Chapter XXX: Letter III (1)

On the Subject of Uniting the Colonies More Intimately with Great Britain, by Allowing Them Representatives in Parliament

Boston, Dec. 22, 1754.

SIR,

Since the conversation your Excellency was pleased to honour me with, on the subject of _uniting the colonies_ more intimately with Great Britain, by allowing them _representatives in parliament_, I have something further considered that matter, and am of opinion, that such a union would be very acceptable to the colonies, provided they had a reasonable number of representatives allowed them; and that all the old acts of Parliament restraining the trade or cramping the manufactures of the colonies be at the same time repealed, and the British subjects _on this side the water_ put, in those respects, on the same footing with those in Great Britain, till the new Parliament, representing the whole, shall think it for the interest of the whole to reënact some or all of them. It is not that I imagine so many representatives will be allowed the colonies, as to have any great weight by their numbers; but I think there might be sufficient to occasion those laws to be better and more impartially considered, and perhaps to overcome the interest of a petty corporation, or of any particular set of artificers or traders in England, who heretofore seem, in some instances, to have been more regarded than all the colonies, or than was consistent with the general interest, or best national good. I think too, that the government of the colonies by a parliament, in which they are fairly represented, would be vastly more agreeable to the people, than the method lately attempted to be introduced by royal instructions, as well as more agreeable to the nature of an English constitution, and to English liberty; and that such laws as now seem to bear hard on the colonies, would (when judged by such a Parliament for the best interest of the whole) be more cheerfully submitted to, and more easily executed.

I should hope too, that by such a union, the people of Great Britain, and the people of the colonies, would learn to consider themselves, as not belonging to a different community with different interests, but to one community with one interest; which I imagine would contribute to strengthen the whole, and greatly lessen the danger of future separations.

It is, I suppose, agreed to be the general interest of any state, that its people be numerous and rich; men enough to fight in its defence, and enough to pay sufficient taxes to defray the charge; for these circumstances tend to the security of the state, and its protection from foreign power: But it seems not of so much importance, whether the fighting be done by John or Thomas, or the tax paid by William or Charles. The iron manufacture employs and enriches British subjects, but is it of any importance to the state, whether the manufacturers live at Birmingham, or Sheffield, or both, since they are still within its bounds, and their wealth and persons still at its command? Could the Goodwin Sands be laid dry by banks, and land equal to a large country thereby gained to England, and presently filled with English inhabitants, would it be right to deprive such inhabitants of the common privileges enjoyed by other Englishmen, the right of vending their produce in the same ports, or of making their own shoes, because a merchant or a shoemaker, living on the old land, might fancy it more for his advantage to trade or make shoes for them? Would this be right, even if the land were gained at the expence of the state? And would it not seem less right, if the charge and labour of gaining the additional territory to Britain had been borne by the settlers themselves? And would not the hardship appear yet greater, if the people of the new country should be allowed no representatives in the parliament enacting such impositions?

Now I look on the colonies as so many counties gained to Great Britain, and more advantageous to it than if they had been gained out of the seas around its coasts, and joined to its land: For being in different climates, they afford greater variety of produce, and being separated by the ocean, they increase much more its shipping and seamen; and since they are all included in the British empire, which has only extended itself by their means; and the strength and wealth of the parts are the strength and wealth of the whole; what imports it to the general state, whether a merchant, a smith, or a hatter, grow rich in Old or New England? And if, through increase of people, two smiths are wanted for one employed before, why may not the _new_ smith be allowed to live and thrive in the _new_ country, as well as the _old_ one in the _old_? In fine, why should the countenance of a state be _partially_ afforded to its people, unless it be most in favour of those who have most merit? And if there be any difference, those who have most contributed to enlarge Britain's empire and commerce, increase her strength, her wealth, and the numbers of her people, at the risk of their own lives and private fortunes in new and strange countries, methinks ought rather to expect some preference. With the greatest respect and esteem, I have the honour to be

Your Excellency's most obedient and most humble servant,

B. FRANKLIN.

TO MISS CATHERINE RAY[46] [AT BLOCK ISLAND]

Philadelphia, March 4, 1755.

DEAR KATY:--

Your kind letter of January 20th is but just come to hand, and I take this first opportunity of acknowledging the favour. It gives me great pleasure to hear, that you got home safe and well that day. I thought too much was hazarded, when I saw you put off to sea in that very little skiff, tossed by every wave. But the call was strong and just, a sick parent. I stood on the shore, and looked after you, till I could no longer distinguish you, even with my glass; then returned to your sister's, praying for your safe passage. Towards evening all agreed that you must certainly be arrived before that time, the weather having been so favourable; which made me more easy and cheerful, for I had been truly concerned for you.

I left New England slowly, and with great reluctance.[47] Short day's journeys, and loitering visits on the road, for three or four weeks, manifested my unwillingness to quit a country, in which I drew my first breath, spent my earliest and most pleasant days, and had now received so many fresh marks of the people's goodness and benevolence, in the kind and affectionate treatment I had everywhere met with. I almost forgot I had a _home_, till I was more than halfway towards it; till I had, one by one, parted with all my New England friends, and was got into the western borders of Connecticut, among mere strangers. Then, like an old man, who, having buried all he loved in this world, begins to think of heaven, I began to think of and wish for home; and, as I drew nearer, I found the attraction stronger and stronger. My diligence and speed increased with my impatience. I drove on violently, and made such long stretches, that a very few days brought me to my own house, and to the arms of my good old wife and children, where I remain, thanks to God, at present well and happy.

