Chapter 2

Philadelphia at that time was a comfortable town of some ten thousand inhabitants, extending a mile or more along the Delaware and reaching only a few blocks back into the country. It was a shady easy-going place, with pleasant gardens about the houses, and something of Quaker repose and substantial thrift lent a charm to its busy life. Men were still living who could remember when unbroken forests held the place of Penn's city:--

"And the streets still reëcho the names of the trees of the forest, As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested."

Franklin was fond of contrasting his humble entrance into his adopted home with the honorable station he afterwards acquired there. He was, as he says, in his working dress, his best clothes coming round by sea. He was dirty from being so long in the boat. His pockets were stuffed out with shirts and stockings, and he knew no one nor where to look for lodging. Fatigued with walking, rowing, and the want of sleep, he was very hungry; and his whole stock of cash consisted in a single dollar and about a shilling in copper coin, which he gave to the boatmen for his passage. At first they refused it on account of his having rowed, but he insisted on their taking it. "Man is sometimes," he adds, "more generous when he has little money than when he has plenty; perhaps to prevent his being thought to have but little."

It was indeed a strange entrance for the future statesman and scientist. As he walked up to Market Street he met a boy with bread, which reminded him forcibly of his hunger, and asking the boy where he had got his loaf he went straight to the same baker's. Here, after some difficulty due to difference of names in Boston and Philadelphia, he provided himself with three "great puffy rolls" for threepence, and with these he started up Market Street, eating one and carrying one under each arm, as his pockets were already full. On the way he passed the door of Mr. Read's house, where his future wife saw him and thought he made an awkward, ridiculous appearance. At Fourth Street he turned across to Chestnut and walked down Chestnut and Walnut, munching his roll all the way. Coming again to the river he took a drink of water, gave away the two remaining rolls to a poor woman, and started up Market Street again. He found a number of clean-dressed people all going in one direction, and by following them was led into the great meeting-house of the Quakers. There he sat down and looked about him. It was apparently a silent meeting, for not a word was spoken, and the boy, being now utterly exhausted, fell into a sleep from which he was roused only at the close of the service.

That night he lodged at the Crooked Billet, which despite its ominous name seems to have been a comfortable inn, and the next morning, having dressed as neatly as he could, set out to find employment. Andrew Bradford had no place for him; but another printer named Keimer, who had recently set up in business, was willing to give him work. It was a queer house and a queer printer. There was an old damaged press, on which Franklin exercised his skill in repairing, and a small worn-out font of type. Keimer himself, who seems to have been a grotesque compound of knave and crank, was engaged at once in composing and setting up in type an elegy on the death of a prominent young man. He is the only poet to my knowledge who ever used the composition-stick instead of a pen for the vehicle of inspiration. The elegy may still be read in Duyckinck's Cyclopædia, and on perusing it we may well repeat the first line:--

"What mournful accents thus accost mine ear!"

Now began a period of growing prosperity for our philosopher. The two printers of Philadelphia were poorly qualified for their business, and Franklin by his industry and intelligence soon rendered himself indispensable to Keimer. He was making money, had discovered a few agreeable persons to pass his evenings with, and was contented. He took lodging with Mr. Read, and now, as he says, "made rather a more respectable appearance in the eyes of Miss Read."

He was even in a fair way to forget Boston when an incident occurred of some importance in his life. Robert Holmes, who had married his sister, being at Newcastle, forty miles below Philadelphia, heard of him and wrote entreating him to return home. To this appeal Franklin replied giving his reasons for leaving Boston. Now Sir William Keith, governor of Pennsylvania, chanced at this time to be at Newcastle, and, being shown the letter by Holmes, was so much impressed with it that he determined to offer encouragement to the writer. Great, then, was the surprise of Benjamin and his master when one day the governor and another gentleman in their fine clothes called at the printing-house and inquired for the young man. They took him to a tavern at the corner of Third Street, and there over the Madeira the governor proposed that Benjamin should start an independent shop, promising in this case to give him the government printing. Benjamin was skeptical, but at last it was decided that he should go to Boston and seek help of his father; and in April, 1724, with a flattering letter from the governor, he set out for his old home. Benjamin's father, however, though pleased by the governor's approval, thought the boy too young to assume so much responsibility, and sent him back to Philadelphia with no money, but with his blessing and abundant good counsel, advising him to restrain his natural tendency to lampoon, and telling him that by steady industry and prudent parsimony he might save enough by the time he was twenty-one to set himself up, and withal promising help if he came near the matter.

