The Life of Benjamin Franklin Part 5

_What, no pulpit! Whoever saw a meeting-house before without a pulpit?_ He could not for his life conceive where the preacher was to stand. But his attention was quickly turned from the meeting-house to the congregation, whose appearance, particularly that of the young females, delighted him exceedingly. Such simplicity of dress with such an air of purity and neatness! He had never seen any thing like it before, and yet all admirably suited to the gentle harmony of their looks. And then their eyes! for meekness and sweetness of expression, they looked like dove's eyes. With a deep sigh he wished that his brother James and many others in Boston were but gentle and good as these people appeared to be. Young as he was, he thought the world would be a great deal the happier for it. As leaning back he indulged these soothing sentiments, without any sound of singing or preaching to disturb him, and tired nature's soft languors stealing over him too, he sunk insensibly into sleep. We are not informed that he was visited during his slumber, by any of those benevolent spirits who once descended in the dreams of the youthful patriarch, as he slept in the pleasant plains of Bethel. But he tells us himself, that he was visited by one of that benevolent sect in whose place of wors.h.i.+p he had been overtaken by sleep. Waked by some hand on his shoulder that gently shook him, he opened his eyes, and lo! a female countenance about middle age and of enchanting sweetness, was smiling on him. Roused to a recollection of the impropriety he had been guilty of, he was too much confused to speak; but his reddened cheeks told her what he felt. But he had nothing to fear. Gently shaking her head, though without a frown, and with a voice of music, she said to him "_My son, thee ought not to sleep in meeting._" Then giving him the look of a mother as she went out, she bade him farewell. He followed her as well as he could, and left the meeting-house much mortified at having been caught asleep in it; but deriving at the same time great pleasure from this circ.u.mstance, because it had furnished opportunity to the good Quaker lady to give him that _motherly look_. He felt it sweetly melting along his soul as he walked. _O how different, thought he, that look from the looks which my brother and the council men of Boston gave me, though I was younger then and more an object of sympathy!_

As he walked along the street, looking attentively in the face of every one he met, he saw a young Quaker with a fine countenance, whom he begged to tell him where a stranger might find a lodging. With a look and voice of great sweetness, the young Quaker said, they receive travellers _here_, but it is not a house that bears a good character; if thee will go with me, I will show thee a better one.

This was the _Crooked Billet_, in Water-street. Directly after dinner, his drowsiness returning, he went to bed and slept, without waking till next morning.

Having put himself in as decent a trim as he could, he waited on Mr.

Bradford, the printer, who received him with great civility, and invited him to breakfast, but told him he was sorry he had no occasion for a journeyman. There is, however, continued he in a cheering manner, there is another printer here, of the name of Keimer, to whom if you wish it, I will introduce you. Perhaps he may want your services.

Ben gratefully accepting the offer, away they went to Mr Keimer's. But alas, poor man! both he and his office put together, made no more than a miserable burlesque on printing. Only one press, and that old and damaged! only one font of types, and that nearly worn out! and only one set of letter cases, and that occupied by himself! and consequently no room for a journeyman.

Here was a sad prospect for poor Ben--four hundred miles from home--not a dollar in his pocket--and no appearance of any employment to get one.--But having, from his childhood, been accustomed to grapple with difficulties and to overcome them, Ben saw nothing here but another trial of his courage, and another opportunity for victory and triumph.

As to Keimer, suspecting from his youthful appearance, that Ben could hardly understand any thing of the printing art, he slyly put a COMPOSING STICK into his hand. Ben saw his drift, and stepping to the letter cases, filled the stick with such celerity and taste as struck Keimer with surprise, not without shame, that one so inferior in years should be so far his superior in professional skill. To complete this favourable impression, Ben modestly proposed to repair his old press.--This offer being accepted, Ben instantly fell to work, and presently accomplished his undertaking in such a workman-like style, that Keimer could no longer restrain his feelings, but relaxing his rigid features into a smile of admiration, paid him several flattering compliments, and concluded with promising him, that though, for the present, he had no work on hand, yet he expected an abundance shortly, and then would _be sure_ to send for him.

In a few days Keimer was as good as his word; for having procured another set of letter cases, with a small pamphlet to print, he sent in all haste for Ben, and set him to work.

CHAPTER XV.

As Keimer is to make a considerable figure in the early part of Ben's life, it may gratify the reader to be made acquainted with him. From the account given of him by Ben, who had the best opportunity to know, it appears that he possessed but little either of the amiable or estimable in his composition. A man he was of but slender talents--quite ignorant of the world--a wretched workman--and worse than all yet, utterly dest.i.tute of religion, and therefore very uneven and unhappy in his temper, and abundantly capable of playing the knave whenever he thought it for his interest. Among other evidences of his folly, he miserably envied his brother printer, Bradford, as if the Almighty was not rich enough to maintain them both. He could not endure, that while working with him, Ben should stay at Bradford's; so he took him away, and having no house of his own, he put him to board with Mr. Read, father of the young lady who of late had laughed so heartily at him for eating his rolls along the street. But Miss Deborah did not long continue in this wind. For on seeing the favourable change in his dress, and marking also the wittiness of his conversation, and above all, his close application to business, and the great respect paid him on that account by her father, she felt a wonderful change in his favour, and in place of her former sneers, conceived those tender sentiments for him, which, as we shall see hereafter, accompanied her through life.

