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The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin by Benjamin Franklin

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BENJAMIN FRANKLIN was born in Milk Street, Boston, on January
6, 1706. His father, Josiah Franklin, was a tallow chandler who
married twice, and of his seventeen children Benjamin was the youngest
son. His schooling ended at ten, and at twelve he was bound apprentice
to his brother James, a printer, who published the "New England
Courant." To this journal he became a contributor, and later was for
a time its nominal editor. But the brothers quarreled, and Benjamin
ran away, going first to New York, and thence to Philadelphia, where
he arrived in October, 1723. He soon obtained work as a printer,
but after a few months he was induced by Governor Keith to go to
London, where, finding Keith's promises empty, he again worked as a
compositor till he was brought back to Philadelphia by a merchant
named Denman, who gave him a position in his business. On Denman's
death he returned to his former trade, and shortly set up a printing
house of his own from which he published "The Pennsylvania Gazette,"
to which he contributed many essays, and which he made a medium for
agitating a variety of local reforms. In 1732 he began to issue his
famous "Poor Richard's Almanac" for the enrichment of which he borrowed
or composed those pithy utterances of worldly wisdom which are the
basis of a large part of his popular reputation. In 1758, the year
in which he ceases writing for the Almanac, he printed in it "Father
Abraham's Sermon," now regarded as the most famous piece of literature
produced in Colonial America.

Meantime Franklin was concerning himself more and more with
public affairs. He set forth a scheme for an Academy, which was
taken up later and finally developed into the University of Pennsylvania;
and he founded an "American Philosophical Society" for the purpose
of enabling scientific men to communicate their discoveries to one
another. He himself had already begun his electrical researches,
which, with other scientific inquiries, he called on in the intervals
of money-making and politics to the end of his life. In 1748 he
sold his business in order to get leisure for study, having now
acquired comparative wealth; and in a few years he had made discoveries
that gave him a reputation with the learned throughout Europe. In
politics he proved very able both as an administrator and as a
controversialist; but his record as an office-holder is stained by
the use he made of his position to advance his relatives. His most
notable service in home politics was his reform of the postal system;
but his fame as a statesman rests chiefly on his services in connection
with the relations of the Colonies with Great Britain, and later with
France. In 1757 he was sent to England to protest against the
influence of the Penns in the government of the colony, and for five
years he remained there, striving to enlighten the people and the
ministry of England as to Colonial conditions. On his return to
America he played an honorable part in the Paxton affair, through
which he lost his seat in the Assembly; but in 1764 he was again
despatched to England as agent for the colony, this time to petition
the King to resume the government from the hands of the proprietors.
In London he actively opposed the proposed Stamp Act, but lost the
credit for this and much of his popularity through his securing for
a friend the office of stamp agent in America. Even his effective
work in helping to obtain the repeal of the act left him still a
suspect; but he continued his efforts to present the case for the
Colonies as the troubles thickened toward the crisis of the Revolution.
In 1767 he crossed to France, where he was received with honor; but
before his return home in 1775 he lost his position as postmaster
through his share in divulging to Massachusetts the famous letter of
Hutchinson and Oliver. On his arrival in Philadelphia he was chosen
a member of the Continental Congress and in 1777 he was despatched
to France as commissioner for the United States. Here he remained
till 1785, the favorite of French society; and with such success did
he conduct the affairs of his country that when he finally returned
he received a place only second to that of Washington as the champion
of American independence. He died on April 17, 1790.

The first five chapters of the Autobiography were composed in
England in 1771, continued in 1784-5, and again in 1788, at which
date he brought it down to 1757. After a most extraordinary series
of adventures, the original form of the manuscript was finally printed
by Mr. John Bigelow, and is here reproduced in recognition of its
value as a picture of one of the most notable personalities of Colonial
times, and of its acknowledged rank as one of the great autobiographies
of the world.


TWYFORD, at the Bishop of St. Asaph's,<0> 1771.

<0> The country-seat of Bishop Shipley, the good bishop,
as Dr. Franklin used to style him.--B.

DEAR SON: I have ever had pleasure in obtaining any little
anecdotes of my ancestors. You may remember the inquiries I made
among the remains of my relations when you were with me in England,
and the journey I undertook for that purpose. Imagining it may be
equally agreeable to<1> you to know the circumstances of my life,
many of which you are yet unacquainted with, and expecting the enjoyment
of a week's uninterrupted leisure in my present country retirement,
I sit down to write them for you. To which I have besides some
other inducements. Having emerged from the poverty and obscurity
in which I was born and bred, to a state of affluence and some
degree of reputation in the world, and having gone so far through
life with a considerable share of felicity, the conducing means
I made use of, which with the blessing of God so well succeeded,
my posterity may like to know, as they may find some of them
suitable to their own situations, and therefore fit to be imitated.

<1> After the words "agreeable to" the words "some of" were
interlined and afterward effaced.--B.

That felicity, when I reflected on it, has induced me sometimes
to say, that were it offered to my choice, I should have no objection
to a repetition of the same life from its beginning, only asking
the advantages authors have in a second edition to correct some faults
of the first. So I might, besides correcting the faults, change some
sinister accidents and events of it for others more favorable.
But though this were denied, I should still accept the offer.
Since such a repetition is not to be expected, the next thing
most like living one's life over again seems to be a recollection
of that life, and to make that recollection as durable as possible
by putting it down in writing.

Hereby, too, I shall indulge the inclination so natural in old men,
to be talking of themselves and their own past actions; and I shall
indulge it without being tiresome to others, who, through respect
to age, might conceive themselves obliged to give me a hearing,
since this may be read or not as any one pleases. And, lastly (I may
as well confess it, since my denial of it will be believed by nobody),
perhaps I shall a good deal gratify my own vanity. Indeed, I scarce
ever heard or saw the introductory words, "Without vanity I may say,"
&c., but some vain thing immediately followed. Most people dislike
vanity in others, whatever share they have of it themselves;
but I give it fair quarter wherever I meet with it, being persuaded
that it is often productive of good to the possessor, and to others
that are within his sphere of action; and therefore, in many cases,
it would not be altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his
vanity among the other comforts of life.

And now I speak of thanking God, I desire with all humility
to acknowledge that I owe the mentioned happiness of my past
life to His kind providence, which lead me to the means I used
and gave them success. My belief of this induces me to hope,
though I must not presume, that the same goodness will still be
exercised toward me, in continuing that happiness, or enabling
me to bear a fatal reverse, which I may experience as others
have done: the complexion of my future fortune being known
to Him only in whose power it is to bless to us even our afflictions.

The notes one of my uncles (who had the same kind of curiosity
in collecting family anecdotes) once put into my hands,
furnished me with several particulars relating to our ancestors.
From these notes I learned that the family had lived in the
same village, Ecton, in Northamptonshire, for three hundred years,
and how much longer he knew not (perhaps from the time when the name
of Franklin, that before was the name of an order of people,
was assumed by them as a surname when others took surnames
all over the kingdom), on a freehold of about thirty acres,
aided by the smith's business, which had continued in the family
till his time, the eldest son being always bred to that business;
a custom which he and my father followed as to their eldest sons.
When I searched the registers at Ecton, I found an account
of their births, marriages and burials from the year 1555 only,
there being no registers kept in that parish at any time preceding.
By that register I perceived that I was the youngest son of the
youngest son for five generations back. My grandfather Thomas,
who was born in 1598, lived at Ecton till he grew too old to
follow business longer, when he went to live with his son John,
a dyer at Banbury, in Oxfordshire, with whom my father served
an apprenticeship. There my grandfather died and lies buried.
We saw his gravestone in 1758. His eldest son Thomas lived in
the house at Ecton, and left it with the land to his only child,
a daughter, who, with her husband, one Fisher, of Wellingborough,
sold it to Mr. Isted, now lord of the manor there. My grandfather
had four sons that grew up, viz.: Thomas, John, Benjamin and Josiah.
I will give you what account I can of them, at this distance from
my papers, and if these are not lost in my absence, you will among
them find many more particulars.

Thomas was bred a smith under his father; but, being ingenious,
and encouraged in learning (as all my brothers were) by an Esquire
Palmer, then the principal gentleman in that parish, he qualified
himself for the business of scrivener; became a considerable man
in the county; was a chief mover of all public-spirited undertakings
for the county or town of Northampton, and his own village,
of which many instances were related of him; and much taken notice
of and patronized by the then Lord Halifax. He died in 1702,
January 6, old style, just four years to a day before I was born.
The account we received of his life and character from some old
people at Ecton, I remember, struck you as something extraordinary,
from its similarity to what you knew of mine.

"Had he died on the same day," you said, "one might have supposed
a transmigration."

John was bred a dyer, I believe of woolens. Benjamin was bred a silk
dyer, serving an apprenticeship at London. He was an ingenious man.
I remember him well, for when I was a boy he came over to my father
in Boston, and lived in the house with us some years. He lived
to a great age. His grandson, Samuel Franklin, now lives in Boston.
He left behind him two quarto volumes, MS., of his own poetry, consisting
of little occasional pieces addressed to his friends and relations,
of which the following, sent to me, is a specimen.<2> He had formed
a short-hand of his own, which he taught me, but, never practising it,
I have now forgot it. I was named after this uncle, there being
a particular affection between him and my father. He was very pious,
a great attender of sermons of the best preachers, which he took
down in his short-hand, and had with him many volumes of them.
He was also much of a politician; too much, perhaps, for his station.
There fell lately into my hands, in London, a collection he had
made of all the principal pamphlets, relating to public affairs,
from 1641 to 1717; many of the volumes are wanting as appears
by the numbering, but there still remain eight volumes in folio,
and twenty-four in quarto and in octavo. A dealer in old books
met with them, and knowing me by my sometimes buying of him,
he brought them to me. It seems my uncle must have left them here,
when he went to America, which was about fifty years since.
There are many of his notes in the margins.

<2> Here follow in the margin the words, in brackets, "here
insert it," but the poetry is not given. Mr. Sparks
informs us (Life of Franklin, p. 6) that these volumes
had been preserved, and were in possession of Mrs. Emmons,
of Boston, great-granddaughter of their author.

This obscure family of ours was early in the Reformation,
and continued Protestants through the reign of Queen Mary,
when they were sometimes in danger of trouble on account of their
zeal against popery. They had got an English Bible, and to conceal
and secure it, it was fastened open with tapes under and within
the cover of a joint-stool. When my great-great-grandfather read
it to his family, he turned up the joint-stool upon his knees,
turning over the leaves then under the tapes. One of the children
stood at the door to give notice if he saw the apparitor coming,
who was an officer of the spiritual court. In that case the stool
was turned down again upon its feet, when the Bible remained concealed
under it as before. This anecdote I had from my uncle Benjamin.
The family continued all of the Church of England till about the end
of Charles the Second's reign, when some of the ministers that had been
outed for nonconformity holding conventicles in Northamptonshire,
Benjamin and Josiah adhered to them, and so continued all their lives:
the rest of the family remained with the Episcopal Church.

