From Boyhood to Manhood

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"I will do all I can to make it succeed, if I have to sit up nights,"
Benjamin continued. "It will give your office notoriety to publish a
paper. But how will you dispose of it?"

"Sell it on the street; and you will be a good hand to do that. No
doubt there will be some regular subscribers, and you can deliver
copies to them from week to week."

"And be collector, too, I suppose," added Benjamin, who had no
objection to any part of the work named.

"As you please about that. Doubtless it will be convenient to have you
attend to that, at times at least."

"You won't make me editor yet, I conclude," remarked Benjamin,
facetiously, thinking that about all the work on the paper, except the
editorship, had been assigned to him.

"Not yet, I think," responded James; "printer, news-dealer,
news-carrier, and collector will be as much honor as any one of the
Franklins can withstand at once"; and he had as little idea of the
part Benjamin would play in the enterprise as the boy himself.

There is no doubt that Benjamin had an idea that the paper might have
in its columns some of his fugitive pieces, sooner or later. He had
been cultivating his talents in this direction, and never was enjoying
it more than he was at the time the _New England Courant_ was
established.

"How many copies shall you publish in the first issue?" inquired
Benjamin.

"I am not quite decided about that; anywhere from two to three
hundred. We will see how it goes first."

"How about articles for it? Will you have any trouble about getting
articles?"

"None at all. I am to have several articles at once for the first
number, from parties who can write well; and when the paper is well
under way there will be a plenty of volunteer contributors. I have no
fears about that."

Benjamin might have responded, "Here is one," for there is no doubt
that he was already flattering himself with the idea that he would be
a contributor to its columns, known or unknown. Here was the real
secret of his enthusiastic interest in the enterprise.

On the day mentioned the new paper was issued, as had been announced,
and great was the anxiety of the publisher. Many citizens awaited its
coming with lively anticipations; and, on the whole, it was a
memorable occasion. No one's interest surpassed that of the
printer-boy, Benjamin, who had no hesitation in selling the paper on
the street, and rather liked that part of the business. In his view,
it was an honorable and enterprising venture, that challenged the
respect and support of every citizen.

The reception of the _Courant_ was all that James anticipated. It sold
as well as he expected, and the comments upon its ability and
character were as favorable as the times and circumstances would
warrant. There were criticisms, of course, and severe ones, too, for,
in that day, all sorts of projects were subjected to a crucial test.
The _Courant_ was no exception to the rule.

Now that the newspaper is launched, and there is new interest and
activity in consequence in the printing office, we will recur to an
episode in Benjamin's career, that occurred two years before; for it
sustains a very close relation to the newspaper enterprise and what
followed:

Benjamin had been in the printing office about a year when he
surprised his brother by the inquiry:

"How much will you allow me a week if I will board myself?"

"Do you think I pay more for your board than it is worth?" replied
James, Yankee-like, by asking another question, instead of answering
the one propounded.

"No more than you will be obliged to pay in any other family, but more
than I shall ask you. It costs you now more than you need to pay."
James was still boarding Benjamin in a family near by.

"Then you think of opening a boarding-house for the special
accommodation of Benjamin Franklin, I see," which was treating the
subject rather lightly.

"I propose to board myself," answered Benjamin, distinctly and
emphatically. "I do not eat meat of any kind, as you know, so that I
can board myself easily, and I will agree to do it if you will give me
weekly one-half the money you pay for my board."

"Of course I will agree to it," answered James. "It will be so much in
my pocket, and the bargain is made. When will you begin to keep your
boarder?"

"To-morrow," was Benjamin's quick reply. "A vegetarian can open a
boarding-house for himself without much preparation."

"To-morrow it is, then; but it will not take you long to become sick
of that arrangement. Keeping boarders is not a taking business, even
if you have no boarder but yourself."

"That is my lookout," continued Benjamin. "I have my own ideas about
diet and work, play and study, and some other things; and I am going
to reduce them to practice."