Persons subject to the _hyp_ complain of the northeast wind, as increasing their malady. But since you promised to send me kisses in that wind, and I find you as good as your word, it is to me the gayest wind that blows, and gives me the best spirits. I write this during a northeast storm of snow, the greatest we have had this winter. Your favours come mixed with the snowy fleeces, which are pure as your virgin innocence, white as your lovely bosom, and--as cold. But let it warm towards some worthy young man, and may Heaven bless you both with every kind of happiness.

I desired Miss Anna Ward[48] to send you over a little book I left with her, for your amusement in that lonely island. My respects to your good father, and mother, and sister. Let me often hear of your welfare, since it is not likely I shall ever again have the pleasure of seeing you. Accept mine, and my wife's sincere thanks for the many civilities I receive from you and your relations; and do me the justice to believe me, dear girl, your affectionate, faithful friend, and humble servant,

B. FRANKLIN.

P.S. My respectful compliments to your good brother Ward, and sister; and to the agreeable family of the Wards at Newport, when you see them. Adieu.

TO PETER COLLINSON

Philadelphia, Aug. 25, 1755.

DEAR SIR,--

As you have my former papers on Whirlwinds, &c., I now send you an account of one which I had lately an opportunity of seeing and examining myself.

Being in _Maryland_, riding with Colonel _Tasker_, and some other gentlemen to his country-seat, where I and my son were entertained by that amiable and worthy man with great hospitality and kindness, we saw in the vale below us, a small whirlwind beginning in the road, and shewing itself by the dust it raised and contained. It appeared in the form of a sugar-loaf, spinning on its point, moving up the hill towards us, and enlarging as it came forward. When it passed by us, its smaller part near the ground, appeared no bigger than a common barrel, but widening upwards, it seemed, at 40 or 50 feet high, to be 20 or 30 feet in diameter. The rest of the company stood looking after it, but my curiosity being stronger, I followed it, riding close by its side, and observed its licking up, in its progress, all the dust that was under its smaller part. As it is a common opinion that a shot, fired through a water-spout, will break it, I tried to break this little whirlwind, by striking my whip frequently through it, but without any effect. Soon after, it quitted the road and took into the woods, growing every moment larger and stronger, raising, instead of dust, the old dry leaves with which the ground was thick covered, and making a great noise with them and the branches of the trees, bending some tall trees round in a circle swiftly and very surprizingly, though the progressive motion of the whirl was not so swift but that a man on foot might have kept pace with it; but the circular motion was amazingly rapid. By the leaves it was now filled with, I could plainly perceive that the current of air they were driven by, moved upwards in a spiral line; and when I saw the trunks and bodies of large trees invelop'd in the passing whirl, which continued intire after it had left them I no longer wondered that my whip had no effect on it in its smaller state. I accompanied it about three quarters of a mile, till some limbs of dead trees, broken off by the whirl, flying about and falling near me, made me more apprehensive of danger; and then I stopped, looking at the top of it as it went on, which was visible, by means of the leaves contained in it, for a very great height above the trees. Many of the leaves, as they got loose from the upper and widest part, were scattered in the wind; but so great was their height in the air, that they appeared no bigger than flies. My son, who was by this time come up with me, followed the whirlwind till it left the woods, and crossed an old tobacco-field, where, finding neither dust nor leaves to take up, it gradually became invisible below as it went away over that field. The course of the general wind then blowing was along with us as we travelled, and the progressive motion of the whirlwind was in a direction nearly opposite, though it did not keep a strait line, nor was its progressive motion uniform, it making little sallies on either hand as it went, proceeding sometimes faster and sometimes slower, and seeming sometimes for a few seconds almost stationary, then starting forward pretty fast again. When we rejoined the company, they were admiring the vast height of the leaves now brought by the common wind, over our heads. These leaves accompanied us as we travelled, some falling now and then round about us, and some not reaching the ground till we had gone near three miles from the place where we first saw the whirlwind begin. Upon my asking Colonel _Tasker_ if such whirlwinds were common in _Maryland_, he answered pleasantly, "No, not at all common; but we got this on purpose to treat Mr. Franklin." And a very high treat it was, to

Dear Sir,
Your affectionate friend and humble servant,
B. F[RANKLIN].

TO MISS CATHERINE RAY

Philadelphia, Sept. 11, 1755.

Begone, business, for an hour, at least, and let me chat a little with my Katy.

I have now before me, my dear girl, three of your favours, viz. of March the 3d, March the 30th, and May the 1st. The first I received just before I set out on a long journey, and the others while I was on that journey, which held me near six weeks. Since my return, I have been in such a perpetual hurry of public affairs of various kinds, as renders it impracticable for me to keep up my private correspondences, even those that afforded me the greatest pleasure.

You ask in your last, how I do, and what I am doing, and whether everybody loves me yet, and why I make them do so.

In regard to the first, I can say, thanks to God, that I do not remember I was ever better. I still relish all the pleasures of life, that a temperate man can in reason desire, and through favour I have them all in my power. This happy situation shall continue as long as God pleases, who knows what is best for his creatures, and I hope will enable me to bear with patience and dutiful submission any change he may think fit to make that is less agreeable. As to the second question, I must confess (but don't you be jealous), that many more people love me now, than ever did before; for since I saw you I have been enabled to do some general services to the country, and to the army, for which both have thanked and praised me, and say they love me. They say so, as you used to do; and if I were to ask any favours of them, they would, perhaps, as readily refuse me; so that I find little real advantage in being beloved, but it pleases my humour.

Now it is near four months since I have been favoured with a single line from you; but I will not be angry with you, because it is my fault. I ran in debt to you three or four letters; and as I did not pay, you would not trust me any more, and you had some reason. But, believe me, I am honest; and, tho' I should never make equal returns, you shall see I will keep fair accounts. Equal returns I can never make, tho' I should write to you by every post; for the pleasure I receive from one of yours is more than you can have from two of mine. The small news, the domestic occurrences among our friends, the natural pictures you draw of persons, the sensible observations and reflections you make, and the easy, chatty manner in which you express every thing, all contribute to heighten the pleasure; and the more as they remind me of those hours and miles, that we talked away so agreeably, even in a winter journey, a wrong road, and a soaking shower.

I long to hear whether you have continued ever since in that monastery [Block Island]; or have broke into the world again, doing pretty mischief; how the lady Wards do, and how many of them are married, or about it; what is become of Mr. B-- and Mr. L--, and what the state of your heart is at this instant? But that, perhaps, I ought not to know; and, therefore, I will not conjure, as you sometimes say I do. If I could conjure, it should be to know what was that _oddest question about me that ever was thought of_, which you tell me a lady had just sent to ask you.

I commend your prudent resolutions, in the article of granting favours to lovers. But, if I were courting you, I could not hardly approve such conduct. I should even be malicious enough to say you were too _knowing_, and tell you the old story of the Girl and the Miller. I enclose you the songs you write for, and with them your Spanish letter with a translation. I honour that honest Spaniard for loving you. It showed the goodness of his taste and judgement. But you must forget him, and bless some worthy young Englishman.

You have spun a long thread, five thousand and twenty-two yards. It will reach almost from Rhode Island hither. I wish I had hold of one end of it, to pull you to me. But you would break it rather than come. The cords of love and friendship are longer and stronger, and in times past have drawn me farther; even back from England to Philadelphia. I guess that some of the same kind will one day draw you out of that Island.

I was extremely pleased with the turf you sent me. The Irish people, who have seen it, say it is the right sort; but I cannot learn that we have any thing like it here. The cheeses, particularly one of them, were excellent. All our friends have tasted it, and all agree that it exceeds any English cheese they ever tasted. Mrs. Franklin was very proud, that a young lady should have so much regard for her old husband, as to send him such a present. We talk of you every time it comes to table. She is sure you are a sensible girl, and a notable housewife, and talks of bequeathing me to you as a legacy; but I ought to wish you a better, and hope she will live these hundred years; for we are grown old together, and if she has any faults, I am so used to 'em that I don't perceive 'em; as the song says,

"Some faults we have all, and so has my Joan,
But then they're exceedingly small;
And, now I am used, they are like my own,
I scarcely can see 'em at all,
My dear friends,
I scarcely can see 'em at all."

Indeed, I begin to think she has none, as I think of you. And since she is willing I should love you, as much as you are willing to be loved by me, let us join in wishing the old lady a long life and a happy.

With her respectful compliments to you, to your good mother and sisters, present mine, though unknown; and believe me to be, dear girl, your affectionate friend and humble servant,

B. FRANKLIN.

P.S. Sally[49] says, "Papa, my love to Miss Katy."--If it was not quite unreasonable, I should desire you to write to me every post, whether you hear from me or not. As to your spelling, don't let those laughing girls put you out of conceit with it. It is the best in the world, for every letter of it stands for something.

TO MISS CATHERINE RAY

Philadelphia, Oct. 16, 1755.

DEAR KATY

Your Favour of the 28th of June came to hand but the 28th of September, just 3 Months after it was written. I had, two Weeks before, wrote you a long Chat, and sent it to the Care of your Brother Ward. I hear you are now in Boston, gay and lovely as usual. Let me give you some fatherly Advice. Kill no more Pigeons than you can eat--Be a good Girl and dont forget your Catechism.--Go constantly to Meeting--or church--till you get a good Husband,--then stay at home, & nurse the Children, and live like a Christian--Spend your spare Hours, in sober Whisk, Prayers, or learning to cypher--You must practise _addition_ to your Husband's Estate, by Industry and Frugality; _subtraction_ of all unnecessary Expenses; _Multiplication_ (I would gladly have taught you that myself, but you thought it was time enough, & wou'dn't learn) he will soon make you a Mistress of it. As to _Division_, I say with Brother Paul, _Let there be no Division among ye_. But as your good Sister Hubbard (my love to her) is well acquainted with _The Rule of Two_, I hope you will become an expert in the _Rule of Three_; that when I have again the pleasure of seeing you, I may find you like my Grape Vine, surrounded with Clusters, plump, juicy, blushing, pretty little rogues, like their Mama. Adieu. The Bell rings, and I must go among the Grave ones, and talk Politicks.

Your affectionate Friend
B. FRANKLIN.

P.S. The Plums came safe, and were so sweet from the Cause you mentioned, that I could scarce taste the Sugar.

TO MRS. JANE MECOM

Philadelphia, February 12, 1756.

DEAR SISTER,

I condole with you on the loss of our dear brother.[50] As our number grows less, let us love one another proportionably more.