Josiah, my father, married young, and carried his wife with three
children into New England, about 1682. The conventicles having
been forbidden by law, and frequently disturbed, induced some
considerable men of his acquaintance to remove to that country,
and he was prevailed with to accompany them thither, where they expected
to enjoy their mode of religion with freedom. By the same wife he
had four children more born there, and by a second wife ten more,
in all seventeen; of which I remember thirteen sitting at one time
at his table, who all grew up to be men and women, and married;
I was the youngest son, and the youngest child but two, and was born
in Boston, New England. My mother, the second wife, was Abiah Folger,
daughter of Peter Folger, one of the first settlers of New England,
of whom honorable mention is made by Cotton Mather in his church
history of that country, entitled Magnalia Christi Americana,
as 'a godly, learned Englishman," if I remember the words rightly.
I have heard that he wrote sundry small occasional pieces,
but only one of them was printed, which I saw now many years since.
It was written in 1675, in the home-spun verse of that time and people,
and addressed to those then concerned in the government there.
It was in favor of liberty of conscience, and in behalf of the Baptists,
Quakers, and other sectaries that had been under persecution,
ascribing the Indian wars, and other distresses that had befallen
the country, to that persecution, as so many judgments of God
to punish so heinous an offense, and exhorting a repeal of those
uncharitable laws. The whole appeared to me as written with a good
deal of decent plainness and manly freedom. The six concluding lines
I remember, though I have forgotten the two first of the stanza;
but the purport of them was, that his censures proceeded from
good-will, and, therefore, he would be known to be the author.

"Because to be a libeller (says he)
I hate it with my heart;
From Sherburne town, where now I dwell
My name I do put here;
Without offense your real friend,
It is Peter Folgier."

My elder brothers were all put apprentices to different trades.
I was put to the grammar-school at eight years of age, my father
intending to devote me, as the tithe of his sons, to the service
of the Church. My early readiness in learning to read (which must
have been very early, as I do not remember when I could not read),
and the opinion of all his friends, that I should certainly make a
good scholar, encouraged him in this purpose of his. My uncle Benjamin,
too, approved of it, and proposed to give me all his short-hand
volumes of sermons, I suppose as a stock to set up with, if I would
learn his character. I continued, however, at the grammar-school
not quite one year, though in that time I had risen gradually
from the middle of the class of that year to be the head of it,
and farther was removed into the next class above it, in order to go
with that into the third at the end of the year. But my father,
in the meantime, from a view of the expense of a college education,
which having so large a family he could not well afford, and the mean
living many so educated were afterwards able to obtain--reasons that
he gave to his friends in my hearing--altered his first intention,
took me from the grammar-school, and sent me to a school for writing
and arithmetic, kept by a then famous man, Mr. George Brownell,
very successful in his profession generally, and that by mild,
encouraging methods. Under him I acquired fair writing pretty soon,
but I failed in the arithmetic, and made no progress in it.
At ten years old I was taken home to assist my father in his business,
which was that of a tallow-chandler and sope-boiler; a business he
was not bred to, but had assumed on his arrival in New England,
and on finding his dying trade would not maintain his family,
being in little request. Accordingly, I was employed in cutting wick
for the candles, filling the dipping mold and the molds for cast candles,
attending the shop, going of errands, etc.

I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination for the sea,
but my father declared against it; however, living near the water,
I was much in and about it, learnt early to swim well, and to
manage boats; and when in a boat or canoe with other boys, I was
commonly allowed to govern, especially in any case of difficulty;
and upon other occasions I was generally a leader among the boys,
and sometimes led them into scrapes, of which I will mention
one instance, as it shows an early projecting public spirit, tho'
not then justly conducted.

There was a salt-marsh that bounded part of the mill-pond,
on the edge of which, at high water, we used to stand to fish
for minnows. By much trampling, we had made it a mere quagmire.
My proposal was to build a wharff there fit for us to stand upon,
and I showed my comrades a large heap of stones, which were intended
for a new house near the marsh, and which would very well suit
our purpose. Accordingly, in the evening, when the workmen
were gone, I assembled a number of my play-fellows, and working
with them diligently like so many emmets, sometimes two or three
to a stone, we brought them all away and built our little wharff.
The next morning the workmen were surprised at missing the stones,
which were found in our wharff. Inquiry was made after the removers;
we were discovered and complained of; several of us were corrected
by our fathers; and though I pleaded the usefulness of the work,
mine convinced me that nothing was useful which was not honest.

I think you may like to know something of his person and character.
He had an excellent constitution of body, was of middle stature,
but well set, and very strong; he was ingenious, could draw prettily,
was skilled a little in music, and had a clear pleasing voice,
so that when he played psalm tunes on his violin and sung withal,
as he sometimes did in an evening after the business of the day was over,
it was extremely agreeable to hear. He had a mechanical genius too,
and, on occasion, was very handy in the use of other tradesmen's tools;
but his great excellence lay in a sound understanding and solid
judgment in prudential matters, both in private and publick affairs.
In the latter, indeed, he was never employed, the numerous
family he had to educate and the straitness of his circumstances
keeping him close to his trade; but I remember well his being
frequently visited by leading people, who consulted him for his
opinion in affairs of the town or of the church he belonged to,
and showed a good deal of respect for his judgment and advice:
he was also much consulted by private persons about their affairs
when any difficulty occurred, and frequently chosen an arbitrator
between contending parties.

At his table he liked to have, as often as he could, some sensible
friend or neighbor to converse with, and always took care to start
some ingenious or useful topic for discourse, which might tend
to improve the minds of his children. By this means he turned
our attention to what was good, just, and prudent in the conduct
of life; and little or no notice was ever taken of what related
to the victuals on the table, whether it was well or ill dressed,
in or out of season, of good or bad flavor, preferable or inferior
to this or that other thing of the kind, so that I was bro't up
in such a perfect inattention to those matters as to be quite
indifferent what kind of food was set before me, and so unobservant
of it, that to this day if I am asked I can scarce tell a few hours
after dinner what I dined upon. This has been a convenience to me
in travelling, where my companions have been sometimes very unhappy
for want of a suitable gratification of their more delicate,
because better instructed, tastes and appetites.

My mother had likewise an excellent constitution: she suckled
all her ten children. I never knew either my father or mother
to have any sickness but that of which they dy'd, he at 89,
and she at 85 years of age. They lie buried together at Boston,
where I some years since placed a marble over their grave,
with this inscription:

ABIAH his Wife,
lie here interred.
They lived lovingly together in wedlock
fifty-five years.
Without an estate, or any gainful employment,
By constant labor and industry,
with God's blessing,
They maintained a large family
and brought up thirteen children
and seven grandchildren
From this instance, reader,
Be encouraged to diligence in thy calling,
And distrust not Providence.
He was a pious and prudent man;
She, a discreet and virtuous woman.
Their youngest son,
In filial regard to their memory,
Places this stone.
J.F. born 1655, died 1744, AEtat 89.
A.F. born 1667, died 1752, ----- 95.

By my rambling digressions I perceive myself to be grown old.
I us'd to write more methodically. But one does not dress for private
company as for a publick ball. 'Tis perhaps only negligence.

To return: I continued thus employed in my father's business for
two years, that is, till I was twelve years old; and my brother John,
who was bred to that business, having left my father, married, and set
up for himself at Rhode Island, there was all appearance that I
was destined to supply his place, and become a tallow-chandler.
But my dislike to the trade continuing, my father was under
apprehensions that if he did not find one for me more agreeable,
I should break away and get to sea, as his son Josiah had done,
to his great vexation. He therefore sometimes took me to walk with him,
and see joiners, bricklayers, turners, braziers, etc., at their work,
that he might observe my inclination, and endeavor to fix it on some
trade or other on land. It has ever since been a pleasure to me
to see good workmen handle their tools; and it has been useful to me,
having learnt so much by it as to be able to do little jobs myself
in my house when a workman could not readily be got, and to construct
little machines for my experiments, while the intention of making
the experiment was fresh and warm in my mind. My father at last
fixed upon the cutler's trade, and my uncle Benjamin's son Samuel,
who was bred to that business in London, being about that time
established in Boston, I was sent to be with him some time on liking.
But his expectations of a fee with me displeasing my father,
I was taken home again.

From a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money
that came into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased with
the Pilgrim's Progress, my first collection was of John Bunyan's
works in separate little volumes. I afterward sold them to enable
me to buy R. Burton's Historical Collections; they were small
chapmen's books, and cheap, 40 or 50 in all. My father's little
library consisted chiefly of books in polemic divinity, most of
which I read, and have since often regretted that, at a time when I
had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper books had not fallen
in my way since it was now resolved I should not be a clergyman.
Plutarch's Lives there was in which I read abundantly, and I still
think that time spent to great advantage. There was also a book of De
Foe's, called an Essay on Projects, and another of Dr. Mather's,
called Essays to do Good, which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking
that had an influence on some of the principal future events of my life.

This bookish inclination at length determined my father to make me
a printer, though he had already one son (James) of that profession.
In 1717 my brother James returned from England with a press and
letters to set up his business in Boston. I liked it much better
than that of my father, but still had a hankering for the sea.
To prevent the apprehended effect of such an inclination, my father
was impatient to have me bound to my brother. I stood out some time,
but at last was persuaded, and signed the indentures when I was yet
but twelve years old. I was to serve as an apprentice till I was
twenty-one years of age, only I was to be allowed journeyman's wages
during the last year. In a little time I made great proficiency
in the business, and became a useful hand to my brother. I now
had access to better books. An acquaintance with the apprentices
of booksellers enabled me sometimes to borrow a small one, which I
was careful to return soon and clean. Often I sat up in my room
reading the greatest part of the night, when the book was borrowed
in the evening and to be returned early in the morning, lest it
should be missed or wanted.

And after some time an ingenious tradesman, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had
a pretty collection of books, and who frequented our printing-house,
took notice of me, invited me to his library, and very kindly lent
me such books as I chose to read. I now took a fancy to poetry,
and made some little pieces; my brother, thinking it might turn
to account, encouraged me, and put me on composing occasional ballads.
One was called The Lighthouse Tragedy, and contained an account
of the drowning of Captain Worthilake, with his two daughters:
the other was a sailor's song, on the taking of Teach (or Blackbeard)
the pirate. They were wretched stuff, in the Grub-street-ballad style;
and when they were printed he sent me about the town to sell them.
The first sold wonderfully, the event being recent, having made
a great noise. 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 bad been of great use to me
in the course of my life, and was a principal means of my advancement,
I shall tell you how, in such a situation, I acquired what little
ability I have in that way.

There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name,
with whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed,
and very fond we were of argument, and very desirous of confuting
one another, which disputatious turn, by the way, is apt to become
a very bad habit, making people often extremely disagreeable in company
by the contradiction that is necessary to bring it into practice;
and thence, besides souring and spoiling the conversation,
is productive of disgusts and, perhaps enmities where you may have
occasion for friendship. I had caught it by reading my father's
books of dispute about religion. Persons of good sense, I have
since observed, seldom fall into it, except lawyers, university men,
and men of all sorts that have been bred at Edinborough.