Benjamin had been reading a work on "vegetable diet," by one Tryon,
and it was this which induced him to discard meats as an article of
food. He was made to believe that better health and a clearer head
would be the result, though from all we can learn he was not lacking
in either. Mr. Tryon, in his work, gave directions for cooking
vegetables, such dishes as a vegetarian might use, so that the matter
of boarding himself was made quite simple.

The great object which Benjamin had in view was to save money for
buying books. It seemed to be the only way open to get money for that
purpose. At the same time, he would have more hours to read. He had
been trying the "vegetable diet" at his boarding place for some time,
and he liked it. He was really one of Tryon's converts. Other boarders
ridiculed his diet, and had considerable sport over his "oddity"; but
he cared nothing for that. They could eat what they pleased, and so
could he. He was as independent on the subject of diet as he was on
any other. He did not pin his faith in any thing upon the sleeve of
another; he fastened it to his own sleeve, and let it fly.

The incident illustrates the difference between the two brothers. If
James had been as unselfish and generous as Benjamin was, he would
have paid the latter the full amount of his board weekly. He would
have said:

"You have a passion for reading and study. You do this for
self-improvement. You want to know more, and make the most of yourself
that you can. In these circumstances I will not make any money out of
you. If I give you the whole amount I pay for board I shall lose
nothing, and you will gain considerable. It will help you, and I shall
be kept whole in my finances. You shall have it all."

But the fact was, James was avaricious, and was bent on making money,
though he made it out of his younger brother. On the other hand,
Benjamin was large-hearted and generous, or he never would have
offered, in the outset, to take half James paid for his board. Had he
been as niggardly as James, he could have made a better bargain than
that for himself. But it was not a good bargain that he was after; he
was after the books.

James was curious to see how Benjamin would succeed with his new
method of living. So he watched him closely, without saying any thing
in particular about it; perhaps expecting that his brother would soon
tire of boarding himself. Weeks passed by, and still Benjamin was
hale, strong, and wide-awake as ever. His actions indicated that he
was well satisfied both with his bargain and his board. Finally,
however, James' curiosity grew to such proportions that he inquired
one day,--

"Ben, how much do you make by boarding yourself?"

"I save just half the money you pay me, so that it costs me just
one-quarter as much as you paid for my board."

"You understand economy, I must confess," remarked James. "However, I
ought to be satisfied if you are." Perhaps his conscience might have
troubled him somewhat, and caused him to think how much better off his
young brother would have been, if he had given him the full amount of
the board, as he should have done. If Benjamin had been a common boy,
without high aspirations and noble endeavors, or a spendthrift, or
idler, there might have been some excuse for driving a close bargain
with him; but, in the circumstances, the act was unbrotherly and
ungenerous.

"The money I save is not the best part of it," added Benjamin after a
little. "I save a half-hour and more usually every noon for reading.
After I have eaten my meal, I usually read as long as that before you
return from dinner."

"Not a very sumptuous dinner, I reckon; sawdust pudding, perhaps, with
cold water sauce! When I work I want something to work on. Living on
nothing would be hard on me." James indicated by this remark that he
had no confidence in that sort of diet.

"I live well enough for me. A biscuit or a slice of bread, with a tart
or a few raisins, and a glass of water, make a good dinner for me; and
then my head is all the lighter for study."

"Yes, I should think you might have a light head with such living,"
retorted James, "and your body will be as light before many weeks, I
prophesy."

"I will risk it. I am on a study now that requires a clear head, and I
am determined to master it."

"What is that?"

"Cocker's Arithmetic."

"Begin to wish that you knew something of arithmetic by this time!
Making up for misspent time, I see. Paying old debts is not
interesting business."

James meant this last remark for a fling at Benjamin's dislike for
arithmetic when he attended school. Not devoting himself to it with
the enthusiasm he gave to more congenial studies, he was more
deficient in that branch of knowledge than in any other. He regretted
his neglect of the study now, and was determined to make up his loss.
This was very honorable, and showed a noble aim, which merited praise,
instead of a fling, from his brother.

"I think it must be a sort of luxury to pay old debts, if one has any
thing to pay them with," remarked Benjamin. "If I can make up any loss
of former years now, I enjoy doing it, even by the closest economy of
time."

"Well, you estimate time as closely as a miser counts his money, Ben."

"And I have a right to do it. As little time as I have to myself
requires that I should calculate closely. Time is money to you, or
else you would allow me a little more to myself; and it is more than
money to me."

"How so?"

"It enables me to acquire knowledge, which I can not buy with money.
Unless I were saving of my time, I should not be able to read or study
at all, having to work so constantly."

Perhaps, at this time, Benjamin laid the foundation for that economy
which distinguished him in later life, and about which he often wrote.
Among his wise sayings, in the height of his influence and fame, were
the following:

"If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting."

"What maintains one vice would bring up two children."

"Many a little makes a mickle."

"A small leak will sink a ship."

"At a great penny worth pause awhile."

"Silks and satins, scarlets and velvets, put out the kitchen fire."

"Always taking out of the meal-tub, and never putting in, soon comes
to the bottom."

"It is easier to build two chimneys than to keep one in fuel."

"A penny saved is a penny earned."

"A penny saved is two-pence clear."

"A pin a day is a groat a year."

"He that wastes idly a groat's worth of his time per day, one day with
another, wastes the privilege of using one hundred pounds each day."

"In short, the way to wealth, if you desire it, is as plain as the way
to market. It depends chiefly on two words, _industry_ and
_frugality_; that is, waste neither _time_ nor _money_, but make the
best use of both. Without industry and frugality nothing will do, and
with them every thing. He that gets all he can honestly, and saves all
he gets (necessary expenses excepted), will certainly become
_rich_--if that Being who governs the world, to whom all should look
for a blessing on their honest endeavors, doth not, in his wise
providence, otherwise determine."

The reader may desire to know just how Franklin himself speaks of the
"vegetable diet" experiment in his "Autobiography"; so we quote it
here:

"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 inconvenience,
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 of 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 was often no more than a biscuit, 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 generally attend temperance in eating
and drinking. Now it was, that, being on some occasion made ashamed of
my ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed learning when at
school, I took Cocker's book on arithmetic, and went through the whole
by myself with the greatest ease."

XII.

THE RUSE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

Mr. Parton says of the _Courant_, "It was a most extraordinary sheet.
Of all the colonial newspapers, it was the most spirited, witty, and
daring. The Bostonians, accustomed to the monotonous dullness of the
_News-letter_, received, some with delight, more with horror, all with
amazement, this weekly budget of impudence and fun. A knot of liberals
gathered around James Franklin, physicians most of them, able,
audacious men, who kept him well supplied with squibs, essays, and
every variety of sense and nonsense known in that age. The _Courant_
was, indeed, to borrow the slang of the present day, a 'sensational
paper.' Such a tempest did it stir up in Boston that the noise thereof
was heard in the remote colony of Pennsylvania."

The "knot of liberals" who wrote articles for it, met often at the
office to discuss their contributions, and the state of public
sentiment more or less affected by this venture. The _News-letter_
came in for a large share of the opposition, and they declared war
against many of the existing customs,--governmental, political, and
social. The scope and circulation of the paper was a frequent topic of
remark.

Benjamin's ears were always open to their conversation. He heard the
merits of different articles set forth, and learned that certain ones
were quite popular and elicited favorable remarks from readers
generally. This excited his ambition, and he strongly desired to try
his own ability in writing for the paper. He feared, however, that his
composition would not be regarded favorably, if it were known who was
the author; so he resorted to the following expedient:

"I will write an anonymous article," he said within himself, "in the
best style I can, and get it into James' hand in some way that will
not arouse his suspicions. I will disguise my handwriting, and give it
some fictitious name, so that he will not dream that it was written in
the office."

Accordingly the article was prepared, describing his ideal of
character, and that was the character he himself formed, and was
forming then; and he signed it SILENCE DOGOOD. This article he slipped
under the printing office door at night, where James found it in the
morning, and read it with evident satisfaction, as Benjamin thought,
who narrowly watched him. In a little while some of the "knot of
liberals" came in, and the article was read to them.

"It is a good article, and it was slipped under the door last night,"
said James. "It is signed 'Silence Dogood.'"

"You have no idea who wrote it, then?" inquired one.

"Not the least whatever."

"It is capital, whoever the author may be," remarked one of the
critics.

"Somebody wrote it who knows how to wield his pen," said another.

"Ordinarily I shall not publish articles without knowing who the
author is," remarked James; "but this is so good that I shall not
stop to inquire. I shall put it into the next issue."

"By all means, of course," replied one. "No doubt we shall soon learn
who the author is; it is a difficult matter to keep such things secret
for a long time."

"The author is evidently a person of ability," added another; "every
sentence in the article is charged with thought. I should judge that
he needed only practice to make him a writer of the first class."

"Publishing the article will be as likely as any thing to bring out
the author," suggested James.

"That is so; and the sooner it is published the better," remarked one
of the company approvingly.

Much more was said in praise of the article. The names of several
prominent citizens of Boston were mentioned as the possible author.
James himself named one or two, who were Boston's most intelligent and
influential citizens, as the possible author.

All approved the insertion of the article in the next issue of the
paper, much to the satisfaction of Benjamin, who was the most deeply
interested party in the office. He scarcely knew how to act in regard
to the article, whether to father it at once, or still conceal its
parentage. On the whole, however, he decided to withhold its
authorship for the present, and try his hand again in the same way.

The reader may judge of Benjamin's emotions when he came to put his
own article in type for the paper. It was almost too good to be real.
Fact was even stranger than fiction to him. In the outset he dreamed
that somehow and sometime the columns of the _Courant_ might contain a
contribution of his own; and here he was setting up his first article
with the approval of James and the whole "knot of liberals." This was
more than he bargained for; and his heart never came so near beating
through his jacket as then. Never was a printer-boy so happy before.
He was happy all over and all through--a lump of happiness. Not one
boy in a hundred could have managed to keep the secret as he did, in
the circumstances. Their countenances would have exposed it on the
spot. But Benjamin possessed his soul in patience, and carried out his
ruse admirably.

The issue containing Benjamin's article appeared on time, and was
greatly praised. "Who is 'Silence Dogood'?" was the most common
inquiry. "I wonder who 'Silence Dogood' can be," was a frequent
remark, showing that the article attracted much attention. Benjamin
wondered as much as any of them. "A queer signature to put to an
article," he said. "What in the world could suggest such a _nom de
plume_ to a writer?" He enjoyed his ruse more and more: it became the
choicest fun of his life. It was so crammed with felicity that he
resolved to continue it by writing more articles as well-chosen and
good.

He was able to prepare a better article for the second one, because he
brought to its preparation the enthusiasm and encouragement awakened
by the favorable reception of the first. Besides, the many remarks he
had heard about it gave him points for another communication, so as to
make it sharper, better adapted to the times, and hence more timely.
Within a short time, the second article was slipped under the door at
night for James to pick up in the morning.

"Another article from 'Silence Dogood,'" exclaimed James, as he opened
it and read the signature.

"I thought we should hear from that writer again," was all the remark
that Benjamin vouchsafed.

"A good subject!" added James, as he read the caption. "I will read
it," and he proceeded to read the article to Benjamin.

The latter listened with attention that was somewhat divided between
the excellent reception the article was having and the grand success
of his ruse.

"Better even than the first article," remarked James after having read
it. "We must not rest until we find out who the author is. It is
somebody of note."

The second article was submitted to the "knot of liberals," the same
as the first one, and all approved it highly.