I am just returned from my military expedition, and now my time is taken up in the Assembly. Providence seems to require various duties of me. I know not what will be next; but I find, the more I seek for leisure and retirement from business, the more I am engaged in it. Benny, I understand, inclines to leave Antigua. He may be in the right. I have no objections. My love to brother and to your children. I am, dearest sister, your affectionate brother,

B. FRANKLIN.

TO MISS E. HUBBARD[51]

Philadelphia, February 23, 1756.

--I condole with you. We have lost a most dear and valuable relation. But it is the will of God and nature, that these mortal bodies be laid aside, when the soul is to enter into real life. This is rather an embryo state, a preparation for living. A man is not completely born until he be dead. Why then should we grieve, that a new child is born among the immortals, a new member added to their happy society?

We are spirits. That bodies should be lent us, while they can afford us pleasure, assist us in acquiring knowledge, or in doing good to our fellow creatures, is a kind and benevolent act of God. When they become unfit for these purposes, and afford us pain instead of pleasure, instead of an aid become an incumbrance, and answer none of the intentions for which they were given, it is equally kind and benevolent, that a way is provided by which we may get rid of them. Death is that way. We ourselves, in some cases, prudently choose a partial death. A mangled painful limb, which cannot be restored, we willingly cut off. He who plucks out a tooth, parts with it freely, since the pain goes with it; and he, who quits the whole body, parts at once with all pains and possibilities of pains and diseases which it was liable to, or capable of making him suffer.

Our friend and we were invited abroad on a party of pleasure, which is to last for ever. His chair was ready first, and he is gone before us. We could not all conveniently start together; and why should you and I be grieved at this, since we are soon to follow, and know where to find him?

Adieu. B. FRANKLIN.

TO REV. GEORGE WHITEFIELD

New York, July 2, 1756.

DEAR SIR:

I received your Favour of the 24th of February with great Pleasure, as it inform'd me of your Welfare, and express'd your continu'd Regard for me. I thank you for the Pamphlet you enclos'd to me. As we had just observ'd a Provincial Fast on the same Occasion, I thought it very seasonable to be publish'd in Pennsylvania, and accordingly reprinted it immediately.

You mention your frequent wish that you were a Chaplain to an American Army. I sometimes wish that you and I were jointly employ'd by the Crown, to settle a Colony on the Ohio. I imagine we could do it effectually, and without putting the Nation to much expence. But I fear we shall never be called upon for such a Service. What a glorious Thing it would be, to settle in that fine Country a large strong Body of Religious and Industrious People! What a Security to the other Colonies; and Advantage to Britain, by Increasing her People, Territory, Strength and Commerce. Might it not greatly facilitate the Introduction of pure Religion among the Heathen, if we could, by such a Colony, show them a better Sample of Christians than they commonly see in our Indian Traders, the most vicious and abandoned Wretches of our Nation?... Life, like a dramatic Piece, should not only be conducted with Regularity, but methinks it should finish handsomely. Being now in the last Act, I begin to cast about for something fit to end with. Or if mine be more properly compar'd to an Epigram, as some of its few Lines are but barely tolerable, I am very desirous of concluding with a bright Point. In such an Enterprise I could spend the Remainder of Life with Pleasure; and I firmly believe God would bless us with Success, if we undertook it with a sincere Regard to his Honour, the Service of our gracious King, and (which is the same thing) the Publick Good.

I thank you cordially for your generous Benefaction to the German School. They go on pretty well, and will do better, when Mr. Smith,[52] who has at present the principal Care of them, shall learn to mind Party-writing and Party Politicks less, and his proper Business more; which I hope time will bring about.

I thank you for your good Wishes and Prayers, and am, with the greatest Esteem and Affection, Dear Sir

Your most obedient humble Servant

My best Respects to } B. FRANKLIN.
Mrs. Whitefield }

THE WAY TO WEALTH

Preface to _Poor Richard Improved_: 1758.[53]

COURTEOUS READER,

I have heard that nothing gives an Author so great Pleasure, as to find his Works respectfully quoted by other learned Authors. This Pleasure I have seldom enjoyed; for tho' I have been, if I may say it without Vanity, an _eminent Author_ of Almanacks annually now a full Quarter of a Century, my Brother Authors in the same Way, for what Reason I know not, have ever been very sparing in their Applauses; and no other Author has taken the least Notice of me, so that did not my Writings produce me some solid _Pudding_, the great Deficiency of _Praise_ would have quite discouraged me.

I concluded at length, that the People were the best Judges of my Merit; for they buy my Works; and besides, in my Rambles, where I am not personally known, I have frequently heard one or other of my Adages repeated, with, _as Poor Richard says_, at the End on't; this gave me some Satisfaction, as it showed not only that my Instructions were regarded, but discovered likewise some Respect for my Authority; and I own, that to encourage the Practice of remembering and repeating those wise Sentences, I have sometimes _quoted myself_ with great Gravity.