A question was once, somehow or other, started between Collins
and me, of the propriety of educating the female sex in learning,
and their abilities for study. He was of opinion that it was improper,
and that they were naturally unequal to it. I took the contrary side,
perhaps a little for dispute's sake. He was naturally more eloquent,
had a ready plenty of words; and sometimes, as I thought, bore me
down more by his fluency than by the strength of his reasons.
As we parted without settling the point, and were not to see one
another again for some time, I sat down to put my arguments in writing,
which I copied fair and sent to him. He answered, and I replied.
Three or four letters of a side had passed, when my father happened
to find my papers and read them. Without entering into the discussion,
he took occasion to talk to me about the manner of my writing;
observed that, though I had the advantage of my antagonist in correct
spelling and pointing (which I ow'd to the printing-house), I fell
far short in elegance of expression, in method and in perspicuity,
of which he convinced me by several instances. I saw the justice
of his remark, and thence grew more attentive to the manner in writing,
and determined to endeavor at improvement.

About this time I met with an odd volume of the Spectator.
It was the third. I had never before seen any of them. I bought it,
read it over and over, and was much delighted with it. I thought
the writing excellent, and wished, if possible, to imitate it.
With this view I took some of the papers, and, making short hints
of the sentiment in each sentence, laid them by a few days, and then,
without looking at the book, try'd to compleat the papers again,
by expressing each hinted sentiment at length, and as fully as it
had been expressed before, in any suitable words that should
come to hand. Then I compared my Spectator with the original,
discovered some of my faults, and corrected them. But I found I wanted
a stock of words, or a readiness in recollecting and using them,
which I thought I should have acquired before that time if I
had gone on making verses; since the continual occasion for words
of the same import, but of different length, to suit the measure,
or of different sound for the rhyme, would have laid me under a constant
necessity of searching for variety, and also have tended to fix
that variety in my mind, and make me master of it. Therefore I took
some of the tales and turned them into verse; and, after a time,
when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, turned them back again.
I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into confusion,
and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best order,
before I began to form the full sentences and compleat the paper.
This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts.
By comparing my work afterwards with the original, I discovered
many faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure
of fancying that, in certain particulars of small import,
I had been lucky enough to improve the method or the language,
and this encouraged me to think I might possibly in time come to be
a tolerable English writer, of which I was extremely ambitious.
My time for these exercises and for reading was at night,
after work or before it began in the morning, or on Sundays,
when I contrived to be in the printing-house alone, evading as much
as I could the common attendance on public worship which my father
used to exact on me when I was under his care, and which indeed
I still thought a duty, though I could not, as it seemed to me,
afford time to practise it.

When about 16 years of age I happened to meet with a book,
written by one Tryon, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined
to go into it. My brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house,
but boarded himself and his apprentices in another family. My refusing
to eat flesh occasioned an inconveniency, and I was frequently chid
for my singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner
of preparing some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes or rice,
making hasty pudding, and a few others, and then proposed to my brother,
that if he would give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board,
I would board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I presently
found that I could save half what he paid me. This was an additional
fund for buying books. But I had another advantage in it.
My brother and the rest going from the printing-house to their meals,
I remained there alone, and, despatching presently my light repast,
which often was no more than a bisket or a slice of bread, a handful
of raisins or a tart from the pastry-cook's, and a glass of water,
had the rest of the time till their return for study, in which I
made the greater progress, from that greater clearness of head
and quicker apprehension which usually attend temperance in eating
and drinking.

And now it was that, being on some occasion made asham'd of my
ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed in learning when
at school, I took Cocker's book of Arithmetick, and went through
the whole by myself with great ease. I also read Seller's and
Shermy's books of Navigation, and became acquainted with the little
geometry they contain; but never proceeded far in that science.
And I read about this time Locke On Human Understanding,
and the Art of Thinking, by Messrs. du Port Royal.

While I was intent on improving my language, I met with an English
grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), at the end of which there were
two little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and logic, the latter
finishing with a specimen of a dispute in the Socratic method;
and soon after I procur'd Xenophon's Memorable Things of Socrates,
wherein there are many instances of the same method. I was
charm'd with it, adopted it, dropt my abrupt contradiction and
positive argumentation, and put on the humble inquirer and doubter.
And being then, from reading Shaftesbury and Collins, become a real
doubter in many points of our religious doctrine, I found this method
safest for myself and very embarrassing to those against whom I used it;
therefore I took a delight in it, practis'd it 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 any thing
that may possibly be disputed, the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any
others that give the air of positiveness to an opinion; but rather say,
I conceive or apprehend a thing to be so and so; it appears to me,
or I should think it so or so, for such and such reasons;
or I imagine it to be so; or it is so, if I am not mistaken.
This habit, I believe, has been of great advantage to me when I
have had occasion to inculcate my opinions, and persuade men into
measures that I have been from time to time engag'd in promoting;
and, as the chief ends of conversation are to inform or to be informed,
to please or to persuade, I wish well-meaning, sensible men would
not lessen their power of doing good by a positive, assuming manner,
that seldom fails to disgust, tends to create opposition, and to
defeat every one of those purposes for which speech was given to us,
to wit, giving or receiving information or pleasure. For, if you
would inform, a positive and dogmatical manner in advancing your
sentiments may provoke contradiction and prevent a candid attention.
If you wish information and improvement from the knowledge of others,
and yet at the same time express yourself as firmly fix'd in your
present opinions, modest, sensible men, who do not love disputation,
will probably leave you undisturbed in the possession of your error.
And by such a manner, you can seldom hope to recommend yourself
in pleasing your hearers, or to persuade those whose concurrence
you desire. Pope says, judiciously:

"Men should be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot;"

farther recommending to us

"To speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence."

And he might have coupled with this line that which he has coupled
with another, I think, less properly,

"For want of modesty is want of sense."

If you ask, Why less properly? I must repeat the lines,

"Immodest words admit of no defense,
For want of modesty is want of sense."

Now, is not want of sense (where a man is so unfortunate as to want it)
some apology for his want of modesty? and would not the lines stand
more justly thus?

"Immodest words admit but this defense,
That want of modesty is want of sense."

This, however, I should submit to better judgments.

My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a newspaper.
It was the second that appeared in America, and was called the New
England Courant. The only one before it was the Boston News-Letter. I
remember his being dissuaded by some of his friends from the undertaking,
as not likely to succeed, one newspaper being, in their judgment,
enough for America. At this time (1771) there are not less
than five-and-twenty. He went on, however, with the undertaking,
and after having worked in composing the types and printing off
the sheets, I was employed to carry the papers thro' the streets
to the customers.

He had some ingenious men among his friends, who amus'd themselves
by writing little pieces for this paper, which gain'd it credit
and made it more in demand, and these gentlemen often visited us.
Hearing their conversations, and their accounts of the approbation their
papers were received with, I was excited to try my hand among them;
but, being still a boy, and suspecting that my brother would object
to printing anything of mine in his paper if he knew it to be mine,
I contrived to disguise my hand, and, writing an anonymous paper,
I put it in at night under the door of the printing-house. It was found
in the morning, and communicated to his writing friends when they
call'd in as usual. They read it, commented on it in my hearing, and I
had the exquisite pleasure of finding it met with their approbation,
and that, in their different guesses at the author, none were named
but men of some character among us for learning and ingenuity.
I suppose now that I was rather lucky in my judges, and that perhaps
they were not really so very good ones as I then esteem'd them.

Encourag'd, however, by this, I wrote and convey'd in the same way
to the press several more papers which were equally approv'd; and I
kept my secret till my small fund of sense for such performances was
pretty well exhausted and then I discovered it, when I began to be
considered a little more by my brother's acquaintance, and in a manner
that did not quite please him, as he thought, probably with reason,
that it tended to make me too vain. And, perhaps, this might be one
occasion of the differences that we began to have about this time.
Though a brother, he considered himself as my master, and me
as his apprentice, and accordingly, expected the same services
from me as he would from another, while I thought he demean'd me
too much in some he requir'd of me, who from a brother expected
more indulgence. Our disputes were often brought before our father,
and I fancy I was either generally in the right, or else a
better pleader, because the judgment was generally in my favor.
But my brother was passionate, and had often beaten me, which I
took extreamly amiss; and, thinking my apprenticeship very tedious,
I was continually wishing for some opportunity of shortening it,
which at length offered in a manner unexpected.<3>

<3> I fancy his harsh and tyrannical treatment of me
might be a means of impressing me with that aversion
to arbitrary power that has stuck to me through my
whole life.

One of the pieces in our newspaper on some political point, which I
have now forgotten, gave offense to the Assembly. He was taken up,
censur'd, and imprison'd for a month, by the speaker's warrant,
I suppose, because he would not discover his author. I too was taken
up and examin'd before the council; but, tho' I did not give them
any satisfaction, they content'd themselves with admonishing me,
and dismissed me, considering me, perhaps, as an apprentice, who was
bound to keep his master's secrets.

During my brother's confinement, which I resented a good deal,
notwithstanding our private differences, I had the management
of the paper; and I made bold to give our rulers some rubs in it,
which my brother took very kindly, while others began to consider
me in an unfavorable light, as a young genius that had a turn
for libelling and satyr. My brother's discharge was accompany'd
with an order of the House (a very odd one), that "James Franklin
should no longer print the paper called the New England Courant."

There was a consultation held in our printing-house among
his friends, what he should do in this case. Some proposed to
evade the order by changing the name of the paper; but my brother,
seeing inconveniences in that, it was finally concluded on as a
better way, to let it be printed for the future under the name
of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN; and to avoid the censure of the Assembly,
that might fall on him as still printing it by his apprentice,
the contrivance was that my old indenture should be return'd to me,
with a full discharge on the back of it, to be shown on occasion,
but to secure to him the benefit of my service, I was to sign new
indentures for the remainder of the term, which were to be kept private.
A very flimsy scheme it was; however, it was immediately executed,
and the paper went on accordingly, under my name for several months.

At length, a fresh difference arising between my brother and me,
I took upon me to assert my freedom, presuming that he would not
venture to produce the new indentures. It was not fair in me to
take this advantage, and this I therefore reckon one of the first
errata of my life; but the unfairness of it weighed little with me,
when under the impressions of resentment for the blows his passion
too often urged him to bestow upon me, though he was otherwise
not an ill-natur'd man: perhaps I was too saucy and provoking.

When he found I would leave him, he took care to prevent my getting
employment in any other printing-house of the town, by going round
and speaking to every master, who accordingly refus'd to give me work.
I then thought of going to New York, as the nearest place where
there was a printer; and I was rather inclin'd to leave Boston
when I reflected that I had already made myself a little obnoxious
to the governing party, and, from the arbitrary proceedings of the
Assembly in my brother's case, it was likely I might, if I stay'd,
soon bring myself into scrapes; and farther, that my indiscrete
disputations about religion began to make me pointed at with horror
by good people as an infidel or atheist. I determin'd on the point,
but my father now siding with my brother, I was sensible that,
if I attempted to go openly, means would be used to prevent me.
My friend Collins, therefore, undertook to manage a little for me.
He agreed with the captain of a New York sloop for my passage,
under the notion of my being a young acquaintance of his, that had
got a naughty girl with child, whose friends would compel me to
marry her, and therefore I could not appear or come away publicly.
So I sold some of my books to raise a little money, was taken on
board privately, and as we had a fair wind, in three days I found
myself in New York, near 300 miles from home, a boy of but 17,
without the least recommendation to, or knowledge of any person in
the place, and with very little money in my pocket.

My inclinations for the sea were by this time worne out, or I
might now have gratify'd them. But, having a trade, and supposing
myself a pretty good workman, I offer'd my service to the printer
in the place, old Mr. William Bradford, who had been the first
printer in Pennsylvania, but removed from thence upon the quarrel
of George Keith. He could give me no employment, having little to do,
and help enough already; but says he, "My son at Philadelphia
has lately lost his principal hand, Aquila Rose, by death;
if you go thither, I believe he may employ you." Philadelphia was
a hundred miles further; I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy,
leaving my chest and things to follow me round by sea.

In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails
to pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill and drove us upon
Long Island. In our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too,
fell overboard; when he was sinking, I reached through the water
to his shock pate, and drew him up, so that we got him in again.
His ducking sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first
out of his pocket a book, which he desir'd I would dry for him.
It proved to be my old favorite author, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress,
in Dutch, finely printed on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better
than I had ever seen it wear in its own language. I have since found
that it has been translated into most of the languages of Europe,
and suppose it has been more generally read than any other book,
except perhaps the Bible. Honest John was the first that I know
of who mix'd narration and dialogue; a method of writing very engaging
to the reader, who in the most interesting parts finds himself,
as it were, brought into the company and present at the discourse.
De Foe in his Cruso, his Moll Flanders, Religious Courtship,
Family Instructor, and other pieces, has imitated it with success;
and Richardson has done the same, in his Pamela, etc.

When we drew near the island, we found it was at a place where there
could be no landing, there being a great surff on the stony beach.
So we dropt anchor, and swung round towards the shore. Some people
came down to the water edge and hallow'd to us, as we did to them;
but the wind was so high, and the surff so loud, that we could
not hear so as to understand each other. There were canoes on
the shore, and we made signs, and hallow'd that they should fetch us;
but they either did not understand us, or thought it impracticable,
so they went away, and night coming on, we had no remedy but to wait
till the wind should abate; and, in the meantime, the boatman and I
concluded to sleep, if we could; and so crowded into the scuttle,
with the Dutchman, who was still wet, and the spray beating over
the head of our boat, leak'd thro' to us, so that we were soon
almost as wet as he. In this manner we lay all night, with very
little rest; but, the wind abating the next day, we made a shift
to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty hours on the water,
without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of filthy rum,
and the water we sail'd on being salt.

In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went in to bed;
but, having read somewhere that cold water drank plentifully was good
for a fever, I follow'd the prescription, sweat plentiful most of
the night, my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry,
I proceeded on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington,
where I was told I should find boats that would carry me the rest
of the way to Philadelphia.

It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly soak'd, and by noon
a good deal tired; so I stopt at a poor inn, where I staid all night,
beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so miserable
a figure, too, that I found, by the questions ask'd me, I was
suspected to be some runaway servant, and in danger of being taken
up on that suspicion. However, I proceeded the next day, and got
in the evening to an inn, within eight or ten miles of Burlington,
kept by one Dr. Brown. He entered into conversation with me while I
took some refreshment, and, finding I had read a little, became very
sociable and friendly. Our acquaintance continu'd as long as he
liv'd. He had been, I imagine, an itinerant doctor, for there was no
town in England, or country in Europe, of which he could not give
a very particular account. He had some letters, and was ingenious,
but much of an unbeliever, and wickedly undertook, some years after,
to travestie the Bible in doggrel verse, as Cotton had done Virgil.
By this means he set many of the facts in a very ridiculous light,
and might have hurt weak minds if his work had been published;
but it never was.

At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reach'd Burlington,
but had the mortification to find that the regular boats were gone
a little before my coming, and no other expected to go before Tuesday,
this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old woman in the town,
of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the water, and ask'd
her advice. She invited me to lodge at her house till a passage
by water should offer; and being tired with my foot travelling,
I accepted the invitation. She understanding I was a printer,
would have had me stay at that town and follow my business,
being ignorant of the stock necessary to begin with. She was
very hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox-cheek with great good will,
accepting only a pot of ale in return; and I thought myself
fixed till Tuesday should come. However, walking in the evening
by the side of the river, a boat came by, which I found was going
towards Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in,
and, as there was no wind, we row'd all the way; and about midnight,
not having yet seen the city, some of the company were confident
we must have passed it, and would row no farther; the others knew
not where we were; so we put toward the shore, got into a creek,
landed near an old fence, with the rails of which we made a fire,
the night being cold, in October, and there we remained till daylight.
Then one of the company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little
above Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the creek,
and arriv'd there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning,
and landed at the Market-street wharf.

I have been the more particular in this description of my journey,
and shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may
in your mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure
I have since made there. I was in my working dress, my best
cloaths being to come round by sea. I was dirty from my journey;
my pockets were stuff'd out with shirts and stockings, and I
knew no soul nor where to look for lodging. I was fatigued
with travelling, rowing, and want of rest, I was very hungry;
and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar, and about
a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of the boat
for my passage, who at first refus'd it, on account of my rowing;
but I insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes more
generous when he has but a little money than when he has plenty,
perhaps thro' fear of being thought to have but little.

Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the market-house
I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and,
inquiring where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's
he directed me to, in Secondstreet, and ask'd for bisket,
intending such as we had in Boston; but they, it seems, were not
made in Philadelphia. Then I asked for a three-penny loaf,
and was told they had none such. So not considering or knowing
the difference of money, and the greater cheapness nor the names
of his bread, I made him give me three-penny worth of any sort.
He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surpriz'd
at the quantity, but took it, and, having no room in my pockets,
walk'd off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. Thus I
went up Market-street as far as Fourth-street, passing by the door
of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when she, standing at the door,
saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward,
ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut-street and
part of Walnut-street, eating my roll all the way, and, corning round,
found myself again at Market-street wharf, near the boat I came in,
to which I went for a draught of the river water; and, being filled
with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that
came down the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther.

Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had
many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way.
I joined them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of
the Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking
round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy thro'
labor and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep,
and continued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind
enough to rouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in,
or slept in, in Philadelphia.

Walking down again toward the river, and, looking in the faces
of people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I lik'd, and,
accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could
get lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners.
"Here," says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it
is not a reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me, I'll show thee
a better." He brought me to the Crooked Billet in Water-street. Here
I got a dinner; and, while I was eating it, several sly questions were
asked me, as it seemed to be suspected from my youth and appearance,
that I might be some runaway.

After dinner, my sleepiness return'd, and being shown to a bed,
I lay down without undressing, and slept till six in the evening,
was call'd to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept
soundly till next morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could,
and went to Andrew Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop
the old man his father, whom I had seen at New York, and who,
travelling on horseback, had got to Philadelphia before me.
He introduc'd me to his son, who receiv'd me civilly, gave me
a breakfast, but told me he did not at present want a hand,
being lately suppli'd with one; but there was another printer
in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ me;
if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would
give me a little work to do now and then till fuller business
should offer.

The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer;
and when we found him, "Neighbor," says Bradford, "I have brought
to see you a young man of your business; perhaps you may want such
a one." He ask'd me a few questions, put a composing stick in my
hand to see how I work'd, and then said he would employ me soon,
though he had just then nothing for me to do; and, taking old Bradford,
whom he had never seen before, to be one of the town's people that
had a good will for him, enter'd into a conversation on his present
undertaking and projects; while Bradford, not discovering that he
was the other printer's father, on Keimer's saying he expected
soon to get the greatest part of the business into his own hands,
drew him on by artful questions, and starting little doubts,
to explain all his views, what interests he reli'd on, and in what
manner he intended to proceed. I, who stood by and heard all,
saw immediately that one of them was a crafty old sophister,
and the other a mere novice. Bradford left me with Keimer, who was
greatly surpris'd when I told him who the old man was.

Keimer's printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shatter'd press,
and one small, worn-out font of English which he was then using himself,
composing an Elegy on Aquila Rose, before mentioned, an ingenious
young man, of excellent character, much respected in the town,
clerk of the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too,
but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for his
manner was to compose them in the types directly out of his head.
So there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy
likely to require all the letter, no one could help him.
I endeavor'd to put his press (which he had not yet us'd, and of
which he understood nothing) into order fit to be work'd with;
and, promising to come and print off his Elegy as soon as he
should have got it ready, I return'd to Bradford's, who gave me
a little job to do for the present, and there I lodged and dieted,
A few days after, Keimer sent for me to print off the Elegy.
And now he had got another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint,
on which he set me to work.

These two printers I found poorly qualified for their business.
Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate;
and Keimer, tho' something of a scholar, was a mere compositor,
knowing nothing of presswork. He had been one of the French prophets,
and could act their enthusiastic agitations. At this time he did
not profess any particular religion, but something of all on occasion;
was very ignorant of the world, and had, as I afterward found,
a good deal of the knave in his composition. He did not like my
lodging at Bradford's while I work'd with him. He had a house,
indeed, but without furniture, so he could not lodge me; but he got
me a lodging at Mr. Read's, before mentioned, who was the owner
of his house; and, my chest and clothes being come by this time,
I made rather a more respectable appearance in the eyes of Miss Read
than I had done when she first happen'd to see me eating my roll in
the street.

I began now to have some acquaintance among the young people of
the town, that were lovers of reading, with whom I spent my evenings
very pleasantly; and gaining money by my industry and frugality,
I lived very agreeably, forgetting Boston as much as I could,
and not desiring that any there should know where I resided,
except my friend Collins, who was in my secret, and kept it when I
wrote to him. At length, an incident happened that sent me back
again much sooner than I had intended. I had a brother-in-law,
Robert Holmes, master of a sloop that traded between Boston
and Delaware. He being at Newcastle, forty miles below Philadelphia,
heard there of me, and wrote me a letter mentioning the concern
of my friends in Boston at my abrupt departure, assuring me of their
good will to me, and that every thing would be accommodated to my
mind if I would return, to which he exhorted me very earnestly.
I wrote an answer to his letter, thank'd him for his advice,
but stated my reasons for quitting Boston fully and in such a light
as to convince him I was not so wrong as he had apprehended.

Sir William Keith, governor of the province, was then at Newcastle,
and Captain Holmes, happening to be in company with him when my
letter came to hand, spoke to him of me, and show'd him the letter.
The governor read it, and seem'd surpris'd when he was told my age.
He said I appear'd a young man of promising parts, and therefore
should be encouraged; the printers at Philadelphia were wretched ones;
and, if I would set up there, he made no doubt I should succeed;
for his part, he would procure me the public business, and do me
every other service in his power. This my brother-in-law afterwards
told me in Boston, but I knew as yet nothing of it; when, one day,
Keimer and I being at work together near the window, we saw the
governor and another gentleman (which proved to be Colonel French,
of Newcastle), finely dress'd, come directly across the street to
our house, and heard them at the door.

Keimer ran down immediately, thinking it a visit to him;
but the governor inquir'd for me, came up, and with a condescension
of politeness I had been quite unus'd to, made me many compliments,
desired to be acquainted with me, blam'd me kindly for not
having made myself known to him when I first came to the place,
and would have me away with him to the tavern, where he was going
with Colonel French to taste, as he said, some excellent Madeira.
I was not a little surprised, and Keimer star'd like a pig poison'd.
I went, however, with the governor and Colonel French to a tavern,
at the corner of Third-street, and over the Madeira he propos'd my
setting up my business, laid before me the probabilities of success,
and both he and Colonel French assur'd me I should have their interest
and influence in procuring the public business of both governments.
On my doubting whether my father would assist me in it, Sir William
said he would give me a letter to him, in which he would state
the advantages, and he did not doubt of prevailing with him.
So it was concluded I should return to Boston in the first vessel,
with the governor's letter recommending me to my father.
In the mean time the intention was to be kept a secret, and I
went on working with Keimer as usual, the governor sending for me
now and then to dine with him, a very great honor I thought it,
and conversing with me in the most affable, familiar, and friendly
manner imaginable.

About the end of April, 1724, a little vessel offer'd for Boston.
I took leave of Keimer as going to see my friends. The governor gave
me an ample letter, saying many flattering things of me to my father,
and strongly recommending the project of my setting up at Philadelphia
as a thing that must make my fortune. We struck on a shoal in going
down the bay, and sprung a leak; we had a blustering time at sea,
and were oblig'd to pump almost continually, at which I took my turn.
We arriv'd safe, however, at Boston in about a fortnight. I had
been absent seven months, and my friends had heard nothing of me;
for my br. Holmes was not yet return'd, and had not written about me.
My unexpected appearance surpriz'd the family; all were, however,
very glad to see me, and made me welcome, except my brother.
I went to see him at his printing-house. I was better dress'd than ever
while in his service, having a genteel new suit from head to foot,
a watch, and my pockets lin'd with near five pounds sterling in silver.
He receiv'd me not very frankly, look'd me all over, and turn'd to his
work again.

The journeymen were inquisitive where I had been, what sort of a
country it was, and how I lik'd it. I prais'd it much, the happy
life I led in it, expressing strongly my intention of returning
to it; and, one of them asking what kind of money we had there,
I produc'd a handful of silver, and spread it before them,
which was a kind of raree-show they had not been us'd to, paper being
the money of Boston. Then I took an opportunity of letting them see
my watch; and, lastly (my brother still grum and sullen), I gave them
a piece of eight to drink, and took my leave. This visit of mine
offended him extreamly; for, when my mother some time after spoke
to him of a reconciliation, and of her wishes to see us on good
terms together, and that we might live for the future as brothers,
he said I had insulted him in such a manner before his people that
he could never forget or forgive it. In this, however, he was mistaken.

My father received the governor's letter with some apparent surprise,
but said little of it to me for some days, when Capt. Holmes returning
he showed it to him, ask'd him if he knew Keith, and what kind of
man he was; adding his opinion that he must be of small discretion
to think of setting a boy up in business who wanted yet three years
of being at man's estate. Holmes said what he could in favor
of the project, but my father was clear in the impropriety of it,
and at last gave a flat denial to it. Then he wrote a civil letter
to Sir William, thanking him for the patronage he had so kindly
offered me, but declining to assist me as yet in setting up, I being,
in his opinion, too young to be trusted with the management of a
business so important, and for which the preparation must be so expensive.

My friend and companion Collins, who was a clerk in the post-office,
pleas'd with the account I gave him of my new country, determined to
go thither also; and, while I waited for my father's determination,
he set out before me by land to Rhode Island, leaving his books,
which were a pretty collection of mathematicks and natural philosophy,
to come with mine and me to New York, where he propos'd to wait
for me.

My father, tho' he did not approve Sir William's proposition,
was yet pleas'd that I had been able to obtain so advantageous a
character from a person of such note where I had resided, and that I
had been so industrious and careful as to equip myself so handsomely
in so short a time; therefore, seeing no prospect of an accommodation
between my brother and me, he gave his consent to my returning again
to Philadelphia, advis'd me to behave respectfully to the people there,
endeavor to obtain the general esteem, and avoid lampooning
and libeling, to which he thought I had too much inclination;
telling me, that by steady industry and a prudent parsimony I might
save enough by the time I was one-and-twenty to set me up; and that,
if I came near the matter, he would help me out with the rest.
This was all I could obtain, except some small gifts as tokens
of his and my mother's love, when I embark'd again for New York,
now with their approbation and their blessing.

The sloop putting in at Newport, Rhode Island, I visited my brother John,
who had been married and settled there some years. He received
me very affectionately, for he always lov'd me. A friend of his,
one Vernon, having some money due to him in Pensilvania, about thirty-five
pounds currency, desired I would receive it for him, and keep it
till I had his directions what to remit it in. Accordingly, he gave
me an order. This afterwards occasion'd me a good deal of uneasiness.

At Newport we took in a number of passengers for New York,
among which were two young women, companions, and a grave, sensible,
matron-like Quaker woman, with her attendants. I had shown an obliging
readiness to do her some little services, which impress'd her I
suppose with a degree of good will toward me; therefore, when she
saw a daily growing familiarity between me and the two young women,
which they appear'd to encourage, she took me aside, and said:
"Young man, I am concern'd for thee, as thou has no friend with thee,
and seems not to know much of the world, or of the snares youth
is expos'd to; depend upon it, those are very bad women; I can
see it in all their actions; and if thee art not upon thy guard,
they will draw thee into some danger; they are strangers to thee,
and I advise thee, in a friendly concern for thy welfare, to have no
acquaintance with them." As I seem'd at first not to think so ill
of them as she did, she mentioned some things she had observ'd and
heard that had escap'd my notice, but now convinc'd me she was right.
I thank'd her for her kind advice, and promis'd to follow it.
When we arriv'd at New York, they told me where they liv'd, and invited
me to come and see them; but I avoided it, and it was well I did;
for the next day the captain miss'd a silver spoon and some other things,
that had been taken out of his cabbin, and, knowing that these were
a couple of strumpets, he got a warrant to search their lodgings,
found the stolen goods, and had the thieves punish'd. So, tho'
we had escap'd a sunken rock, which we scrap'd upon in the passage,
I thought this escape of rather more importance to me.

At New York I found my friend Collins, who had arriv'd there some time
before me. We had been intimate from children, and had read the same
books together; but he had the advantage of more time for reading
and studying, and a wonderful genius for mathematical learning,
in which he far outstript me. While I liv'd in Boston most of my hours
of leisure for conversation were spent with him, and he continu'd
a sober as well as an industrious lad; was much respected for his
learning by several of the clergy and other gentlemen, and seemed
to promise making a good figure in life. But, during my absence,
he had acquir'd a habit of sotting with brandy; and I found by his
own account, and what I heard from others, that he had been drunk
every day since his arrival at New York, and behav'd very oddly.
He had gam'd, too, and lost his money, so that I was oblig'd to
discharge his lodgings, and defray his expenses to and at Philadelphia,
which prov'd extremely inconvenient to me.

The then governor of New York, Burnet (son of Bishop Burnet),
hearing from the captain that a young man, one of his passengers,
had a great many books, desir'd he would bring me to see him.
I waited upon him accordingly, and should have taken Collins
with me but that he was not sober. The gov'r. treated me with
great civility, show'd me his library, which was a very large one,
and we had a good deal of conversation about books and authors.
This was the second governor who had done me the honor to take notice
of me; which, to a poor boy like me, was very pleasing.

We proceeded to Philadelphia. I received on the way Vernon's money,
without which we could hardly have finish'd our journey. Collins wished
to be employ'd in some counting-house, but, whether they discover'd
his dramming by his breath, or by his behaviour, tho' he had
some recommendations, he met with no success in any application,
and continu'd lodging and boarding at the same house with me,
and at my expense. Knowing I had that money of Vernon's, he was
continually borrowing of me, still promising repayment as soon
as he should be in business. At length he had got so much of it
that I was distress'd to think what I should do in case of being
call'd on to remit it.

His drinking continu'd, about which we sometimes quarrell'd;, for,
when a little intoxicated, he was very fractious. Once, in a boat
on the Delaware with some other young men, he refused to row
in his turn. "I will be row'd home," says he. "We will not
row you," says I. "You must, or stay all night on the water,"
says he, "just as you please." The others said, "Let us row;
what signifies it?" But, my mind being soured with his other conduct,
I continu'd to refuse. So he swore he would make me row,
or throw me overboard; and coming along, stepping on the thwarts,
toward me, when he came up and struck at me, I clapped my hand under
his crutch, and, rising, pitched him head-foremost into the river.
I knew he was a good swimmer, and so was under little concern
about him; but before he could get round to lay hold of the boat,
we had with a few strokes pull'd her out of his reach; and ever when he
drew near the boat, we ask'd if he would row, striking a few strokes
to slide her away from him. He was ready to die with vexation,
and obstinately would not promise to row. However, seeing him at last
beginning to tire, we lifted him in and brought him home dripping
wet in the evening. We hardly exchang'd a civil word afterwards,
and a West India captain, who had a commission to procure a tutor
for the sons of a gentleman at Barbadoes, happening to meet with him,
agreed to carry him thither. He left me then, promising to remit me
the first money he should receive in order to discharge the debt;
but I never heard of him after.

The breaking into this money of Vernon's was one of the first great
errata of my life; and this affair show'd that my father was not much
out in his judgment when he suppos'd me too young to manage business
of importance. But Sir William, on reading his letter, said he was
too prudent. There was great difference in persons; and discretion
did not always accompany years, nor was youth always without it.
"And since he will not set you up," says he, "I will do it myself.
Give me an inventory of the things necessary to be had from England,
and I will send for them. You shall repay me when you are able;
I am resolv'd to have a good printer here, and I am sure you
must succeed." This was spoken with such an appearance of cordiality,
that I had not the least doubt of his meaning what he said.
I had hitherto kept the proposition of my setting up, a secret
in Philadelphia, and I still kept it. Had it been known that I
depended on the governor, probably some friend, that knew him better,
would have advis'd me not to rely on him, as I afterwards heard it
as his known character to be liberal of promises which he never meant
to keep. Yet, unsolicited as he was by me, how could I think his
generous offers insincere? I believ'd him one of the best men in
the world.

I presented him an inventory of a little print'g-house, amounting
by my computation to about one hundred pounds sterling. He lik'd it,
but ask'd me if my being on the spot in England to chuse the types,
and see that every thing was good of the kind, might not be of
some advantage. "Then," says he, "when there, you may make acquaintances,
and establish correspondences in the bookselling and stationery way."
I agreed that this might be advantageous. "Then," says he,
"get yourself ready to go with Annis;" which was the annual ship,
and the only one at that time usually passing between London
and Philadelphia. But it would be some months before Annis sail'd,
so I continu'd working with Keimer, fretting about the money Collins
had got from me, and in daily apprehensions of being call'd upon
by Vernon, which, however, did not happen for some years after.

I believe I have omitted mentioning that, in my first voyage
from Boston, being becalm'd off Block Island, our people set
about catching cod, and hauled up a great many. Hitherto I had
stuck to my resolution of not eating animal food, and on this
occasion consider'd, with my master Tryon, the taking every
fish as a kind of unprovoked murder, since none of them had,
or ever could do us any injury that might justify the slaughter.
All this seemed very reasonable. But I had formerly been a great
lover of fish, and, when this came hot out of the frying-pan, it
smelt admirably well. I balanc'd some time between principle
and inclination, till I recollected that, when the fish were opened,
I saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs; then thought I,
"If you eat one another, I don't see why we mayn't eat you." So I
din'd upon cod very heartily, and continued to eat with other people,
returning only now and then occasionally to a vegetable diet.
So convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable creature, since it
enables one to find or make a reason for everything one has a mind
to do.

Keimer and I liv'd on a pretty good familiar footing, and agreed
tolerably well, for he suspected nothing of my setting up.
He retained a great deal of his old enthusiasms and lov'd argumentation.
We therefore had many disputations. I used to work him so with my
Socratic method, and had trepann'd him so often by questions apparently
so distant from any point we had in hand, and yet by degrees lead
to the point, and brought him into difficulties and contradictions,
that at last he grew ridiculously cautious, and would hardly answer
me the most common question, without asking first, "What do you
intend to infer from that?" However, it gave him so high an opinion
of my abilities in the confuting way, that he seriously proposed my
being his colleague in a project he had of setting up a new sect.
He was to preach the doctrines, and I was to confound all opponents.
When he came to explain with me upon the doctrines, I found several
conundrums which I objected to, unless I might have my way a little too,
and introduce some of mine.

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; and these two points were
essentials with him. I dislik'd both; but agreed to admit them upon
condition of his adopting the doctrine of using no animal food.
"I doubt," said he, "my constitution will not bear that." I assur'd
him it would, and that he would be the better for it. He was usually a
great glutton, and I promised myself some diversion in half starving him.
He agreed to try the practice, if I would keep him company.
I did so, and we held it for three months. We had our victuals
dress'd, and brought to us regularly by a woman in the neighborhood,
who had from me a list of forty dishes to be prepar'd for us at
different times, in all which there was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl,
and the whim suited me the better at this time from the cheapness
of it, not costing us above eighteenpence sterling each per week.
I have since kept several Lents most strictly, leaving the common
diet for that, and that for the common, abruptly, without the
least inconvenience, so that I think there is little in the advice
of making those changes by easy gradations. I went on pleasantly,
but poor Keimer suffered grievously, tired of the project,
long'd for the flesh-pots of Egypt, and order'd a roast pig.
He invited me and two women friends to dine with him; but, it being
brought too soon upon table, he could not resist the temptation,
and ate the whole before we came.

I had made some courtship during this time to Miss Read. I had a
great respect and affection for her, and had some reason to believe
she had the same for me; but, as I was about to take a long voyage,
and we were both very young, only a little above eighteen,
it was thought most prudent by her mother to prevent our going too
far at present, as a marriage, if it was to take place, would be
more convenient after my return, when I should be, as I expected,
set up in my business. Perhaps, too, she thought my expectations
not so well founded as I imagined them to be.

My chief acquaintances at this time were Charles Osborne, Joseph Watson,
and James Ralph, all lovers of reading. The two first were clerks
to an eminent scrivener or conveyancer in the town, Charles Brogden;
the other was clerk to a merchant. Watson was a pious, sensible
young man, of great integrity; the others rather more lax in their
principles of religion, particularly Ralph, who, as well as Collins,
had been unsettled by me, for which they both made me suffer.
Osborne was sensible, candid, frank; sincere and affectionate
to his friends; but, in literary matters, too fond of criticising.
Ralph was ingenious, genteel in his manners, and extremely eloquent;
I think I never knew a prettier talker. Both of them great
admirers of poetry, and began to try their hands in little pieces.
Many pleasant walks we four had together on Sundays into the woods,
near Schuylkill, where we read to one another, and conferr'd on what
we read.

Ralph was inclin'd to pursue the study of poetry, not doubting
but he might become eminent in it, and make his fortune by it,
alleging that the best poets must, when they first began to write,
make as many faults as he did. Osborne dissuaded him, assur'd him
he had no genius for poetry, and advis'd him to think of nothing
beyond the business he was bred to; that, in the mercantile way,
tho' he had no stock, he might, by his diligence and punctuality,
recommend himself to employment as a factor, and in time acquire
wherewith to trade on his own account. I approv'd the amusing one's
self with poetry now and then, so far as to improve one's language,
but no farther.

On this it was propos'd that we should each of us, at our
next meeting, produce a piece of our own composing, in order to
improve by our mutual observations, criticisms, and corrections.
As language and expression were what we had in view, we excluded
all considerations of invention by agreeing that the task
should be a version of the eighteenth Psalm, which describes
the descent of a Deity. When the time of our meeting drew nigh,
Ralph called on me first, and let me know his piece was ready.
I told him I had been busy, and, having little inclination,
had done nothing. He then show'd me his piece for my opinion,
and I much approv'd it, as it appear'd to me to have great merit.
"Now," says he, "Osborne never will allow the least merit in any
thing of mine, but makes 1000 criticisms out of mere envy. He is
not so jealous of you; I wish, therefore, you would take this piece,
and produce it as yours; I will pretend not to have had time,
and so produce nothing. We shall then see what he will say to it."
It was agreed, and I immediately transcrib'd it, that it might appear
in my own hand.

We met; Watson's performance was read; there were some beauties
in it, but many defects. Osborne's was read; it was much better;
Ralph did it justice; remarked some faults, but applauded
the beauties. He himself had nothing to produce. I was backward;
seemed desirous of being excused; had not had sufficient time
to correct, etc.; but no excuse could be admitted; produce I must.
It was read and repeated; Watson and Osborne gave up the contest,
and join'd in applauding it. Ralph only made some criticisms,
and propos'd some amendments; but I defended my text. Osborne was
against Ralph, and told him he was no better a critic than poet,
so he dropt the argument. As they two went home together,
Osborne expressed himself still more strongly in favor of what he
thought my production; having restrain'd himself before, as he said,
lest I should think it flattery. "But who would have imagin'd,"
said he, "that Franklin had been capable of such a performance;
such painting, such force, such fire! He has even improv'd the original.
In his common conversation he seems to have no choice of words;
he hesitates and blunders; and yet, good God! how he writes!"
When we next met, Ralph discovered the trick we had plaid him,
and Osborne was a little laught at.

This transaction fixed Ralph in his resolution of becoming a poet.
I did all I could to dissuade him from it, but he continued
scribbling verses till Pope cured him. He became, however, a pretty
good prose writer. More of him hereafter. But, as I may not have
occasion again to mention the other two, I shall just remark here,
that Watson died in my arms a few years after, much lamented,
being the best of our set. Osborne went to the West Indies,
where he became an eminent lawyer and made money, but died young.
He and I had made a serious agreement, that the one who happen'd
first to die should, if possible, make a friendly visit to the other,
and acquaint him how he found things in that separate state. But he
never fulfill'd his promise.

The governor, seeming to like my company, had me frequently to his house,
and his setting me up was always mention'd as a fixed thing.
I was to take with me letters recommendatory to a number of
his friends, besides the letter of credit to furnish me with the
necessary money for purchasing the press and types, paper, etc.
For these letters I was appointed to call at different times,
when they were to be ready, but a future time was still named.
Thus he went on till the ship, whose departure too had been several
times postponed, was on the point of sailing. Then, when I call'd
to take my leave and receive the letters, his secretary, Dr. Bard,
came out to me and said the governor was extremely busy in writing,
but would be down at Newcastle before the ship, and there the letters
would be delivered to me.

Ralph, though married, and having one child, had determined to
accompany me in this voyage. It was thought he intended to establish
a correspondence, and obtain goods to sell on commission; but I
found afterwards, that, thro' some discontent with his wife's relations,
he purposed to leave her on their hands, and never return again.
Having taken leave of my friends, and interchang'd some promises
with Miss Read, I left Philadelphia in the ship, which anchor'd
at Newcastle. The governor was there; but when I went to his lodging,
the secretary came to me from him with the civillest message in
the world, that he could not then see me, being engaged in business
of the utmost importance, but should send the letters to me on board,
wish'd me heartily a good voyage and a speedy return, etc.
I returned on board a little puzzled, but still not doubting.

Mr. Andrew Hamilton, a famous lawyer of Philadelphia, had taken
passage in the same ship for himself and son, and with Mr. Denham,
a Quaker merchant, and Messrs. Onion and Russel, masters of an
iron work in Maryland, had engag'd the great cabin; so that Ralph
and I were forced to take up with a berth in the steerage,
and none on board knowing us, were considered as ordinary persons.
But Mr. Hamilton and his son (it was James, since governor)
return'd from Newcastle to Philadelphia, the father being recall'd
by a great fee to plead for a seized ship; and, just before we
sail'd, Colonel French coming on board, and showing me great respect,
I was more taken notice of, and, with my friend Ralph, invited by
the other gentlemen to come into the cabin, there being now room.
Accordingly, we remov'd thither.

Understanding that Colonel French had brought on board the
governor's despatches, I ask'd the captain for those letters
that were to be under my care. He said all were put into the bag
together and he could not then come at them; but, before we landed
in England, I should have an opportunity of picking them out;
so I was satisfied for the present, and we proceeded on our voyage.
We had a sociable company in the cabin, and lived uncommonly well,
having the addition of all Mr. Hamilton's stores, who had laid
in plentifully. In this passage Mr. Denham contracted a friendship
for me that continued during his life. The voyage was otherwise
not a pleasant one, as we had a great deal of bad weather.

When we came into the Channel, the captain kept his word with me, and gave
me an opportunity of examining the bag for the governor's letters.
I found none upon which my name was put as under my care. I picked
out six or seven, that, by the handwriting, I thought might be the
promised letters, especially as one of them was directed to Basket,
the king's printer, and another to some stationer. We arriv'd
in London the 24th of December, 1724. I waited upon the stationer,
who came first in my way, delivering the letter as from Governor Keith.
"I don't know such a person," says he; but, opening the letter, "O! this
is from Riddlesden. I have lately found him to be a compleat rascal,
and I will have nothing to do with him, nor receive any letters
from him." So, putting the letter into my hand, he turn'd on his
heel and left me to serve some customer. I was surprized to find
these were not the governor's letters; and, after recollecting
and comparing circumstances, I began to doubt his sincerity.
I found my friend Denham, and opened the whole affair to him.
He let me into Keith's character; told me there was not the least
probability that he had written any letters for me; that no one,
who knew him, had the smallest dependence on him; and he laught at
the notion of the governor's giving me a letter of credit, having,
as he said, no credit to give. On my expressing some concern
about what I should do, he advised me to endeavor getting some
employment in the way of my business. "Among the printers here,"
said he, "you will improve yourself, and when you return to America,
you will set up to greater advantage."

We both of us happen'd to know, as well as the stationer,
that Riddlesden, the attorney, was a very knave. He had half
ruin'd Miss Read's father by persuading him to be bound for him.
By this letter it appear'd there was a secret scheme on foot to
the prejudice of Hamilton (suppos'd to be then coming over with us);
and that Keith was concerned in it with Riddlesden. Denham, who was
a friend of Hamilton's thought he ought to be acquainted with it;
so, when he arriv'd in England, which was soon after, partly from
resentment and ill-will to Keith and Riddlesden, and partly from
good-will to him, I waited on him, and gave him the letter.
He thank'd me cordially, the information being of importance to him;
and from that time he became my friend, greatly to my advantage
afterwards on many occasions.

But what shall we think of a governor's playing such pitiful tricks,
and imposing so grossly on a poor ignorant boy! It was a habit he
had acquired. He wish'd 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, tho' not for his constituents, the proprietaries,
whose instructions he sometimes disregarded. Several of our best
laws were of his planning and passed during his administration.

Ralph and I were inseparable companions. We took lodgings
together in Little Britain at three shillings and sixpence a week--
as much as we could then afford. He found some relations,
but they were poor, and unable to assist him. He now let me know
his intentions of remaining in London, and that he never meant
to return to Philadelphia. He had brought no money with him,
the whole he could muster having been expended in paying his passage.
I had fifteen pistoles; so he borrowed occasionally of me to subsist,
while he was looking out for business. He first endeavored to get
into the playhouse, believing himself qualify'd for an actor;
but Wilkes, to whom he apply'd, advis'd him candidly not to think
of that employment, as it was impossible be should succeed in it.
Then he propos'd to Roberts, a publisher in Paternoster Row, to write
for him a weekly paper like the Spectator, on certain conditions,
which Roberts did not approve. Then he endeavored to get employment
as a hackney writer, to copy for the stationers and lawyers about
the Temple, but could find no vacancy.

I immediately got into work at Palmer's, then a famous printing-house
in Bartholomew Close, and here I continu'd near a year. I was
pretty diligent, but spent with Ralph a good deal of my earnings
in going to plays and other places of amusement. We had together
consumed all my pistoles, and now just rubbed on from hand to mouth.
He seem'd quite to forget his wife and child, and I, by degrees,
my engagements with Miss Read, to whom I never wrote more than
one letter, and that was to let her know I was not likely soon
to return. This was another of the great errata of my life,
which I should wish to correct if I were to live it over again.
In fact, by our expenses, I was constantly kept unable to pay
my passage.

At Palmer's I was employed in composing for the second edition
of Wollaston's "Religion of Nature." Some of his reasonings
not appearing to me well founded, I wrote a little metaphysical
piece in which I made remarks on them. It was entitled "A
Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity, Pleasure and Pain."
I inscribed it to my friend Ralph; I printed a small number.
It occasion'd my being more consider'd by Mr. Palmer as a young
man of some ingenuity, tho' he seriously expostulated with me upon
the principles of my pamphlet, which to him appear'd abominable.
My printing this pamphlet was another erratum. While I lodg'd in
Little Britain, I made an acquaintance with one Wilcox, a bookseller,
whose shop was at the next door. He had an immense collection
of second-hand books. Circulating libraries were not then in use;
but we agreed that, on certain reasonable terms, which I have
now forgotten, I might take, read, and return any of his books.
This I esteem'd a great advantage, and I made as much use of it as
I could.

My pamphlet by some means falling into the hands of one Lyons, a surgeon,
author of a book entitled "The Infallibility of Human Judgment,"
it occasioned an acquaintance between us. He took great notice
of me, called on me often to converse on those subjects, carried me
to the Horns, a pale alehouse in ---- Lane, Cheapside, and introduced
me to Dr. Mandeville, author of the "Fable of the Bees," who had
a club there, of which he was the soul, being a most facetious,
entertaining companion. Lyons, too, introduced me to Dr. Pemberton,
at Batson's Coffee-house, who promis'd to give me an opportunity,
some time or other, of seeing Sir Isaac Newton, of which I was
extreamely desirous; but this never happened.

I had brought over a few curiosities, among which the principal
was a purse made of the asbestos, which purifies by fire.
Sir Hans Sloane heard of it, came to see me, and invited me to his
house in Bloomsbury Square, where he show'd me all his curiosities,
and persuaded me to let him add that to the number, for which he
paid me handsomely.

In our house there lodg'd a young woman, a milliner, who, I think,
had a shop in the Cloisters. She had been genteelly bred, was sensible
and lively, and of most pleasing conversation. Ralph read plays
to her in the evenings, they grew intimate, she took another lodging,
and he followed her. They liv'd together some time; but, he being
still out of business, and her income not sufficient to maintain
them with her child, he took a resolution of going from London,
to try for a country school, which he thought himself well qualified
to undertake, as he wrote an excellent hand, and was a master
of arithmetic and accounts. This, however, he deemed a business
below him, and confident of future better fortune, when he should
be unwilling to have it known that he once was so meanly employed,
he changed his name, and did me the honor to assume mine; for I soon
after had a letter from him, acquainting me that he was settled
in a small village (in Berkshire, I think it was, where he taught
reading and writing to ten or a dozen boys, at sixpence each per
week), recommending Mrs. T---- to my care, and desiring me to write
to him, directing for Mr. Franklin, schoolmaster, at such a place.

He continued to write frequently, sending me large specimens
of an epic poem which he was then composing, and desiring my
remarks and corrections. These I gave him from time to time,
but endeavor'd rather to discourage his proceeding. One of Young's
Satires was then just published. I copy'd and sent him a great
part of it, which set in a strong light the folly of pursuing
the Muses with any hope of advancement by them. All was in vain;
sheets of the poem continued to come by every post. In the mean time,
Mrs. T----, having on his account lost her friends and business,
was often in distresses, and us'd to send for me, and borrow
what I could spare to help her out of them. I grew fond of
her company, and, being at that time under no religious restraint,
and presuming upon my importance to her, I attempted familiarities
(another erratum) which she repuls'd with a proper resentment,
and acquainted him with my behaviour. This made a breach between us;
and, when he returned again to London, he let me know he thought
I had cancell'd all the obligations he had been under to me.
So I found I was never to expect his repaying me what I lent to him,
or advanc'd for him. This, however, was not then of much consequence,
as he was totally unable; and in the loss of his friendship I found
myself relieved from a burthen. I now began to think of getting
a little money beforehand, and, expecting better work, I left Palmer's
to work at Watts's, near Lincoln's Inn Fields, a still greater
printing-house. Here I continued all the rest of my stay in London.

At my first admission into this printing-house I took to working
at press, imagining I felt a want of the bodily exercise I had been
us'd to in America, where presswork is mix'd with composing.
I drank only water; the other workmen, near fifty in number,
were great guzzlers of beer. On occasion, I carried up and down
stairs a large form of types in each hand, when others carried
but one in both hands. They wondered to see, from this and
several instances, that the Water-American, as they called me,
was stronger than themselves, who drank strong beer! We had an
alehouse boy who attended always in the house to supply the workmen.
My companion at the press drank every day a pint before breakfast,
a pint at breakfast with his bread and cheese, a pint between
breakfast and dinner, a pint at dinner, a pint in the afternoon
about six o'clock, and another when he had done his day's work.
I thought it a detestable custom; but it was necessary, he suppos'd,
to drink strong beer, that he might be strong to labor. I endeavored
to convince him that the bodily strength afforded by beer could
only be in proportion to the grain or flour of the barley dissolved
in the water of which it was made; that there was more flour in a
pennyworth of bread; and therefore, if he would eat that with a pint
of water, it would give him more strength than a quart of beer.
He drank on, however, and had four or five shillings to pay
out of his wages every Saturday night for that muddling liquor;
an expense I was free from. And thus these poor devils keep
themselves always under.

Watts, after some weeks, desiring to have me in the composing-room, I left
the pressmen; a new bien venu or sum for drink, being five shillings,
was demanded of me by the compositors. I thought it an imposition,
as I had paid below; the master thought so too, and forbad my paying it.
I stood out two or three weeks, was accordingly considered as
an excommunicate, and bad so many little pieces of private mischief
done me, by mixing my sorts, transposing my pages, breaking my matter,
etc., etc., if I were ever so little out of the room, and all
ascribed to the chappel ghost, which they said ever haunted those not
regularly admitted, that, notwithstanding the master's protection,
I found myself oblig'd to comply and pay the money, convinc'd of the
folly of being on ill terms with those one is to live with continually.

I was now on a fair footing with them, and soon acquir'd
considerable influence. I propos'd some reasonable alterations
in their chappel<4> laws, and carried them against all opposition.
From my example, a great part of them left their muddling breakfast
of beer, and bread, and cheese, finding they could with me be
suppli'd from a neighboring house with a large porringer of hot
water-gruel, sprinkled with pepper, crumbl'd with bread, and a bit
of butter in it, for the price of a pint of beer, viz., three
half-pence. This was a more comfortable as well as cheaper breakfast,
and kept their heads clearer. Those who continued sotting with beer
all day, were often, by not paying, out of credit at the alehouse,
and us'd to make interest with me to get beer; their light, as they
phrased it, being out. I watch'd the pay-table on Saturday night,
and collected what I stood engag'd for them, having to pay sometimes
near thirty shillings a week on their account. This, and my being
esteem'd a pretty good riggite, that is, a jocular verbal satirist,
supported my consequence in the society. My constant attendance
(I never making a St. Monday) recommended me to the master;
and my uncommon quickness at composing occasioned my being put
upon all work of dispatch, which was generally better paid.
So I went on now very agreeably.

<4> "A printing-house is always called a chapel by the
workmen, the origin of which appears to have been that
printing was first carried on in England in an ancient
chapel converted into a printing-house, and the title
has been preserved by tradition. The bien venu among
the printers answers to the terms entrance and footing
among mechanics; thus a journeyman, on entering a
printing-house, was accustomed to pay one or more gallons
of beer for the good of the chapel; this custom was
falling into disuse thirty years ago; it is very properly
rejected entirely in the United States."--W. T. F.

My lodging in Little Britain being too remote, I found another
in Duke-street, opposite to the Romish Chapel. It was two pair
of stairs backwards, at an Italian warehouse. A widow lady kept
the house; she had a daughter, and a maid servant, and a journeyman
who attended the warehouse, but lodg'd abroad. After sending to inquire
my character at the house where I last lodg'd she agreed to take
me in at the same rate, 3s. 6d. per week; cheaper, as she said,
from the protection she expected in having a man lodge in the house.
She was a widow, an elderly woman; had been bred a Protestant,
being a clergyman's daughter, but was converted to the Catholic
religion by her husband, whose memory she much revered; had lived much
among people of distinction, and knew a thousand anecdotes of them
as far back as the times of Charles the Second. She was lame in her
knees with the gout, and, therefore, seldom stirred out of her room,
so sometimes wanted company; and hers was so highly amusing to me,
that I was sure to spend an evening with her whenever she desired it.
Our supper was only half an anchovy each, on a very little strip
of bread and butter, and half a pint of ale between us; but the
entertainment was in her conversation. My always keeping good hours,
and giving little trouble in the family, made her unwilling to part
with me; so that, when I talk'd of a lodging I had heard of, nearer
my business, for two shillings a week, which, intent as I now was
on saving money, made some difference, she bid me not think of it,
for she would abate me two shillings a week for the future; so I
remained with her at one shilling and sixpence as long as I staid
in London.

In a garret of her house there lived a maiden lady of seventy,
in the most retired manner, of whom my landlady gave me this account:
that she was a Roman Catholic, had been sent abroad when young,
and lodg'd in a nunnery with an intent of becoming a nun; but,
the country not agreeing with her, she returned to England, where,
there being no nunnery, she had vow'd to lead the life of a nun,
as near as might be done in those circumstances. Accordingly, she had
given all her estate to charitable uses, reserving only twelve
pounds a year to live on, and out of this sum she still gave a great
deal in charity, living herself on water-gruel only, and using
no fire but to boil it. She had lived many years in that garret,
being permitted to remain there gratis by successive Catholic tenants
of the house below, as they deemed it a blessing to have her there.
A priest visited her to confess her every day. "I have ask'd her,"
says my landlady, "how she, as she liv'd, could possibly find so much
employment for a confessor?" "Oh," said she, "it is impossible
to avoid vain thoughts." I was permitted once to visit her, She was
chearful and polite, and convers'd pleasantly. The room was clean,
but had no other furniture than a matras, a table with a crucifix
and book, a stool which she gave me to sit on, and a picture
over the chimney of Saint Veronica displaying her handkerchief,
with the miraculous figure of Christ's bleeding face on it,
which she explained to me with great seriousness. She look'd pale,
but was never sick; and I give it as another instance on how small
an income life and health may be supported.

