that is necessary to bring it into practice; and thence, besides souring and spoiling the conversation, is productive of disgusts and, perhaps enmities where you may have occasion for friendship. I had caught it by reading my father's books of dispute about religion. Persons of good sense, I have since observed, seldom fall into it, except lawyers, university men, and men of all sorts that have been bred at Edinborough.</p> <p>A question was once, somehow or other, started between Collins and me, of the propriety of educating the female sex in learning, and their abilities for study. He was of opinion that it was improper, and that they were naturally unequal to it. I took the contrary side, perhaps a little for dispute's sake. He was naturally more eloquent, had a ready plenty of words, and sometimes, as I thought, bore me down more by his fluency than by the strength of his reasons. As we parted without settling the point, and were not to see one another again for some time, I sat down to put my arguments in writing, which I copied fair and sent to him. He answered, and I replied. Three or four letters of a side had passed, when my father happened to find my papers and read them. Without entering into the discussion, he took occasion to talk to me about the manner of my writing; observed that, though I had the advantage of my antagonist in correct spelling and pointing (which I ow'd to the printing-house), I fell far short in elegance of expression, in method and in perspicuity, of which he convinced me by several instances. I saw the justice of his remarks, and thence grew more attentive to the manner in writing, and determined to endeavor at improvement.</p> <p>About this time I met with an odd volume of the <i>Spectator</i>.<SPAN name="FNanchor_18" id="FNanchor_18" /><SPAN href= "#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</SPAN> It was the third. I had never before seen any of them. I bought it, read it over and over, and was much delighted with it. I thought the writing excellent, and wished, if possible, to imitate it. With this view I took some of the papers, and, making short hints of the sentiment in each sentence, laid them by a few days, and then, without looking at the book, try'd to compleat the papers again, by expressing each hinted sentiment at length, and as fully as it had been expressed before, in any suitable words that should come to hand. Then I compared my <i>Spectator</i> with the original, discovered some of my faults, and corrected them. But I found I wanted a stock of words, or a readiness in recollecting and using them, which I thought I should have acquired before that time if I had gone on making verses; since the continual occasion for words of the same import, but of different length, to suit the measure, or of different sound for the rhyme, would have laid me under a constant necessity of searching for variety, and also have tended to fix that variety in my mind, and make me master of it. Therefore I took some of the tales and turned them into verse; and, after a time, when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, turned them back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best order, before I began to form the full sentences and compleat the paper. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By comparing my work afterwards with the original, I discovered many faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying that, in certain particulars of small import, I had been lucky enough to improve the method of the language, and this encouraged me to think I might possibly in time come to be a tolerable English writer, of which I was extremely ambitious. My time for these exercises and for reading was at night, after work or before it began in the morning, or on Sundays, when I contrived to be in the printing-house alone, evading as much as I could the common attendance on public worship which my father used to exact of me when I was under his care, and which indeed I still thought a duty, thought I could not, as it seemed to me, afford time to practise it.</p> <p>When about 16 years of age I happened to meet with a book, written by one Tryon, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined to go into it. My brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, but boarded himself and his apprentices in another family. My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an inconveniency, and I was frequently chid for my singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner of preparing some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes or rice, making hasty pudding, and a few others, and then proposed to my brother, that if he would give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board, I would board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I presently found that I could save half what he paid me. This was an additional fund for buying books. But I had another advantage in it. My brother and the rest going from the printing-house to their meals, I remained there alone, and, dispatching presently my light repast, which often was no more than a bisket or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins or a tart from the pastry-cook's, and a glass of water, had the rest of the time till their return for study, in which I made the greater progress, from that greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension which usually attend temperance in eating and drinking.