Ben now began to contract acquaintance with all such young persons in Philadelphia as were fond of reading, and spent his evenings with them very agreeably: at the same time he picked up money by his industry, and being quite frugal, lived so happy, that except for his parents, he seldom ever thought of Boston nor felt any wish to see it. An affair, however, turned up, which sent him home much sooner than he expected.

His brother-in-law, a captain Holmes, of a trading sloop from Boston to Delaware, happening at Newcastle to hear that Ben was in Philadelphia, wrote to him that his father was all but distracted on account of his sudden elopement from home, and a.s.sured him that if he would but return, which he earnestly pressed him to do, every thing should be settled to his satisfaction. Ben immediately answered his letter, thanked him for his advice, and stated his reasons for quitting Boston, with a force and clearness that so highly delighted captain Holmes, that he showed it to all his acquaintance at Newcastle, and among the rest to sir William Keith, governor of the province, with whom he happened to dine. The governor read it, and appeared surprised when he learnt his age. "_Why, this must be a young man of extraordinary talents, captain Holmes_," said the governor, "_very extraordinary talents indeed, and ought to be encouraged; we have no printer in Philadelphia now worth a fig, and if this young man will but set up, there is no doubt of his success. For my part, I will give him all the public business, and render him every other service in my power._"

One day as Keimer and Ben were at work near the window, they saw the governor and colonel French cross the street, and make directly for the printing-office. Keimer not doubting it was a visit to himself, hurried down stairs to meet them. The Governor taking no notice of Keimer, but eagerly inquiring for young Mr. FRANKLIN, came up stairs, and with a condescension to which Ben had not been accustomed, introduced himself to him--desired to become acquainted with him--and after obligingly reproaching him for not having made himself known when he first came to town, invited him to the tavern where he and colonel French were going to break a bottle of old Madeira.

If Ben was surprised, old Keimer was thunderstruck. Ben went, however, with the governor and the colonel to the tavern, where, while the Madeira was circulating in cheerful b.u.mpers, the governor proposed to him to set up a printing-office, stating at the same time the great chances of success, and promising that both himself and colonel French would use their influence in procuring for him the public printing of both governments. As Ben appeared to doubt whether his father would a.s.sist him in this enterprize, sir William said that he would give the old gentleman a letter, in which he would represent the advantages of the scheme in a light that would, he'd be bound, determine him in his favour. It was thus concluded that Ben should return to Boston by the first vessel, with the governor's letter to good old Josias: in the mean time Ben was to continue with Keimer, from whom this project was to be kept a secret.

The governor sent every now and then to invite Ben to dine with him, which he considered as a very great honour, especially as his excellency always received and conversed with him in the most familiar manner.

In April, 1724, Ben embarked for Boston, where, after a fortnight pa.s.sage, he arrived in safety. Having been absent seven months from his relatives, who had never heard a syllable of him all that time, his sudden appearance threw the family into a scream of joy, and excepting his sour-faced brother James, the whole squad gave him a most hearty welcome. After much embracing and kissing, and some tears shed on both sides, as is usual at such meetings, Ben kindly inquired after his _brother James_, and went to see him at his printing-office, not without hopes of making a favourable impression on him by his dress, which was handsome far beyond what he had ever worn in his brother's service; a complete suit of broad cloth, branding new--an elegant silver watch and chain--and his purse crammed with nearly five pound sterling--all in silver dollars. But it would not all do to win over James. Nor indeed is it to be wondered at; for in losing Ben he had lost a most cheerful, obliging lad, whose rare genius and industry in writing, printing, and selling his pamphlets and papers, had brought a n.o.ble grist to his mill.

Ben's parade therefore of his fine clothes, and watch, and silver dollars, only made things worse with James, serving but to make him the more sensible of his loss; so after eyeing him from head to foot with a dark side-long look, he turned again to his work without saying a syllable to him. The behaviour of his own journeymen contributed still the more to anger poor James: for instead of taking part with him in his prejudices against Ben, they all appeared quite delighted with him; and breaking off from their work and gathering around him, with looks full of curiosity, they asked him a world of questions.

PHILADELPHIA! said they, O dear! have you been all the way there to Philadelphia!

Ben said, yes.

Why Philadelphia must be a _tarnal nation way off_!

Four hundred miles, said Ben.