Judge then how much I must have been gratified by an Incident I am going to relate to you. I stopt my Horse lately where a great Number of People were collected at a Vendue of Merchant Goods. The Hour of Sale not being come, they were conversing on the Badness of the Times, and one of the Company call'd to a plain clean old Man, with white Locks, _Pray, Father_ Abraham, _what think you of the Times? Won't these heavy Taxes quite ruin the Country? How shall we ever be able to pay them? What would you advise us to?_----Father _Abraham_ stood up, and reply'd, If you'd have my Advice, I'll give it you in short, for a _Word to the Wise is enough_, and _many Words won't fill a Bushel_, as _Poor Richard says_. They join'd in desiring him to speak his Mind, and gathering round him, he proceeded as follows;

"Friends, says he, and Neighbours, the Taxes are indeed very
heavy, and if those laid on by the Government were the only
Ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but
we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us. We
are taxed twice as much by our _Idleness_, three times as
much by our _Pride_, and four times as much by our _Folly_,
and from these Taxes the Commissioners cannot ease or deliver
us by allowing an Abatement. However let us hearken to good
Advice, and something may be done for us; _God helps them
that help themselves_, as _Poor Richard_ says, in his
Almanack of 1733.

It would be thought a hard Government that should tax its
People one tenth Part of their _Time_, to be employed in its
Service. But _Idleness_ taxes many of us much more, if we
reckon all that is spent in absolute _Sloth_, or doing of
nothing, with that which is spent in idle Employments or
Amusements, that amount to nothing. _Sloth_, by bringing on
Diseases, absolutely shortens Life. _Sloth, like Rust,
consumes faster than Labour wears, while the used Key is
always bright_, as _Poor Richard_ says. But _dost thou love
Life, then do not squander Time, for that's the Stuff Life is
made of_, as _Poor Richard_ says.--How much more than is
necessary do we spend in Sleep! forgetting that _The sleeping
Fox catches no Poultry_, and that _there will be sleeping
enough in the Grave_, as _Poor Richard_ says. If Time be of
all Things the most precious, _wasting Time_ must be, as
_Poor Richard_ says, _the greatest Prodigality_, since, as he
elsewhere tells us, _Lost Time is never found again_; and
what we call _Time-enough, always proves little enough_: Let
us then up and be doing, and doing to the Purpose; so by
Diligence shall we do more with less Perplexity. _Sloth makes
all Things difficult, but Industry all easy_, as _Poor
Richard_ says; and _He that riseth late, must trot all Day,
and shall scarce overtake his Business at Night_. While
_Laziness travels so slowly, that Poverty soon overtakes
him_, as we read in _Poor Richard_, who adds, _Drive thy
Business, let not that drive thee_; and _Early to Bed, and
early to rise, makes a Man healthy, wealthy and wise_.

So what signifies _wishing_ and _hoping_ for better Times. We
may make these Times better if we bestir ourselves. _Industry
need not wish_, as _Poor Richard_ says, and _He that lives
upon Hope will die fasting_. _There are no Gains, without
Pains_; then _Help Hands, for I have no Lands_, or if I have,
they are smartly taxed. And, as _Poor Richard_ likewise
observes, _He that hath a Trade hath an Estate_, and _He that
hath a Calling, hath an Office of Profit and Honour_; but
then the _Trade_ must be worked at, and the _Calling_ well
followed, or neither the _Estate_, nor the _Office_, will
enable us to pay our Taxes.--If we are industrious we shall
never starve; for, as _Poor Richard_ says, _At the working
Man's House_ Hunger _looks in, but dares not enter_. Nor will
the Bailiff or the Constable enter, for _Industry pays Debts,
while Despair encreaseth them_, says _Poor Richard_.--What
though you have found no Treasure, nor has any rich Relation
left you a Legacy, _Diligence is the Mother of Good luck_, as
_Poor Richard_ says, _and God gives all Things to Industry_.
Then _plough deep, while Sluggards sleep, and you shall have
Corn to sell and to keep_, says _Poor Dick_. Work while it is
called To-day, for you know not how much you may be hindered
To-morrow, which makes _Poor Richard_ say, _One To-day is
worth two To-morrows_; and farther, _Have you somewhat to do
To-morrow, do it To-day_. If you were a Servant, would you
not be ashamed that a good Master should catch you idle? Are
you then your own Master, _be ashamed to catch yourself
idle_, as _Poor Dick_ says. When there is so much to be done
for yourself, your Family, your Country, and your gracious
King, be up by Peep of Day; _Let not the Sun look down and
say, Inglorious here he lies_. Handle your Tools without
Mittens; remember that _the Cat in Gloves catches no Mice_,
as _Poor Richard_ says. 'Tis true there is much to be done,
and perhaps you are weak handed, but stick to it steadily,
and you will see great Effects, for _constant Dropping wears
away Stones_, and by _Diligence and Patience the Mouse ate in
two the Cable_; and _little Strokes fell great Oaks_, as
_Poor Richard_ says in his Almanack, the Year I cannot just
now remember.

Methinks I hear some of you say, _Must a Man afford himself
no Leisure?_--I will tell thee, my Friend, what _Poor
Richard_ says, _Employ thy Time well if thou meanest to gain
Leisure_; and _since thou art not sure of a Minute, throw not
away an Hour_. Leisure, is Time for doing something useful;
this Leisure the diligent Man will obtain, but the lazy Man
never; so that, as _Poor Richard_ says, a _Life of Leisure
and a Life of Laziness are two Things_. Do you imagine that
Sloth will afford you more Comfort than Labour? No, for as
_Poor Richard_ says, _Trouble springs from Idleness, and
grievous Toil from needless Ease_. _Many without Labour, would
live by their_ WITS _only, but they break for want of Stock._
Whereas Industry gives Comfort, and Plenty, and Respect: _Fly
Pleasures, and they'll follow you_. _The diligent Spinner has
a large Shift_; and _now I have a Sheep and a Cow, every Body
bids me Good morrow_; all which is well said by _Poor
Richard_.