</p> <p>And now it was that, being on some occasion made asham'd of my ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed in learning when at school, I took Cocker's book of Arithmetick, and went through the whole by myself with great ease. I also read Seller's and Shermy's books of Navigation, and became acquainted with the little geometry they contain; but never proceeded far in that science. And I read about this time Locke <i>On Human Understanding</i>,<SPAN name= "FNanchor_19" id="FNanchor_19" /><SPAN href="#Footnote_19" class= "fnanchor">[19]</SPAN> and the <i>Art of Thinking</i>, by Messrs. du Port Royal.<SPAN name="FNanchor_20" id="FNanchor_20" /><SPAN href= "#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</SPAN></p> <p>While I was intent on improving my language, I met with an English grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), at the end of which there were two little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and logic, the latter finishing with a specimen of a dispute in the Socratic<SPAN name="FNanchor_21" id="FNanchor_21" /><SPAN href="#Footnote_21" class= "fnanchor">[21]</SPAN> method; and soon after I procur'd Xenophon's Memorable Things of Socrates, wherein there are many instances of the same method. I was charm'd with it, adopted it, dropt my abrupt contradiction and positive argumentation, and put on the humble inquirer and doubter. And being then, from reading Shaftesbury and Collins, become a real doubter in many points of our religious doctrine, I found this method safest for myself and very embarrassing to those against whom I used it; therefore I took a delight in it, practis'd it continually, and grew very artful and expert in drawing people, even of superior knowledge, into concessions, the consequences of which they did not foresee, entangling them in difficulties out of which they could not extricate themselves, and so obtaining victories that neither myself nor my cause always deserved. I continu'd this method some few years, but gradually left it, retaining only the habit of expressing myself in terms of modest diffidence; never using, when I advanced anything that may possibly be disputed, the words <i>certainly</i>, <i>undoubtedly</i>, or any others that give the air of positiveness to an opinion; but rather say, I conceive or apprehend a thing to be so and so; it appears to me, or <i>I should think it so or so</i>, for such and such reasons; or <i>I imagine it to be so</i>; or <i>it is so, if I am not mistaken</i>. This habit, I believe, has been of great advantage to me when I have had occasion to inculcate my opinions, and persuade men into measures that I have been from time to time engaged in promoting; and, as the chief ends of conversation are to <i>inform</i> or to be <i>informed</i>, to <i>please</i> or to <i>persuade</i>, I wish well-meaning, sensible men would not lessen their power of doing good by a positive, assuming manner, that seldom fails to disgust, tends to create opposition, and to defeat everyone of those purposes for which speech was given to us, to wit, giving or receiving information or pleasure. For, if you would inform, a positive and dogmatical manner in advancing your sentiments may provoke contradiction and prevent a candid attention. If you wish information and improvement from the knowledge of others, and yet at the same time express yourself as firmly fix'd in your present opinions, modest, sensible men, who do not love disputation, will probably leave you undisturbed in the possession of your error. And by such a manner, you can seldom hope to recommend yourself in <i>pleasing</i> your hearers, or to persuade those whose concurrence you desire. Pope<SPAN name="FNanchor_22" id= "FNanchor_22" /><SPAN href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</SPAN> says, judiciously:</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <div class="i0"><i>"Men should be taught as if you taught them not,</i></div> <div class="i0b"><i>And things unknown propos'd as things forgot;"</i></div> </div></div> <p>farther recommending to us</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <div class="i0">"To speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence."</div> </div></div> <p>And he might have coupled with this line that which he has coupled with another, I think, less properly,</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <div class="i2">"For want of modesty is want of sense."</div> </div></div> <p>If you ask, Why less properly? I must repeat the lines,</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <div class="i2">"Immodest words admit of no defense,</div> <div class="i2a">For want of modesty is want of sense."</div> </div></div> <p>Now, is not <i>want of sense</i> (where a man is so unfortunate as to want it) some apology for his <i>want of modesty</i>? and would not the lines stand more justly thus?</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <div class="i2">"Immodest words admit <i>but</i> this defense,</div> <div class="i2a">That want of modesty is want of sense."