Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin

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[18] A daily London journal, comprising satirical essays
on social subjects, published by Addison and Steele in
1711-1712. The _Spectator_ and its predecessor, the
_Tatler_ (1709), marked the beginning of periodical
literature.

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, dispatching 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_,[19] and the _Art of
Thinking_, by Messrs. du Port Royal.[20]

[19] John Locke (1632-1704), a celebrated English
philosopher, founder of the so-called "common-sense"
school of philosophers. He drew up a constitution for
the colonists of Carolina.

[20] A noted society of scholarly and devout men
occupying the abbey of Port Royal near Paris, who
published learned works, among them the one here
referred to, better known as the _Port Royal Logic_.

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[21] 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 anything 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 engaged 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 everyone 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[22] 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.

[21] Socrates confuted his opponents in argument by
asking questions so skillfully devised that the answers
would confirm the questioner's position or show the
error of the opponent.

[22] Alexander Pope (1688-1744), the greatest English
poet of the first half of the eighteenth century.

My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a newspaper. It was
the second that appeared in America,[23] 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.

[23] Franklin's memory does not serve him correctly here.
The _Courant_ was really the fifth newspaper established
in America, although generally called the fourth,
because the first, _Public Occurrences_, published in
Boston in 1690, was suppressed after the first issue.
Following is the order in which the other four papers
were published: _Boston News Letter_, 1704; _Boston
Gazette_, December 21, 1719; _The American Weekly
Mercury_, Philadelphia, December 22, 1719; _The New
England Courant_, 1721.

[Illustration: First page of The New England Courant of Dec. 4-11,
1721. Reduced about one-third. From a copy in the Library of the
Massachusetts Historical Society.]

[Transcriber's note: Transcription given at the end of the text.]

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 conveyed 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[24] 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.

[24] Disclosed.

[Illustration: "I was employed to carry the papers thro' the streets
to the customers"]

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 contented 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 libeling 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 indiscreet 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. 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.

[Illustration: Sailboat]

III

ARRIVAL IN PHILADELPHIA

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, Aquilla 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,[25] 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[26] has done
the same in his Pamela, etc.

[25] Kill van Kull, the channel separating Staten Island
from New Jersey on the north.

[26] Samuel Richardson, the father of the English novel,
wrote _Pamela_, _Clarissa Harlowe_, and the _History of
Sir Charles Grandison_, novels published in the form of
letters.

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 plentifully 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.

[Illustration: It rained very hard all the day]

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
travesty 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
traveling, 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 of 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 clothes 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 traveling, 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 Second-street, 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 bade him give me three-penny
worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I
was surpris'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, coming 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.

[Illustration: "She, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made,
as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance"]

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' labour and want
of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and continu'd 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, traveling 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.

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