The return voyage was unimportant save for an amusing incident which showed Franklin's innocence at that time whatever he may have been later on, and for an agreement he made to collect a debt of thirty-five pounds in Pennsylvania for one Vernon,--an agreement which was to cost him considerable anxiety. While stopping in New York, too, his reputation as a reader got him an invitation to visit Governor Burnet, who showed him his library and conversed with him on books and authors. "This," as Franklin observes, "was the second governor who had done me the honor to take notice of me, and for a poor boy like me it was very pleasing."

In New York he had picked up his old friend Collins, a companion of his childhood, who had preceded him from Boston. Collins had passed from license of belief to license of morals, and was now besotting himself with drink. On the way to Philadelphia Franklin had collected the money due to Vernon, and Collins pressed him until he drew largely on this sum to help the spendthrift. Franklin regarded this as one of the chief _errata_ of his life, and would have repented his error still more seriously perhaps if Vernon had not allowed him time to make good the defalcation. It was some five years before he was able to restore the money, and then, having paid both principal and interest, he felt a load taken off his mind.

His association with Collins came to an amusing end. Once when they were on the Delaware with some other young men, Collins refused to row in his turn. "I will be rowed home," said he. "We will not row you," said Franklin. "You must," said he, "or stay all night on the water, just as you please." The others were willing to indulge him, but Franklin, being soured with his other conduct, continued to refuse. Collins swore he would make Franklin row or throw him overboard, and came along stepping on the thwarts to carry out his threat. But he mistook his man. Franklin clapped his head under the fellow's thighs and, rising, pitched him headforemost into the river. Collins was a good swimmer, but they kept him pulling after the boat until he was stifled with vexation and almost drowned. And that was the end of the friendship between the two. Collins later went to the Barbadoes, that limbo of the unsuccessful in colonial days, and Franklin never heard of him again.

With his employer, Keimer, Franklin had little sympathy, despising both his knavery and his false enthusiasms. Keimer wore his beard at full length, because somewhere in the Mosaic law it is said, "Thou shalt not mar the corners of thy beard." He likewise kept the seventh day Sabbath. Franklin disliked both practices, but agreed to them on condition of their adopting a vegetarian diet, this whim suiting him at the time, both because he could save money by it and because he wished to give himself some diversion in half starving the gluttonous fanatic. Poor Keimer suffered grievously, grew tired of the project in three months, longed for the fleshpots of Egypt, and ordered a roast pig. He invited Franklin and two women friends to dine with him; but the pig being brought too soon upon the table, he could not resist the temptation, and ate the whole before his guests came.

Having to do with such a man, Franklin was very glad to accept Sir William Keith's offer to set him up alone. It was agreed that Franklin should sail to London, with letters of introduction, and also with letters of credit for purchasing press, types, paper, and such like. But for one reason and another the governor delayed writing the letters, and at last Franklin actually found himself afloat and on the way to London without a word from his patron. Great was his chagrin when he learned during the passage that it was a habit of this amiable magistrate to promise anything and perform nothing. Franklin's comment on the occasion displays the imperturbable justice of his mind: "But what shall we think of a governor playing such pitiful tricks and imposing so grossly on a poor ignorant boy! It was a habit he had acquired. He wished to please everybody, and having little to give he gave expectations. He was otherwise an ingenious, sensible man, a pretty good writer, and a good governor for the people, though not for his constituents, the proprietaries."

Franklin reached London December 24, 1724, and remained there some nineteen months, doing many things and learning many things during this time that were of use to him in after life. But interesting as his experiences were, we pass over them with a few words. Without difficulty he got work with the printers, and employed his time industriously--of that there could be no doubt. As always, his head was full of plans of economy; and we are amused to see him carry his reforms into the printing chapel, attempting to persuade the men to give up their expensive beer and take to hot-water gruel.

But though Franklin was always industrious, he was far from leading a confined life. Then as ever he mixed much with men, and his experience in London added largely no doubt to his knowledge of human nature. He even saw something of the ways of Grub Street through his friend Ralph, who had come with him from Philadelphia. "This low writer," as Pope called him, is now remembered only for a couple of vicious lines in the Dunciad, and for the ignominious part he plays in Franklin's Autobiography. For many months he was a continual drain on Franklin's pocket, and seems to have been the boy's evil genius in immorality as well.

Another acquaintance introduced him to a phase of character quite new to the youth from America. This was an old maiden lady of seventy, who occupied the garret of his lodging house. She was a Roman Catholic, and lived the secluded life of a nun, having given away to charities all her estate except twelve pounds a year, out of which small sum she still gave a part, living herself on water gruel only, and using no fire but to boil it. Franklin was permitted to visit her once, and remarks that she was cheerful and polite, as also that the room was almost without furniture. "She looked pale," he says, "but was never sick; and I give it as another instance on how small an income life and health may be supported."--Not another word! Ah, Doctor Franklin, you were very wise in this world's wisdom! Your life was for a young struggling nation a splendid example of probity and thrift and self-culture. And yet we think your countrymen could wish you had used this poor enthusiast's folly as something else than a mere lesson in economy.

But the religious imagination played a small part in our philosopher's life, and least of all was it active in these London days. His skepticism in fact became acute, and sought relief in public expression. As a compositor Franklin was engaged in setting up one of the many religious treatises then pouring out against the deists, and as the author's arguments seemed insufficient to the young reasoner, he wrote and printed a rejoinder. This is the pamphlet called "A Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity, Pleasure and Pain," which he inscribed to his friend Ralph, and whose printing he afterwards regretted as one of the _errata_ of his life. It is a disquisition quite after the manner of the day, and, though it has no permanent value, is nevertheless a most unusual production for a boy of nineteen. He accepts the belief in a God and an all-powerful Providence, and argues thence the complete absence of free will in man; pleasure and pain are necessary correlatives, and cannot exist apart; the soul is perhaps immortal, but loses its personal identity at death.

It was time for Franklin to come home and prepare for the great work before him. He was indeed ready to come when his skill in swimming almost lost him to this country. He had made such an impression by his feats in the water that one of his friends and pupils in the art proposed they should travel over Europe together, and support themselves by giving exhibitions. Fortunately Mr. Denham, an older and wiser friend, persuaded Franklin to return with him to America.

III

RELIGIOUS BELIEFS.--THE JUNTO

Franklin reached Philadelphia some time in October, 1726, and found many things had changed during his absence. Keith was no longer governor, but walked the streets as a common citizen. He seemed a little ashamed at seeing Franklin, and passed him by without saying anything. Miss Read, too, whom he had left under the pledge of an engagement, had grown tired of his long neglect, and at the insistence of her friends had married a potter named Rogers. The union, however, had proved unfortunate, and the lady was again living at home under her maiden name, it being believed that Rogers had a previous wife.

Franklin at once entered the employment of his friend Denham, who opened a thriving business on Water Street. But after an engagement of four months he was left idle by Mr. Denham's death, and, finding nothing better to do, returned to his old employer, Keimer. Here he received good wages as foreman of the shop, but soon discovered that he was engaged only to teach Keimer's raw hands the trade, and was to be dismissed as soon as this was accomplished. Franklin had a habit apparently of breaking with a burdensome friend by means of a judicious quarrel. He had done so with his brother James, with Collins, with Ralph, and now he parted with Keimer in the same way. After an interval of a few months, during which he was again for a while in the employment of Keimer, he entered into partnership with one of the hands, Meredith by name, and in the spring of 1728 started an independent printing-house.

At this point Franklin interrupts the narrative of his life to give some account of his religious beliefs, and we will follow his example. And first of all let us say frankly that Parton, whose work is likely long to remain the standard biography of Franklin, gives a false color to the religious experience of his hero. Of regeneration there is in Franklin no sign, but instead of that a constant growth,--which is far more wholesome. He was always an amused and skeptical observer of the revivals and wild enthusiasms kindled by his friend Whitefield and by the inspired preacher of Northampton. And it is quite absurd to speak of Franklin as "the consummate Christian of his time." There was in him none of the emotional nature and little of the spirituality that go to make the complete Christian. His strength lay in his temperance, prudence, justice, and courage,--eminently the pagan virtues; and indeed he was from first to last a great pagan, who lapsed now and then into the pseudo-religious platitudes of the eighteenth century deists.

His family had early adopted the reformed faith, and had possessed the courage to continue of this faith through the bloody persecutions of Queen Mary. Under Charles II. Benjamin's father went a step further, casting in his lot with the non-conformist Presbyterians; and it was the persecutions of that society which drove him with his family to America. Independence, or even recalcitrance, together with broad toleration of the faith of others, was in the family blood, and Benjamin continued the good tradition. From revolt against Rome to revolt against the established English Church, and from this to complete independence of individual belief, was after all a natural progression.