</div> </div></div> <p>This, however, I should submit to better judgments.</p> <p>My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a newspaper. It was the second that appeared in America,<SPAN name="FNanchor_23" id= "FNanchor_23" /><SPAN href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</SPAN> and was called the New England Courant. The only one before it was the Boston News-Letter. I remember his being dissuaded by some of his friends from the undertaking, as not likely to succeed, one newspaper being, in their judgment, enough for America. At this time (1771) there are not less than five-and-twenty. He went on, however, with the undertaking, and after having worked in composing the types and printing off the sheets, I was employed to carry the papers thro' the streets to the customers.</p> <div class="center"> <table width="40%" summary="The New England Courant" border="1" cellpadding= "2"> <tr> <td><SPAN name="p33" id="p33" /> <SPAN href= "images/062-red.jpg"><ANTIMG src="images/062thumb.jpg" alt= "First page of The New England Courant of Dec. 4-11, 1721." title= "First page of The New England Courant of Dec. 4-11, 1721." /></SPAN></td> </tr> </table></div> <div class="center_caption">First page of <i>The New England Courant</i> of Dec. 4-11, 1721. Reduced about one-third. From a copy in the Library of the Massachusetts Historical Society</div> <p>He had some ingenious men among his friends, who amus'd themselves by writing little pieces for this paper, which gain'd it credit and made it more in demand, and these gentlemen often visited us. Hearing their conversations, and their accounts of the approbation their papers were received with, I was excited to try my hand among them; but, being still a boy, and suspecting that my brother would object to printing anything of mine in his paper if he knew it to be mine, I contrived to disguise my hand, and, writing an anonymous paper, I put it in at night under the door of the printing-house. It was found in the morning, and communicated to his writing friends when they call'd in as usual. They read it, commented on it in my hearing, and I had the exquisite pleasure of finding it met with their approbation, and that, in their different guesses at the author, none were named but men of some character among us for learning and ingenuity. I suppose now that I was rather lucky in my judges, and that perhaps they were not really so very good ones as I then esteem'd them.</p> <p>Encourag'd, however, by this, I wrote and conveyed in the same way to the press several more papers which were equally approv'd; and I kept my secret till my small fund of sense for such performances was pretty well exhausted, and then I discovered<SPAN name="FNanchor_24" id="FNanchor_24" /><SPAN href="#Footnote_24" class= "fnanchor">[24]</SPAN> it, when I began to be considered a little more by my brother's acquaintance, and in a manner that did not quite please him, as he thought, probably with reason, that it tended to make me too vain. And, perhaps, this might be one occasion of the differences that we began to have about this time. Though a brother, he considered himself as my master, and me as his apprentice, and, accordingly, expected the same services from me as he would from another, while I thought he demean'd me too much in some he requir'd of me, who from a brother expected more indulgence. Our disputes were often brought before our father, and I fancy I was either generally in the right, or else a better pleader, because the judgment was generally in my favor. But my brother was passionate, and had often beaten me, which I took extreamly amiss; and, thinking my apprenticeship very tedious, I was continually wishing for some opportunity of shortening it, which at length offered in a manner unexpected.</p> <div class="figcenter"><SPAN name="p36" id="p36" /> <SPAN href= "images/illus-007-red.jpg"><ANTIMG src="images/illus-007thumb.jpg" alt= "I was employed to carry the papers thro' the streets to the customers" title= "I was employed to carry the papers thro' the streets to the customers" /></SPAN></div> <div class="center_caption">"I was employed to carry the papers thro' the streets to the customers"</div> <p>One of the pieces in our newspaper on some political point, which I have now forgotten, gave offense to the Assembly. He was taken up, censur'd, and imprison'd for a month, by the speaker's warrant, I suppose, because he would not discover his author. I too was taken up and examin'd before the council; but, tho' I did not give them any satisfaction, they contented themselves with admonishing me, and dismissed me, considering me, perhaps, as an apprentice, who was bound to keep his master's secrets.</p> <p>During my brother's confinement, which I resented a good deal, notwithstanding our private differences, I had the management of the paper; and I made bold to give our rulers some rubs in it, which my brother took very kindly, while others began to consider me in an unfavorable light, as a young genius that had a turn for libeling and satyr. My brother's discharge was accompany'd with an order of the House (a very odd one), that "<i>James Franklin should no longer print the paper called the New England Courant</i>."