But with our Industry, we must likewise be _steady_,
_settled_ and _careful_, and oversee our own Affairs _with
our own Eyes_, and not trust too much to others; for, as
_Poor Richard_ says,

_I never saw an oft removed Tree,
Nor yet an oft removed Family,
That throve so well as those that settled be._

And again, _Three Removes is as bad as a Fire_; and again,
_Keep thy Shop, and thy Shop will keep thee_; and again, _If
you would have your Business done, go; If not, send_. And
again,

_He that by the Plough would thrive,
Himself must either hold or drive._

And again, _The Eye of a Master will do more Work than both
his Hands_; and again, _Want of Care does us more Damage than
Want of Knowledge_; and again, _Not to oversee Workmen, is to
leave them your Purse open_. Trusting too much to others Care
is the Ruin of many; for, as the _Almanack_ says, _In the
Affairs of this World, Men are saved, not by Faith, but by
the Want of it_; but a Man's own Care is profitable; for,
saith _Poor Dick_, _Learning is to the Studious_, and _Riches
to the Careful_, as well as _Power to the Bold_, and _Heaven
to the Virtuous_. And farther, _If you would have a faithful
Servant, and one that you like, serve yourself_. And again,
he adviseth to Circumspection and Care, even in the smallest
Matters, because sometimes _a little Neglect may breed great
Mischief_; adding, _For want of a Nail the Shoe was lost; for
want of a Shoe the Horse was lost; and for want of a Horse
the Rider was lost_, being overtaken and slain by the Enemy,
all for want of Care about a Horse shoe Nail.

So much for Industry, my Friends, and Attention to one's own
Business; but to these we must add _Frugality_, if we would
make our _Industry_ more certainly successful. A Man may, if
he knows not how to save as he gets, _keep his Nose all his
Life to the Grindstone_, and die not worth a _Groat_ at last.
_A fat Kitchen makes a lean Will_, as _Poor Richard_ says;
and,

_Many Estates are spent in the Getting,
Since Women for Tea forsook Spinning and Knitting,
And Men for Punch forsook Hewing and Splitting._

_If you would be wealthy_, says he, in another Almanack,
_think of Saving as well as of Getting_: _The_ Indies _have
not made_ pain _rich, because her_ Outgoes _are greater than
her_ Incomes. Away then with your expensive Follies, and you
will not have so much Cause to complain of hard Times, heavy
Taxes, and chargeable Families; for, as _Poor Dick_ says,

_Women and Wine, Game and Deceit,
Make the Wealth small, and the Wants great._

And farther, _What maintains one Vice, would bring up two
Children_. You may think perhaps, That a _little_ Tea, or a
_little_ Punch now and then, Diet a _little_ more costly,
Clothes a _little_ finer, and a _little_ Entertainment now
and then, can be no _great_ Matter; but remember what _Poor
Richard_ says, _Many_ a Little _makes a Mickle_; and farther,
_Beware of_ little _Expences_; _a small Leak will sink a great
Ship_; and again, _Who Dainties love, shall Beggars prove_;
and moreover, _Fools make Feasts, and wise Men eat them_.

Here you are all got together at this Vendue of _Fineries_
and _Knicknacks_. You call them _Goods_, but if you do not
take Care, they will prove _Evils_ to some of you. You expect
they will be sold _cheap_, and perhaps they may for less than
they cost; but if you have no Occasion for them, they must be
_dear_ to you. Remember what _Poor Richard_ says, _Buy what
thou hast no Need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy
Necessaries_. And again, _At a great Pennyworth pause a
while_: He means, that perhaps the Cheapness is _apparent_
only, and not _real_; or the Bargain, by straitning thee in
thy Business, may do thee more Harm than Good. For in another
Place he says, _Many have been ruined by buying good
Pennyworths_. Again, _Poor Richard_ says, _'Tis foolish to
lay out Money in a Purchase of Repentance_; and yet this
Folly is practised every Day at Vendues, for want of minding
the Almanack. _Wise Men_, as _Poor Dick_ says, _learn by
others Harms, Fools scarcely by their own_; but _Felix quem
faciunt aliena Pericula cautum_. Many a one, for the Sake of
Finery on the Back, have gone with a hungry Belly, and half
starved their Families; _Silks and Sattins, Scarlet and
Velvets_, as _Poor Richard_ says, _put out the Kitchen Fire_.
These are not the _Necessaries_ of Life; they can scarcely be
called the _Conveniencies_, and yet only because they look
pretty, how many _want_ to _have_ them. The _artificial_
Wants of Mankind thus become more numerous than the
_natural_; and, as _Poor Dick_ says, _For one_ poor _Person,
there are an hundred_ indigent. By these, and other
Extravagancies, the Genteel are reduced to Poverty, and
forced to borrow of those whom they formerly despised, but
who through _Industry_ and _Frugality_ have maintained their
Standing; in which Case it appears plainly, that a _Ploughman
on his Legs is higher than a Gentleman on his Knees_, as
_Poor Richard_ says. Perhaps they have had a small Estate
left them which they knew not the Getting of; they think
_'tis Day, and will never be Night_; that a little to be
spent out of _so much_, is not worth minding; (_a Child and a
Fool_, as _Poor Richard_ says, _imagine_ Twenty Shillings _and
Twenty Years can never be spent_) but, _always taking out of,
the Meal-tub, and never putting in, soon comes to the
Bottom_; then, as _Poor Dick_ says, _When the Well's dry,
they know the Worth of Water_. But this they might have known
before, if they had taken his Advice; _If you would know the
Value of Money, go and try to borrow some_; for, _he that
goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing_; and indeed so does he
that lends to such People, when he goes _to get it in
again_.--_Poor Dick_ farther advises, and says,

_Fond_ Pride of Dress _is sure a very Curse;
E'er_ Fancy _you consult, consult your Purse._

And again, _Pride is as loud a Beggar as Want, and a great
deal more saucy_. When you have bought one fine Thing you
must buy ten more, that your Appearance may be all of a
Piece; but _Poor Dick_ says, _'Tis easier to_ suppress _the
first Desire, than to_ satisfy _all that follow it_. And 'tis
as truly Folly for the Poor to ape the Rich, as for the Frog
to swell, in order to equal the Ox.

_Great Estates may venture more,
But little Boats should keep near Shore._

'Tis however a Folly soon punished; for _Pride that dines on
Vanity sups on Contempt_, as _Poor Richard_ says. And in
another Place, _Pride breakfasted with Plenty, dined with
Poverty, and supped with Infamy_. And after all, of what Use
is this _Pride of Appearance_, for which so much is risked,
so much is suffered? It cannot promote Health, or ease Pain;
it makes no Increase of Merit in the Person, it creates Envy,
it hastens Misfortune.

_What is a Butterfly? At best
He's but a Caterpillar drest.
The gaudy Fop's his Picture just,_

as _Poor Richard_ says.

But what Madness must it be to _run in Debt_ for these
Superfluities! We are offered, by the Terms of this Vendue,
_Six Months Credit_; and that perhaps has induced some of us
to attend it, because we cannot spare the ready Money, and
hope now to be fine without it. But, ah, think what you do
when you run in Debt; _You give to another, Power over your
Liberty_. If you cannot pay at the Time, you will be ashamed
to see your Creditor; you will be in Fear when you speak to
him; you will make poor pitiful sneaking Excuses, and by
Degrees come to lose your Veracity, and sink into base
downright lying; for, as _Poor Richard_ says, _The second
Vice is Lying, the first is running in Debt_. And again, to
the same Purpose, _Lying rides upon Debt's Back_. Whereas a
freeborn _Englishman_ ought not to be ashamed or afraid to
see or speak to any Man living. But Poverty often deprives a
Man of all Spirit and Virtue: _'Tis hard for an empty Bag to
stand upright_, as _Poor Richard_ truly says. What would you
think of that Prince, or that Government, who should issue an
Edict forbidding you to dress like a Gentleman or a
Gentlewoman, on Pain of Imprisonment or Servitude? Would you
not say, that you are free, have a Right to dress as you
please, and that such an Edict would be a Breach of your
Privileges, and such a Government tyrannical? And yet you are
about to put yourself under that Tyranny when you run in Debt
for such Dress! Your Creditor has Authority at his Pleasure
to deprive you of your Liberty, by confining you in Goal
[_sic_] for Life, or to sell you for a Servant, if you should
not be able to pay him! When you have got your Bargain, you
may, perhaps, think little of Payment; but _Creditors_, _Poor
Richard_ tells us, _have better Memories than Debtors_; and
in another Place says, _Creditors are a superstitious Sect,
great Observers of set Days and Times_. The Day comes round
before you are aware, and the Demand is made before you are
prepared to satisfy it. Or if you bear your Debt in Mind, the
Term which at first seemed so long, will, as it lessens,
appear extreamly short. _Time_ will seem to have added Wings
to his Heels as well as Shoulders. _Those have a short Lent_,
saith _Poor Richard_, _who owe Money to be paid at Easter_.
Then since, as he says, _The Borrower is a Slave to the
Lender, and the Debtor to the Creditor_, disdain the Chain,
preserve your Freedom; and maintain your Independency: Be
_industrious_ and _free_; be _frugal_ and _free_. At present,
perhaps, you may think yourself in thriving Circumstances,
and that you can bear a little Extravangance [_sic_] without
Injury; but,

_For Age and Want, save while you may;
No Morning Sun lasts a whole Day,_

as _Poor Richard_ says--Gain may be temporary and uncertain,
but ever while you live, Expence is constant and certain; and
_'tis easier to build two Chimnies than to keep one in Fuel_,
as _Poor Richard_ says. So _rather go to Bed supperless than
rise in Debt_.

_Get what you can, and what you get hold;
'Tis the Stone that will turn all your Lead into Gold,_

as _Poor Richard_ says. And when you have got the
Philosopher's Stone, sure you will no longer complain of bad
Times, or the Difficulty of paying Taxes.

This Doctrine, my Friends, is _Reason_ and _Wisdom_; but
after all, do not depend too much upon your own _Industry_,
and _Frugality_, and _Prudence_, though excellent Things, for
they may all be blasted without the Blessing of Heaven; and
therefore ask that Blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable
to those that at present seem to want it, but comfort and
help them. Remember _Job_ suffered, and was afterwards
prosperous.