Among the books which Franklin had read in Boston were Shaftesbury and Collins, representative deistical writers of the time, and he had been led by them, as he says, to doubt "many points of our religious doctrines." Now there are in religion two elements quite distinct and at times even antagonistic, though by the ordinary mind they are commonly seen as blended together. These are the emotional and the moral natures. In many religious ceremonies of the Orient, religion is purely an emotion, an exaltation of the nerves, accompanied at times by outbreaking immorality; and unfortunately the same phenomena have been too often seen in our own land. This emotional element is always connected with the imagination and with belief in some form of revelation. The other element of religion is the law of morality which has been taught the world over by true philosophers, and which depends at last on the simple feeling that a man should to a certain varying extent sacrifice his personal advantage for the good of the community. Now the deists of the eighteenth century, of whom Voltaire was the great champion, denied revelation and sought to banish the emotions from religion. They believed in a God who manifested himself in the splendid pageantry of nature, and this they called natural revelation. They laid especial emphasis on morality, but in their attempt to sever morals from enthusiasm (_enthousiasmos_, god-in-us) they too often reduced human life to a barren formula. From this brief account it will be seen how naturally Franklin, with his parentage and particular genius, fell a prey to the teachings of Shaftesbury.

After a little while, however, he began to notice that certain of his friends who protested most loudly against religion were quite untrustworthy in their morals as well. Moreover he attributed several _errata_ of his own early life to lack of religious principles, and to remedy this defect he now undertook--deliberately if we may credit his later confessions--to build up a religion of his own. There is, one must acknowledge, something grotesque in this endeavor to supply the warmth of the emotional imagination by the use of cold reason, and had Franklin possessed less wit and more humor he would never have fallen into such bathos. The little book still exists in which Franklin wrote out his creed and private liturgy. The creed expresses a belief in "one Supreme, most perfect Being, Author and Father of the gods themselves." Finding this God to be infinitely above man's comprehension, our religionist goes on to say: "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.... 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." Thereupon follows the form of adoration, or liturgy, including an invocation, psalm, indication of philosophic reading to take the place of the lessons, singing of the Hymn to the Creator from Milton's Paradise Lost, and litany. The whole is not without elevation, and the litany, composed as it is by a young man of twenty-two, touches one with a feeling almost of pathos for its true humility and reaching out after virtue.

Franklin continued to use this form of worship for a number of years; but its fantastic nature seems to have dawned on him at last, and he gave it up for a still simpler creed consisting merely in reverence for the Deity and in respect for the moral law. In the matter of public worship he was of the same opinion as Spinoza and many other philosophers. He esteemed public worship salutary for the state, and paid an annual subscription to the Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia; but he also esteemed it his privilege to stay away from service, and indulged in this privilege to the full, making Sunday his chief day of study. Though affiliated in this way to the Presbyterians, he showed perfect impartiality, or even indifference, to the various denominations of the Christian world. The only sect he ever really praised was the Dunkers, whom he commended for their modesty in not formulating a creed. He quotes with pleasure the character given himself of being merely "an honest man of no sect at all." Tolerance in religion and in every other walk of life was indeed a marked and distinguishing trait of his character. He was of the mind of Bishop Warburton, when he said, "Orthodoxy is my doxy and Heterodoxy is your doxy."

It is a little disconcerting to find our philosopher himself proposing a new sect, which should be called the Society of the Free and Easy, and which actually progressed so far as to possess two enthusiastic disciples. The creed of this projected sect may be taken as an expression of Franklin's mature belief:--

"That there is one God, who made all things.

"That he governs the world by his providence.

"That he ought to be worshipped by adoration, prayer, and thanksgiving.

"But that the most acceptable service to God is doing good to man.

"That the soul is immortal.

"And that God will certainly reward virtue and punish vice, either here or hereafter."

The real religion of his life consisted in the practice of virtue with a minimum of emotional imagination. His methodical mind found it convenient to tabulate the virtues in a manner more precise, as he thought, than they usually appear. His table is not without interest:--

"1. TEMPERANCE.--Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.

"2. SILENCE.--Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.

"3. ORDER.--Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.

"4. RESOLUTION.--Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.

"5. FRUGALITY.--Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing.

"6. INDUSTRY.--Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.

"7. SINCERITY.--Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly; and if you speak, speak accordingly.

"8. JUSTICE.--Wrong none by doing injuries or omitting benefits that are your duty.

"9. MODERATION.--Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.

"10. CLEANLINESS.--Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation.

"11. TRANQUILLITY.--Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.

"12. CHASTITY....