</p> <p>There was a consultation held in our printing-house among his friends, what he should do in this case. Some proposed to evade the order by changing the name of the paper; but my brother, seeing inconveniences in that, it was finally concluded on as a better way, to let it be printed for the future under the name of <span class="smcap">Benjamin Franklin</span>; and to avoid the censure of the Assembly, that might fall on him as still printing it by his apprentice, the contrivance was that my old indenture should be return'd to me, with a full discharge on the back of it, to be shown on occasion, but to secure to him the benefit of my service, I was to sign new indentures for the remainder of the term, which were to be kept private. A very flimsy scheme it was; however, it was immediately executed, and the paper went on accordingly, under my name for several months.</p> <p>At length, a fresh difference arising between my brother and me, I took upon me to assert my freedom, presuming that he would not venture to produce the new indentures. It was not fair in me to take this advantage, and this I therefore reckon one of the first errata of my life; but the unfairness of it weighed little with me, when under the impressions of resentment for the blows his passion too often urged him to bestow upon me, though he was otherwise not an ill-natur'd man: perhaps I was too saucy and provoking.</p> <p>When he found I would leave him, he took care to prevent my getting employment in any other printing-house of the town, by going round and speaking to every master, who accordingly refus'd to give me work. I then thought of going to New York, as the nearest place where there was a printer; and I was rather inclin'd to leave Boston when I reflected that I had already made myself a little obnoxious to the governing party, and, from the arbitrary proceedings of the Assembly in my brother's case, it was likely I might, if I stay'd, soon bring myself into scrapes; and farther, that my indiscreet disputations about religion began to make me pointed at with horror by good people as an infidel or atheist. I determin'd on the point, but my father now siding with my brother, I was sensible that, if I attempted to go openly, means would be used to prevent me. My friend Collins, therefore, undertook to manage a little for me. He agreed with the captain of a New York sloop for my passage, under the notion of my being a young acquaintance of his. So I sold some of my books to raise a little money, was taken on board privately, and as we had a fair wind, in three days I found myself in New York, near 300 miles from home, a boy of but 17, without the least recommendation to, or knowledge of, any person in the place, and with very little money in my pocket.</p> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></SPAN> Small books, sold by chapmen or peddlers.</p> </div> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></SPAN> Grub-street: famous in English literature as the home of poor writers.</p> </div> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></SPAN> A daily London journal, comprising satirical essays on social subjects, published by Addison and Steele in 1711-1712. The <i>Spectator</i> and its predecessor, the <i>Tatler</i> (1709), marked the beginning of periodical literature.</p> </div> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></SPAN> John Locke (1632-1704), a celebrated English philosopher, founder of the so-called "common-sense" school of philosophers. He drew up a constitution for the colonists of Carolina.</p> </div> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></SPAN> A noted society of scholarly and devout men occupying the abbey of Port Royal near Paris, who published learned works, among them the one here referred to, better known as the <i>Port Royal Logic</i>.</p> </div> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></SPAN> Socrates confuted his opponents in argument by asking questions so skillfully devised that the answers would confirm the questioner's position or show the error of the opponent.</p> </div> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></SPAN> Alexander Pope (1688-1744), the greatest English poet of the first half of the eighteenth century.</p> </div> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></SPAN> Franklin's memory does not serve him correctly here. The <i>Courant</i> was really the fifth newspaper established in America, although generally called the fourth, because the first, <i>Public Occurrences</i>, published in Boston in 1690, was suppressed after the first issue. Following is the order in which the other four papers were published: <i>Boston News Letter</i>, 1704; <i>Boston Gazette</i>, December 21, 1719; <i>The American Weekly Mercury</i>, Philadelphia, December 22, 1719; <i>The New England Courant</i>, 1721.</p> </div> <div class="footnote"> <p><SPAN name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24" /><SPAN href= "#FNanchor_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></SPAN> Disclosed.</p> </div> <div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG width-obs="60%" src= "images/illus-008-red.jpg" alt="Sailboat" title="Sailboat" /></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />