The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin

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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.

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