"It is sharper than the first one, and hits the nail on the head every
time," said one of the number. "Dogood is a good name for such a
writer."

"And we shall have more of them, no doubt," suggested James; "it is
quite evident that the writer means to keep on."

"I hope he will; such articles will call attention to the paper, and
that is what we want," added another.

"In the mean time, let us find out if possible who the writer is,"
suggested still another. "It will be a help to the paper to have it
known who is the author, if it is one of the scholars."

Charles Dickens was a poorer boy than Benjamin ever was, knowing what
it was to go to bed hungry and cold; but his young heart aspired after
a nobler life, and, while yet a boy, he wrote an article for the
press, disclosing the fact not even to his mother, and then, on a dark
night, he dropped it "into a dark letter box, in a dark office, up a
dark court in Fleet street." His joy was too great for utterance when
he saw it in print. It was the beginning of a career as a writer
unparalleled in English or American history. And he told the secret of
it when he wrote, "While other boys played, I read Roderick Random,
Tom Jones, The Vicar of Wakefield, Don Quixote, Gil Bias, and other
books. They kept alive my fancy, and my hope of something beyond that
place and time."

Benjamin heard all that was said, and still kept his secret. It would
not have been strange if his vanity had been inflated by these
complimentary remarks. Ordinary humanity could scarcely be exposed to
so high praise without taking on a new sense of its importance. But
Benjamin kept down his pride, and his heart continued to abide under
his jacket though it beat mightily. Was it any wonder?

Without stopping to narrate details, it is sufficient to say that
Benjamin wrote several articles, and sent them forward to James under
the door; and they were all pronounced good by James and his friends.
He began to think that it was almost time to let out the secret. James
was fairly committed to the excellence of all the articles, and so
were the other critics. This was important to the success of
Benjamin's plan. He had feared, as he had continued industriously to
set up type, that a disclosure would knock all his plans into "pi";
but he had no fears now. But how should he disclose? That was the
question. It was not long, however, before the question was settled.
His brother made some remark about the last article slipped under the
door, and wondered that the author had not become known.

"I know who the author is," said Benjamin under such a degree of
excitement as even an older person would experience on the eve of an
important revelation.

"You know!" exclaimed James in great surprise. "If you know, why have
you not disclosed it before?"

"Because I thought it was not wise. It is not best to tell all we know
always."

"But you have heard us discuss this matter over and over, and take
measures to discover the author, and yet you have never intimated that
you knew any thing about it."

"Well, the author did not wish to be known until the right time came,
and that is a good reason for keeping the matter secret, I think."

"Will you tell who the author is now?" asked James, impatient to
obtain the long-sought information.

"Perhaps I will if you are very anxious to know."

"Of course I am, and every one else who is interested in the paper."

That was the crisis to James. We can scarcely conceive of its interest
to the boy-writer. His time of triumph had come. James had not treated
him very well, and we think he enjoyed that moment of victory a little
more for that reason. That would have been human, and Benjamin was
human. His ruse had proved successful, and his talents, too. Now he
could startle his brother as much as would a thunder-bolt out of a
clear sky. So he answered his inquiry by saying,--

"Benjamin Franklin "; and he said it with emphasis and an air of
triumph.

If James' countenance could have been photographed at that moment, it
would have shown a mixture of amazement, incredulity, and wonder. It
was several moments before he so far recovered from the shock as to be
able to speak.

"What! Do you mean to say that you wrote those articles?" Benjamin
might have discovered some doubt in James' tone and appearance when he
spoke.

"Certainly I do."

"But it is not your handwriting."

"It is my handwriting disguised. I wa' n't fool enough to let you have
the articles in my own handwriting without disguise, when I wished to
conceal the authorship."

"What could possibly be your object in doing so?"

"That the articles might be fairly examined. If I had proposed to
write an article for your paper, you would have said that I, a
printer-boy, could write nothing worthy of print."

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