From Boyhood to Manhood

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"But if I had seen and read the articles, knowing them to be yours, I
should have judged them fairly," James insisted, evidently feeling
somewhat hurt by his brother's last remark. Nevertheless, Benjamin was
right. It is probable that his articles would have been rejected, had
he offered them in his own name to the critics.

"Well, that was my plan, and the articles have had a fair show, and I
am satisfied, whether you are or not," was Benjamin's reply in an
independent spirit.

Here the conversation dropped. James bestowed no words of commendation
upon his brother's ability. Perhaps he thought that he had praised the
articles enough when he did not know who the author was. But he
appeared to be abstracted in thought until some of the "knot of
liberals" came in.

"I have discovered who 'Silence Dogood' is," he said.

"You have? Who can it be?" and the speaker was very much surprised.

"No one that you have dreamed of."

"Is that so? I am all the more anxious to learn who it is," he
continued.

"There he is," replied James, pointing to Benjamin, who was setting
type a little more briskly than usual, as if he was oblivious to what
was going on.

"What! Benjamin? You are joking, surely," replied one.

"Your brother out there!" exclaimed another, pointing to Benjamin;
"you do not mean it!"

"Yes, I do mean it. He is the author, and he has satisfied me that he
is. You can see for yourselves."

The "knot of liberals" was never so amazed, and now they all turned to
Benjamin, and he had to speak for himself. They were not entirely
satisfied that there was not some mistake or deception about the
matter. But he found little difficulty in convincing them that he was
the real author of the communications, whereupon they lavished their
commendations upon him to such an extent as to make it perilous to one
having much vanity in his heart.

From that time Benjamin was a favorite with the literary visitors at
the office. They showed him much more attention than they did James,
and said so much in his praise, as a youth of unusual promise, that
James became jealous and irritable. He was naturally passionate and
tyrannical, and this sudden and unexpected exaltation of Benjamin
developed his overbearing spirit. He found more fault with him, and
became very unreasonable in his treatment. Probably he had never
dreamed that Benjamin possessed more talents than other boys of his
age. Nor did he care, so long as his brother was an apprentice, and he
could rule over him as a master. He did not appear to regard the
blood-relationship between them, but only that of master and
apprentice. In other words, he was a poor specimen of a brother, and
we shall learn more about him in the sequel.

In his "Autobiography," Franklin tells the story of his ruse as
follows:

"James had some ingenious men among his friends, who amused themselves
by writing little pieces for this paper, which gained 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 any thing 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 at night under the door of the printing house. It was found in the
morning, and communicated to his writing friends, when they called 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 that I
was rather lucky in my judges, and that they were not really so very
good as I then believed them to be. Encouraged, however, by this
attempt, I wrote and sent in the same way to the press several other
pieces, that were equally approved; and I kept my secret till all my
fund of sense for such performances was exhausted, and then discovered
it, when I began to be considered a little more by my brother's
acquaintance.

"However, that did not quite please him, as he thought it tended to
make me too vain. This might be one occasion of the differences 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
degraded me too much in some he required of me, who from a brother
expected more indulgence."

The foregoing was one of the incidents of Benjamin's boyhood that
decided his future eminent career. It was a good thing to bring out
his talents as a writer thus early, and it introduced him to an
exercise that was of the first importance in the improvement of his
mind. From the time he wrote the first article for the _Courant_, he
did not cease to write for the public. Probably no other American boy
began his public career so early--sixteen. He had written much before,
but it was not for the press. It was done for self-improvement, and
not for the public eye. The newspaper opened a new and unexpected
channel of communication with the public that was well suited to
awaken his deepest interest and inspire his noblest efforts.

The incident reminds us of Canning's _Microcosm_. He, the great
English statesman, was scarcely as old as Benjamin when he established
a boy's periodical in the school at Eton, whither he was sent. It was
christened _Microcosm_, which means, literally, "the little world." It
was a weekly publication issued from Windsor. It was conducted "after
the plan of the _Spectator_"--a work that was of immense value to
Benjamin, as we shall see,--"the design being to treat the
characteristics of the boys at Eton as Addison and his friends had
done those of general society." In this paper several members of the
school figured with credit to themselves, though no one was more
prominent and capable than Canning.