At this they stared on him in silent wonder, for having been four hundred miles from Boston!

And so they have got a printing-office in Philadelphia!

Two or three of them, said Ben.

O la! why that will starve us all here in Boston.

Not at all, said Ben: their advertising "_lost pocket books_"--"_runaway servants_" and "_stray cows_" in Philadelphia, can no more starve you here in Boston, than the catfish of Delaware, by picking up a few soft-crabs there, can starve our catfish here in Boston harbour. The world's big enough for us all.

Well, I wonder now if they have any such thing as _money_ in Philadelphia?

Ben thrust his hand into his pocket, and brought up a whole fist full of dollars!

The dazzling silver struck them all speechless--gaping and gazing at him and each other. Poor fellows, they had never, at once, seen so much of that precious metal in Boston, the money there being nothing but a poor paper proc.

To keep up their stare, Ben drew his silver watch, which soon had to take the rounds among them, every one insisting to have _a look at it_. Then, to crown all, he gave them a s.h.i.+lling to drink his health; and after telling them what great things lay before them if they would but continue _industrious_ and _prudent_, and make themselves _masters of their trade_, he went back to the house.

This visit to the office stung poor James to the quick; for when his mother spoke to him of a reconciliation with Ben, and said how happy she should be to see them like brothers again before she died, he flew into a pa.s.sion and told her such a thing would never be, for that Ben had so insulted him before his men that he would never forgive nor forget it as long as he lived. But Ben had the satisfaction to live to see that James was no prophet. For when James, many years after this, fell behind hand and got quite low in the world, Ben lent him money, and was a steady friend to him and his family all the days of his life.

CHAPTER XVI.

But we have said nothing yet about the main object of Ben's sudden return to Boston, _i.e._ governor Keith's letter to his father, on the grand project of setting him up as a printer in Philadelphia. The reader has been told that all the family, his brother James excepted, were greatly rejoiced to see Ben again. But among them all there was none whose heart felt half such joy as did that of his father. He had always doted on this young son, as one whose rare genius and unconquerable industry, if but conducted by prudence, would a.s.suredly, one day, lead him to greatness. His sudden elopement, as we have seen, had greatly distressed the old man, especially as he was under the impression that he was gone to sea. And when he remembered how few that go out at his young and inexperienced age, ever return better than blackguards and vagabonds, his heart sickened within him, and he was almost ready to wish he had never lived to feel the pangs of such bitter disappointment in a child so beloved. He counted the days of Ben's absence; by night his sleep departed from his eyes for thinking of his son; and all day long whenever he heard a rapping at the door, his heart would leap with expectation: "who knows," he would say to himself, "but this may be my child?" And although he would feel disappointed when he saw it was not Ben who rapped, yet he was afraid, at times, to see him lest he should see him covered with the marks of dishonour. Who can tell what this anxious father felt when he saw his son return as he did? Not in the mean apparel and sneaking looks of a drunkard, but in a dress far more genteel than he himself had ever been able to put on him; while his beloved cheeks were fresh with temperance, and his eyes bright with innocence and conscious well doing. Imagination dwells with pleasure on the tender scene that marked that meeting, where the withered cheeks of seventy and the florid bloom of seventeen met together in the eager embrace of parental affection and filial grat.i.tude:

"_G.o.d bless my son!_" the sobbing sire he sigh'd.

"_G.o.d bless my sire!_" that pious son replied.

Soon as the happy father could recover his articulation, with great tenderness he said, "but how, my beloved boy could you give me the pain to leave me as you did?"

"Why you know, my dear father," replied Ben, "that I could not live with my brother; nor would he let me live with the other printers; and as I could not bear the thought of living on an aged father now that I was able to work for myself, I determined to leave Boston and seek my fortune abroad. And knowing that if I but hinted my intentions you would prevent me, I thought I would leave you as I did."

"But why, my son, did you keep me so long unhappy about your fate, and not write to me sooner?"

"I knew, father, what a deep interest you took in my welfare, and therefore I resolved never to write to you until by my own industry and economy I had got myself into such a state, that I could write to you with pleasure. This state I did not attain till lately. And just as I was a going to write to you, a strange affair took place that decided me to come and see you, rather than write to you."

"Strange affair! what can that mean, my son?"

"Why, sir, the governor of Pennsylvania, sir William Keith--I dare say, father, you have often heard of governor Keith?"

"I may have heard of him, child--I'm not positive--but what of governor Keith?"

"Why he has taken a wonderful liking to me, father!"

"Aye! has he so?" said the old man, with joy sparkling in his eyes.

"Well I pray G.o.d you may be grateful for such favours, my son, and make a good use of them!"

"Yes, father, he has taken a great liking to me sure enough; he says I am the only one in Philadelphia who knows any thing about printing; and he says too, that if I will only come and set up in Philadelphia, he will make my fortune for me in a trice!!"