At Watts's printing-house I contracted an acquaintance with an ingenious
young man, one Wygate, who, having wealthy relations, had been better
educated than most printers; was a tolerable Latinist, spoke French,
and lov'd reading. I taught him and a friend of his to swim at
twice going into the river, and they soon became good swimmers.
They introduc'd me to some gentlemen from the country, who went to
Chelsea by water to see the College and Don Saltero's curiosities.
In our return, at the request of the company, whose curiosity
Wygate had excited, I stripped and leaped into the river, and swam
from near Chelsea to Blackfryar's, performing on the way many feats
of activity, both upon and under water, that surpris'd and pleas'd
those to whom they were novelties.

I had from a child been ever delighted with this exercise, had studied
and practis'd all Thevenot's motions and positions, added some
of my own, aiming at the graceful and easy as well as the useful.
All these I took this occasion of exhibiting to the company,
and was much flatter'd by their admiration; and Wygate, who was
desirous of becoming a master, grew more and more attach'd to me
on that account, as well as from the similarity of our studies.
He at length proposed to me travelling all over Europe together,
supporting ourselves everywhere by working at our business. I was
once inclined to it; but, mentioning it to my good friend Mr. Denham,
with whom I often spent an hour when I had leisure, he dissuaded me
from it, advising me to think only of returning to Pennsilvania,
which he was now about to do.

I must record one trait of this good man's character. He had formerly
been in business at Bristol, but failed in debt to a number of people,
compounded and went to America. There, by a close application to
business as a merchant, he acquir'd a plentiful fortune in a few years.
Returning to England in the ship with me, he invited his old creditors
to an entertainment, at which he thank'd them for the easy composition
they had favored him with, and, when they expected nothing but the treat,
every man at the first remove found under his plate an order
on a banker for the full amount of the unpaid remainder with interest.

He now told me he was about to return to Philadelphia, and should
carry over a great quantity of goods in order to open a store there.
He propos'd to take me over as his clerk, to keep his books,
in which he would instruct me, copy his letters, and attend
the store. He added that, as soon as I should be acquainted
with mercantile business, he would promote me by sending me with
a cargo of flour and bread, etc., to the West Indies, and procure
me commissions from others which would be profitable; and, if I
manag'd well, would establish me handsomely. The thing pleas'd me;
for I was grown tired of London, remembered with pleasure the happy
months I had spent in Pennsylvania, and wish'd again to see it;
therefore I immediately agreed on the terms of fifty pounds a year,
Pennsylvania money; less, indeed, than my present gettings as
a compositor, but affording a better prospect.

I now took leave of printing, as I thought, for ever, and was daily
employed in my new business, going about with Mr. Denham among
the tradesmen to purchase various articles, and seeing them pack'd up,
doing errands, calling upon workmen to dispatch, etc.; and, when all
was on board, I had a few days' leisure. On one of these days,
I was, to my surprise, sent for by a great man I knew only by name,
a Sir William Wyndham, and I waited upon him. He had heard by some
means or other of my swimming from Chelsea to Blackfriar's, and of
my teaching Wygate and another young man to swim in a few hours.
He had two sons, about to set out on their travels; he wish'd to have
them first taught swimming, and proposed to gratify me handsomely
if I would teach them. They were not yet come to town, and my stay
was uncertain, so I could not undertake it; but, from this incident,
I thought it likely that, if I were to remain in England and open
a swimming-school, I might get a good deal of money; and it struck me
so strongly, that, had the overture been sooner made me, probably I
should not so soon have returned to America. After many years,
you and I had something of more importance to do with one of these
sons of Sir William Wyndham, become Earl of Egremont, which I shall
mention in its place.

Thus I spent about eighteen months in London; most part of the time
I work'd hard at my business, and spent but little upon myself
except in seeing plays and in books. My friend Ralph had kept
me poor; he owed me about twenty-seven pounds, which I was now
never likely to receive; a great sum out of my small earnings!
I lov'd him, notwithstanding, for he had many amiable qualities.
I had by no means improv'd my fortune; but I had picked up some very
ingenious acquaintance, whose conversation was of great advantage to me;
and I had read considerably.

We sail'd from Gravesend on the 23d of July, 1726. For the incidents
of the voyage, I refer you to my journal, where you will find them
all minutely related. Perhaps the most important part of that
journal is the plan<5> to be found in it, which I formed at sea,
for regulating my future conduct in life. It is the more remarkable,
as being formed when I was so young, and yet being pretty faithfully
adhered to quite thro' to old age.

<5> The "Journal" was printed by Sparks, from a copy made
at Reading in 1787. But it does not contain the Plan.

We landed in Philadelphia on the 11th of October, where I found
sundry alterations. Keith was no longer governor, being superseded
by Major Gordon. I met him walking the streets as a common citizen.
He seem'd a little asham'd at seeing me, but pass'd without
saying anything. I should have been as much asham'd at seeing
Miss Read, had not her friends, despairing with reason of my return
after the receipt of my letter, persuaded her to marry another,
one Rogers, a potter, which was done in my absence. With him,
however, she was never happy, and soon parted from him, refusing to
cohabit with him or bear his name, it being now said that he bad
another wife. He was a worthless fellow, tho' an excellent workman,
which was the temptation to her friends. He got into debt,
ran away in 1727 or 1728, went to the West Indies, and died there.
Keimer had got a better house, a shop well supply'd with stationery,
plenty of new types, a number of hands, tho' none good, and seem'd
to have a great deal of business.

Mr. Denham took a store in Water-street, where we open'd our goods;
I attended the business diligently, studied accounts, and grew,
in a little time, expert at selling. We lodg'd and, boarded together;
he counsell'd me as a father, having a sincere regard for me.
I respected and lov'd him, and we might have gone on together
very happy; but, in the beginning of February, 1726-7, when I
had just pass'd my twenty-first year, we both were taken ill.
My distemper was a pleurisy, which very nearly carried me off.
I suffered a good deal, gave up the point in my own mind, and was
rather disappointed when I found myself recovering, regretting,
in some degree, that I must now, some time or other, have all that
disagreeable work to do over again. I forget what his distemper was;
it held him a long time, and at length carried him off. He left me
a small legacy in a nuncupative will, as a token of his kindness
for me, and he left me once more to the wide world; for the store
was taken into the care of his executors, and my employment under
him ended.

My brother-in-law, Holmes, being now at Philadelphia, advised my return
to my business; and Keimer tempted me, with an offer of large wages
by the year, to come and take the management of his printing-house,
that he might better attend his stationer's shop. I had heard a bad
character of him in London from his wife and her friends, and was
not fond of having any more to do with him. I tri'd for farther
employment as a merchant's clerk; but, not readily meeting with any,
I clos'd again with Keimer. I found in his house these hands:
Hugh Meredith, a Welsh Pensilvanian, thirty years of age, bred to
country work; honest, sensible, had a great deal of solid observation,
was something of a reader, but given to drink. Stephen Potts, a young
countryman of full age, bred to the same, of uncommon natural parts,
and great wit and humor, but a little idle. These he had agreed
with at extream low wages per week, to be rais'd a shilling every
three months, as they would deserve by improving in their business;
and the expectation of these high wages, to come on hereafter,
was what he had drawn them in with. Meredith was to work at press,
Potts at book-binding, which he, by agreement, was to teach them,
though he knew neither one nor t'other. John ----, a wild Irishman,
brought up to no business, whose service, for four years, Keimer had
purchased from the captain of a ship; he, too, was to be made
a pressman. George Webb, an Oxford scholar, whose time for four
years he had likewise bought, intending him for a compositor,
of whom more presently; and David Harry, a country boy, whom he had
taken apprentice.

I soon perceiv'd that the intention of engaging me at wages so much
higher than he had been us'd to give, was, to have these raw,
cheap hands form'd thro' me; and, as soon as I had instructed them,
then they being all articled to him, he should be able to do without me.
I went on, however, very cheerfully, put his printing-house in order,
which had been in great confusion, and brought his hands by degrees
to mind their business and to do it better.

It was an odd thing to find an Oxford scholar in the situation
of a bought servant. He was not more than eighteen years of age,
and gave me this account of himself; that he was born in Gloucester,
educated at a grammar-school there, had been distinguish'd among
the scholars for some apparent superiority in performing his part,
when they exhibited plays; belong'd to the Witty Club there,
and had written some pieces in prose and verse, which were printed
in the Gloucester newspapers; thence he was sent to Oxford; where he
continued about a year, but not well satisfi'd, wishing of all
things to see London, and become a player. At length, receiving his
quarterly allowance of fifteen guineas, instead of discharging
his debts he walk'd out of town, hid his gown in a furze bush,
and footed it to London, where, having no friend to advise him, he fell
into bad company, soon spent his guineas, found no means of being
introduc'd among the players, grew necessitous, pawn'd his cloaths,
and wanted bread. Walking the street very hungry, and not knowing
what to do with himself, a crimp's bill was put into his hand,
offering immediate entertainment and encouragement to such as would
bind themselves to serve in America.

He went directly, sign'd the indentures, was put into the ship,
and came over, never writing a line to acquaint his friends what was
become of him. He was lively, witty, good-natur'd, and a pleasant
companion, but idle, thoughtless, and imprudent to the last degree.

John, the Irishman, soon ran away; with the rest I began to live
very agreeably, for they all respected me the more, as they
found Keimer incapable of instructing them, and that from me
they learned something daily. We never worked on Saturday,
that being Keimer's Sabbath, so I had two days for reading.
My acquaintance with ingenious people in the town increased.
Keimer himself treated me with great civility and apparent regard,
and nothing now made me uneasy but my debt to Vernon, which I
was yet unable to pay, being hitherto but a poor oeconomist.
He, however, kindly made no demand of it.

Our printing-house often wanted sorts, and there was no letter-founder
in America; I had seen types cast at James's in London, but without
much attention to the manner; however, I now contrived a mould,
made use of the letters we had as puncheons, struck the matrices
in lead, And thus supply'd in a pretty tolerable way all deficiencies.
I also engrav'd several things on occasion; I made the ink;
I was warehouseman, and everything, and, in short, quite a factotum.

But, however serviceable I might be, I found that my services
became every day of less importance, as the other hands improv'd
in the business; and, when Keimer paid my second quarter's wages,
he let me know that he felt them too heavy, and thought I should
make an abatement. He grew by degrees less civil, put on more of
the master, frequently found fault, was captious, and seem'd ready for
an outbreaking. I went on, nevertheless, with a good deal of patience,
thinking that his encumber'd circumstances were partly the cause.
At length a trifle snapt our connections; for, a great noise happening
near the court-house, I put my head out of the window to see what
was the matter. Keimer, being in the street, look'd up and saw me,
call'd out to me in a loud voice and angry tone to mind my business,
adding some reproachful words, that nettled me the more for
their publicity, all the neighbors who were looking out on the same

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