It became one of the prominent influences that decided his future
course, as he always affirmed, developing his talents, and stimulating
his mind to labor in this honorable way. It also exerted a decided
influence upon the character of another boy, named Frere, who
afterwards shone as a writer on the pages of the _Anti-Jacobin_.

Examples of industry, enterprise, despatch, promptness, punctuality,
and circumspection are inspiring to both old and young; and nowhere do
these noble qualities appear to better advantage than they do where
busy brains and hands make the newspaper in the printing office. It is
a remarkably useful school. It was so when Benjamin was a boy. It was
a far better school for him than that of Williams or Brownwell. Here
he laid the foundation of his learning and fame. The same was true of
Horace Greeley, who founded the _New York Tribune_, and of Henry J.
Raymond, who made the _Times_ what it is. The late Vice-President
Schuyler Colfax was schooled in a printing office for his honorable
public career; and the same was true of other distinguished statesmen.
But none of these examples are so remarkable as the following, that
was made possible by Benjamin Franklin's example.

A waif two years of age was taken from a benevolent institution in
Boston, and given to a childless sailor, on his way from a voyage to
his home in Maine on the Penobscot River. The sailor knew not from
what institution the child was taken, nor whence he came. He carried
it home, without a name, or the least clue to his ancestry. The
sailor's wife was a Christian woman, and had prayed for just such a
gift as that. She resolved to train him for the Lord. At twelve years
of age he became a Christian, and, from that time, longed to be a
minister. But poverty stood in his way, and there was little prospect
of his hopes being realized.

At length, however, he read the life of Benjamin Franklin; and he
learned how the printing office introduced him into a noble life-work.
"I will go through the printing office into the ministry," he said to
his adopted mother. So, at fifteen, he became a printer in Boston.
After a while, his health broke down, and the way to regain it seemed
to be through service to a wealthy man on his farm in the country.
There his health was restored, and his benevolent employer got him
into Andover Academy, where he led the whole class. Near the close of
his preparatory course, on a Saturday night, the author met him under
the following circumstances:

He was then nineteen years of age. On that day he had learned from
what institution he was taken, and, going thither, he ascertained that
he had a sister three years older than himself, living thirty miles
north of Boston. It was the first knowledge he had received about any
of his relatives. He was ten years old when his adopted parents
informed him that he was taken, a waif, from an institution in Boston.
From that time he was curious to find the institution and learn
something of his ancestry. He was too young, when he was taken away,
to remember that he had a sister. But on that day he learned the fact;
and he took the first train to meet her. The author took the train,
also, to spend the Sabbath with the minister who reared the sister. We
met in the same family. What a meeting of brother and sister! The
latter had mourned, through all these years, that she knew not what
had become of her baby-brother, whom she well remembered and loved;
but here he was, nineteen years of age, a manly, noble, Christian
young man! Could she believe her eyes? Could we, who were lookers on,
think it real? We received the story of his life from his own lips.

He was the best scholar in his class through academy, college, and
theological seminary, and is now an able and useful minister of the
Gospel, indebted TO THE EXAMPLE AND EXPERIENCE OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN IN
THE PRINTING OFFICE FOR WHAT HE IS!

XIII.

BOOKS OF HIS BOYHOOD.

Coleridge divided readers into four classes, thus: "The first may be
compared to an hour-glass, their reading being as the sand; it runs
in, and it runs out, and leaves not a vestige behind. A second class
resembles a sponge, which imbibes every thing, and returns it merely
in the same state, only a little dirtier. A third class is like a
jelly-bag, which allows all that is pure to pass away, and retains
only the refuse and the dregs. The fourth class may be compared to the
slave in the diamond mines of Golconda, who, casting aside all that is
worthless, preserves only the pure gem."

Benjamin belonged to the fourth class, which is the smallest class of
all. The "hour-glass" class, who simply let what they read "run in and
run out," is very large. It is not entitled to much respect, however,
for it will bring no more to pass than the class who do not read at
all.

Benjamin sought the "pure gem." If he had any thing, he wanted
diamonds. Nor did he accept "a stone for bread." He knew what bread
was, which is not true of many readers; and so he had bread or
nothing. His mind was a voracious eater, much more of an eater than
his body. It demanded substantial food, too, the bread, meat, and
potato of literature and science. It did not crave cake and
confectionery. There was no mincing and nibbling when it went to a
meal. It just laid in as if to shame starvation; it almost gobbled up
what was on the table. It devoured naturally and largely. It was
fortunate for him that his mind was so hungry all the time; otherwise,
his desire to go to sea, his love of sport, and his unusual social
qualities might have led him astray. Thousands of boys have been
ruined in this way, whom passionate fondness of reading might have
made useful and eminent. Thomas Hood said: "A natural turn for reading
and intellectual pursuits probably preserved me from the moral
shipwrecks so apt to befall those who are deprived in early life of
their parental pilotage. My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit,
the tavern, and saloon. The closet associate of Pope and Addison, the
mind accustomed to the noble though silent discourse of Shakespeare
and Milton, will hardly seek or put up with that sort of company."

It was probably as true of Benjamin Franklin as it was of Thomas Hood,
that reading saved him from a career of worldliness and worthlessness.
In his manhood he regarded the habit in this light, and said: "From my
infancy I was passionately fond of reading, and all the money that
came into my hands was laid out in the purchasing of books." If he had
laid out his money in billiards, boating, theatre-going, and kindred
pleasures, as so many do, he might have been known in manhood as Ben,
the Bruiser, instead of "Ben, the Statesman and Philosopher."

The first book Benjamin read was "Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress." He was
fascinated with it, and read it over and over, much to the
gratification of his parents.

"What is there about it that interests you so much?" inquired his
father, hoping that it might be the subject alone.

"The dialogues that are carried on in it," replied Benjamin.

"Then you think more of the style than you do of the matter?" remarked
his father, evidently somewhat disappointed that he was not specially
taken with Christian's journey.

"It is all interesting. I should never get tired of reading such a
book." This reply reassured his father, and he got considerable
comfort out of it, after having set before the boy the true idea of
Christian's flight from the City of Destruction.

"It was written in Bedford jail, England," continued his father.
"There was much persecution in his day, and he was thrust into prison
to keep him from preaching the Gospel; but the plan did not succeed
very well, for he has been preaching it ever since through that book,
that he never would have written had he not been imprisoned."

"Then he was a minister, was he?" said Benjamin.

"No, he was not a minister; he was a tinker, and a very wicked man, so
profane that he was a terror to good people. But he was converted and
became a Christian, and went about doing good, as Christ did,
preaching the Gospel in his way, in houses, by the way side, anywhere
that he could, until he was sent to prison for doing good."

"A strange reason for sending a man to jail," remarked Benjamin.

"They thought that he was doing evil, no doubt. I mean the enemies of
the Gospel. They did not believe in the Christian religion which
Bunyan had embraced; they thought it would stir up the people to
strife and contention, and prove a curse instead of a blessing." Mr.
Franklin knew that such information would increase the interest of his
son in the book; and it did. The impression wrought upon him by
reading this book lasted through his life, and led him to adopt its
style in much of his writing when he became a man. He said in manhood:

"Narrative mingled with dialogue is very engaging, not only to the
young, but to adults, also. It introduces the reader directly into the
company, and he listens to the conversation, and seems to see the
parties. Bunyan originated this colloquial style, and Defoe and
Richardson were his imitators. It is a style so attractive, conveying
instruction so naturally and pleasantly, that it should never be
superseded."

Mr. Franklin owned all of Bunyan's works, his "Grace Abounding to the
Chief of Sinners," and his "Holy War," and "Pilgrim's Progress" just
spoken of. Benjamin read them all, but "Pilgrim's Progress" was the
one that charmed his soul and more or less influenced his life.

"Defoe's Essay upon Projects" was another volume of his father's,
written in the same style as "Pilgrim's Progress," and, for that
reason, very interesting to him. He devoured its contents. Its
subject-matter was much above the capacity of most boys of his age;
but the dialogue method of imparting instruction made it clear and
attractive to him. One subject which it advocated was the liberal
education of girls; and it was here, without doubt, that Benjamin
obtained his views upon advanced female education, which he advocated
in his discussion with John Collins.

"Plutarch's Lives" was still another volume his father owned, one of
the most inspiring books for the young ever published. He read this so
much and carefully that he was made very familiar with the characters
therein--information that was of great service to him, later on, in
his literary labors and public services.

"There was another book in my father's little library, by Doctor
Mather, called, 'An Essay to do Good,'" said Doctor Franklin, in his
"Autobiography," "which, perhaps, gave me a turn of thinking that had
an influence on some of the principal future events of my life." He
wrote to a son of Doctor Mather about it, late in life, as follows:

"When I was a boy, I met with a book, entitled 'Essays to do Good,'
which I think was written by your father (Cotton Mather). It had been
so little regarded by a former possessor that several leaves of it
were torn out; but the remainder gave me such a turn of thinking as to
have an influence on my conduct through life; for I have always set a
greater value on the character of a doer of good than on any other
kind of reputation; and if I have been, as you seem to think, a useful
citizen, the public owe the advantage of it to that book."

The "Essays to do Good" consisted of twenty-two short essays of a
practical character, inculcating benevolence as a duty and privilege,
and giving directions to particular classes. It had lessons for
ministers, lawyers, doctors, merchants, magistrates, teachers,
mechanics, husbands, wives, gentlemen, deacons, sea-captains, and
others. The style was quaint, earnest, and direct, exactly suited to
appeal to such a boy as Benjamin; and withal it was so practical that
it won his heart.

Mr. Parton records a singular incident about this Doctor Mather, as
follows: "How exceedingly strange that such a work as this should have
been written by the man who, in 1692, at Salem, when nineteen people
were hanged and one was pressed to death for witchcraft, appeared
among the crowd, openly exulting in the spectacle! Probably his zeal
against the witches was as much the offspring of his benevolence as
his 'Essays to do Good.' Concede his theory of witches, and it had
been cruelty to man not to hang them. Were they not in league with
Satan, the arch-enemy of God and man? Had they not bound themselves by
solemn covenant to aid the devil in destroying human souls and
afflicting the elect? Cotton Mather had not the slightest doubt of
it."

When Benjamin had exhausted the home stock of reading, he showed his
sound judgment by saying to his father:

"I wish I could have 'Burton's Historical Collections'; it would be a
great treat to read those books."

"It would, indeed; they are very popular, and I should like to have
you read them. But how to get them is more than I can tell."

"Would you be willing that I should exchange Bunyan's works for them?"

"I did not suppose that you would part with 'Pilgrim's Progress' for
Burton's books or any others," was Mr. Franklin's reply.

"I should rather keep both; but I have read 'Pilgrim's Progress' until
I know it by heart, so that I would be willing to part with it for
Burton's books, if I can get them in no other way."

"Well, you can see what you can do. I am willing to do 'most any thing
to keep you in good books, for they are good companions. I know of no
better ones, from all I have heard and read about them, than 'Burton's
Collections.'"

"Perhaps I can sell Bunyan's books for enough to buy Burton's,"
suggested Benjamin. Doubtless he had canvassed the matter, and knew of
some opportunity for a trade like that.

"Well, you may do that, if you can; I have no objection. I hope you
will succeed."

The result was that Benjamin sold the works of Bunyan, and bought
Burton's books in forty small volumes, quite a little library for that
day. He was never happier than when he became the owner of "Burton's
Historical Collections," famous in England and America, and
extensively sold, not only by book-sellers, but also by pedlars. They
contained fact, fiction, history, biography, travels, adventures,
natural history, and an account of many marvels, curiosities, and
wonders, in a series of "twelve-penny books."

Doctor Johnson referred to these books in one of his letters: "There
is in the world a set of books which used to be sold by the
book-sellers on the bridge, and which I must entreat you to procure
me. They are called Burton's books. The title of one is, 'Admirable
Curiosities, Rarities, and Wonders in England.' They seem very proper
to allure backward readers."

He might have added, also, _forward_ readers; for they lured Benjamin,
who was, perhaps, the most thoughtful and ready reader of his age in
Boston In them he discovered a rich mine of thought and information,
and he delved there. He found even nuggets of gold to make his mind
richer and his heart gladder.

His father's books were chiefly theological; yet Benjamin's love of
reading caused him to read them. He possessed, also, a collection of
religious tracts, called the "Boyle Lectures," because Robert Boyle,
the youngest son of an Irish earl, a very pious man, originated them,
"designed to prove the truth of the Christian religion among
infidels." Benjamin read all of these, and his father was delighted to
have him read them at the time, thinking that the moral results would
be good. But the sequel will show that the effect of reading them was
bad. In order to refute the arguments of deists, it was necessary to
print them in the tracks. So Benjamin read both sides, and he thought,
in some respects, that the deists had the best argument.

Not long after Benjamin became a printer, a prominent citizen of
Boston, Matthew Adams, who had heard of his talents and love of
reading, met him in the printing office, and entered into conversation
with him.

"You are a great reader, I learn," he said.

"Yes, sir, I read considerable every day."

"Do you find all the books you want to read?"

"Not all. I should like to read some books I can't get."

"Perhaps you can find them in my library; you can come and take out of
it any book you would like."

"Thank you very much," answered Benjamin, exceedingly gratified by
this unexpected offer. "I shall take the first opportunity to call."

"Boys who like to read as well as you do, ought to have books enough,"
continued Mr. Adams. "I think you will find quite a number of
entertaining and useful ones. You will know when you examine for
yourself."

"That I shall do very soon, and be very grateful for the privilege,"
answered Benjamin.

Within a few days, the printer-boy paid Mr. Adams a visit. The latter
gave him a cordial welcome, causing him to feel at ease and enjoy his
call. He examined the library to his heart's content, and found many
books therein he desired to read.

"Come any time: take out any and all the books you please, and keep
them till you have done with them," was Mr. Adams' generous offer. He
had great interest in the boy, and wanted to assist him; and Benjamin
fully appreciated his interest and kindness, and paid the library many
visits. As long as he lived he never forgot the generous aid of this
man, of whom he wrote in his "Autobiography":

"After some time, a merchant, an ingenious, sensible man, Mr. Matthew
Adams, who had a pretty collection of books, frequented our printing
office, took notice of me, and invited me to see his library, and very
kindly proposed to lend me such books as I chose to read."

The printing office was frequented by book-sellers' apprentices, whose
employers wanted jobs of printing done. Benjamin made their
acquaintance, and they invited him to call at their stores to examine
the books. There were several book-stores in Boston at that time,
although the number of books was very limited as compared with the
present time.

"I will lend you that book to-night," said one of these apprentices to
Benjamin, who was manifesting a deep interest in a certain volume.
"You can return it in the morning before customers come in."

"Very much obliged. I shall be glad to read it. I think I can read it
through before I go to bed, and I can leave it when I go to the office
in the morning."

"You won't have much time for sleep if you read that book through
before going to bed. But you are used to short naps, I expect."

"I can afford to have a short nap whenever I have the reading of such
a book as this," answered Benjamin. "I shall return it in just as good
a condition as it is now."

"The book is for sale, and we might have a customer for it to-morrow,
or I would let you have it longer. If you do not read it through
to-night, and we do not sell it to-morrow, you can take it again
to-morrow night. I frequently read a volume through, a little at a
time, before we have a chance to sell it."

This offer of the apprentice was very generous, and Benjamin suitably
expressed his appreciation of it.

"Your favor is so great that I shall feel myself under special
obligation to return the book in season for any customer to-morrow who
may want it. If I were in a book-store, as you are, I fear that my
love of reading would overcome my love of work. It would just suit me
to be in the company of so many books all the time."

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