And now to conclude, _Experience keeps a dear School, but
Fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that_; for it is
true, _we may give Advice, but we cannot give Conduct_, as
_Poor Richard_ says: However, remember this, _They that won't
be counselled, can't be helped_, as _Poor Richard_ says: And
farther, That _if you will not hear Reason, she'll surely rap
your Knuckles_."

Thus the old Gentleman ended his Harangue. The People heard it, and approved the Doctrine and immediately practised the contrary, just as if it had been a common Sermon; for the Vendue opened, and they began to buy extravagantly, notwithstanding all his Cautions, and their own Fear of Taxes.--I found the good Man had thoroughly studied my Almanacks, and digested all I had dropt on those Topicks during the Course of Five-and-twenty Years. The frequent Mention he made of me must have tired any one else, but my Vanity was wonderfully delighted with it, though I was conscious that not a tenth Part of the Wisdom was my own which he ascribed to me, but rather the _Gleanings_ I had made of the Sense of all Ages and Nations. However, I resolved to be the better for the Echo of it; and though I had at first determined to buy Stuff for a new Coat, I went away resolved to wear my old One a little longer. _Reader_, if thou wilt do the same, thy Profit will be as great as mine.

_I am, as ever,
Thine to serve thee,_
_July 7, 1757._ RICHARD SAUNDERS.

TO HUGH ROBERTS

London, September 16, 1758.

DEAR FRIEND,

Your kind letter of June 1st gave me great pleasure. I thank you for the concern you express about my health, which at present seems tolerably confirmed by my late journey into different parts of the kingdom, that have been highly entertaining as well as useful to me. Your visits to my little family in my absence are very obliging, and I hope you will be so good as to continue them. Your remark on the thistle and the Scotch motto made us very merry, as well as your string of puns. You will allow me to claim a little merit or demerit in the last, as having had some hand in making you a punster; but the wit of the first is keen, and all your own.

Two of the former members of the Junto you tell me are departed this life, Potts and Parsons.[54] Odd characters both of them. Parsons a wise man, that often acted foolishly; Potts a wit, that seldom acted wisely. If _enough_ were the means to make a man happy, one had always the _means_ of happiness, without ever enjoying the _thing_; the other had always the _thing_, without ever possessing the _means_. Parsons, even in his prosperity, always fretting; Potts, in the midst of his poverty, ever laughing. It seems, then, that happiness in this life rather depends on internals than externals; and that, besides the natural effects of wisdom and virtue, vice and folly, there is such a thing as a happy or an unhappy constitution. They were both our friends, and loved us. So, peace to their shades. They had their virtues as well as their foibles; they were both honest men, and that alone, as the world goes, is one of the greatest of characters. They were old acquaintances, in whose company I formerly enjoyed a great deal of pleasure, and I cannot think of losing them, without concern and regret.

I shall, as you suppose, look on every opportunity you give me of doing you service, as a favour, because it will afford me pleasure. I know how to make you ample returns for such favours, by giving you the pleasure of building me a house. You may do it without losing any of your own time; it will only take some part of that you now spend in other folks' business. It is only jumping out of their waters into mine.

I am grieved for our friend Syng's loss. You and I, who esteem him, and have valuable sons ourselves, can sympathize with him sincerely. I hope yours is perfectly recovered, for your sake as well as for his own. I wish he may be, in every respect, as good and as useful as his father. I need not wish him more; and can only add, that I am, with great esteem, dear friend, yours affectionately,

B. FRANKLIN.

P.S. I rejoice to hear of the prosperity of the Hospital, and send the wafers. I do not quite like your absenting yourself from that good old club, the Junto. Your more frequent presence might be a means of keeping them from being all engaged in measures not the best for public welfare. I exhort you, therefore, to return to your duty; and, as the Indians say, to confirm my words, I send you a Birmingham tile. I thought the neatness of the figures would please you.

TO MRS. JANE MECOM

London, September 16, 1758.

DEAR SISTER,

I received your favour of June 17. I wonder you have had no letter from me since my being in England. I have wrote you at least two, and I think a third before this, and what was next to waiting on you in person, sent you my picture. In June last I sent Benny a trunk of books, and wrote to him; I hope they are come to hand, and that he meets with encouragement in his business. I congratulate you on the conquest of Cape Breton, and hope as your people took it by praying, the first time, you will now pray that it may never be given up again, which you then forgot. Billy is well, but in the country. I left him at Tunbridge Wells, where we spent a fortnight, and he is now gone with some company to see Portsmouth. We have been together over a great part of England this summer, and among other places, visited the town our father was born in, and found some relations in that part of the country still living.

Our cousin Jane Franklin, daughter of our uncle John, died about a year ago. We saw her husband, Robert Page, who gave us some old letters to his wife, from uncle Benjamin. In one of them, dated Boston, July 4, 1723, he writes that your uncle Josiah has a daughter Jane, about twelve years old, a good-humoured child. So keep up to your character, and don't be angry when you have no letters. In a little book he sent her, called "None but Christ," he wrote an acrostick on her name, which for namesake's sake, as well as the good advice it contains, I transcribe and send you, viz.

"Illuminated from on high,
And shining brightly in your sphere,
Ne'er faint, but keep a steady eye,
Expecting endless pleasures there.

"Flee vice as you'd a serpent flee;
Raise _faith_ and _hope_ three stories higher,
And let Christ's endless love to thee
Ne'er cease to make thy love aspire.
Kindness of heart by words express,
Let your obedience be sincere,
In prayer and praise your God address,
Nor cease, till he can cease to hear."