Chapter V: Franklin's American Friends (3)

I think with you [he said], that nothing is of more
importance for the public weal, than to form and train
up youth in wisdom and virtue. Wise and good men are,
in my opinion, the _strength_ of a state far more so
than riches or arms, which, under the management of
Ignorance and Wickedness, often draw on destruction,
instead of providing for the safety of a people. And
though the culture bestowed on _many_ should be
successful only with a _few_, yet the influence of
those few and the service in their power may be very
great. Even a single woman, that was wise, by her
wisdom saved a city.

I think also, that general virtue is more probably to
be expected and obtained from the _education_ of youth,
than from the _exhortation_ of adult persons; bad
habits and vices of the mind being, like diseases of
the body, more easily prevented than cured. I think,
moreover, that talents for the education of youth are
the gift of God; and that he on whom they are bestowed,
whenever a way is opened for the use of them, is as
strongly _called_ as if he heard a voice from heaven.

Remarkable words these to fall from a man who, some two months later, in another letter to Dr. Johnson, modestly declared himself to be unfit to sketch out the idea of the English School for the Academy, having neither been educated himself (except as a tradesman) nor ever been concerned in educating others, he said.

Nobody would imagine [said Dr. Johnson, after reading
the sketch,] that the draught you have made for an
English education was done by a Tradesman. But so it
sometimes is, a true genius will not content itself
without entering more or less into almost everything,
and of mastering many things more in spite of fate
itself.

The friendship between Franklin and Jared Ingersoli is preserved in a single letter only, the one from which we have already quoted in which Franklin had his good-natured jest at the expense of the doleful New England Sunday.

All of these friends were men, but in Catherine Ray, afterwards the wife of Governor William Greene of Rhode Island, and the mother of Ray Greene, one of the early United States Senators from that State, Franklin had a friend whose sex gave a different turn of sentiment and expression to his pen. His first letter to this young woman ("Dear Katy" is the way he addresses her) was written after his return to Philadelphia from a journey to New England in 1754. She then lived on Block Island, and, when he last saw her, she was fading out of sight on the ocean on her way to that island from the mainland.

I thought too much was hazarded [he wrote], 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.

These words are followed by the paragraph already quoted, in which Franklin acknowledged the affectionate hospitality of New England and the paragraph, already quoted, too, in which he spoke of his being restored to the arms of his good old wife and children.

Persons subject to the _hyp_ [he continued] 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 as 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.

The letter concludes with these words:

I desired Miss Anna Ward 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 receiv'd from you and
your relations; and do me the justice to believe me,
dear girl, your affectionate, faithful, friend, and
humble servant.

This letter was dated March 4, 1755, and was in reply to one from Miss Ray which, though dated as far back as January of the same year, had just reached him.

His next letter was dated September 11, 1755, not long after he rendered his unavailing services to Braddock, and was a reply to three other letters of hers of March 3, March 30 and May 1 of that year. It begins: "Begone, business, for an hour, at least, and let me chat a little with my Katy," and apologizes for his belated reply.

Equal returns [he declares], 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 everything, 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.

In answer to Miss Ray's inquiry about his health, he tells her that he still relishes all the pleasures of life that a temperate man can in reason desire, and, through favor, has them all in his power. In answer to her question as to whether everybody loved him yet, and why he made them do so, he replied:

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 humor.... I long to
hear, [he says in another part of the same letter]
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 judgment. But you must forget him, and
bless some worthy young Englishman.

Then comes the reference to his Joan (Deborah) which we have quoted in another place. She sends her respectful compliments to Miss Ray, he states; and lastly in a postscript he gives Miss Ray this caution: "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."

The sincerity of this conviction he proved at least once on another occasion by himself spelling his Katy's first name with a C instead of a K.

It is to be feared that Miss Ray was a lively flirt, and it is hard to read Franklin's frequent allusions to Deborah in his letters to her without suspecting that he found it necessary at times to use his wife just a little as a shield.

The next letter from Franklin to Miss Ray is marked by the understrain of coarse license, which ran through his character, and was partly the note of his age, and partly the note of overflowing vital force.

I hear you are now in Boston [he said], 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 don't
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 &
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 Politics.

Passages like these are among the things which really tarnish the reputation of Franklin, and make us feel at times that, essentially admirable as he was, in some respects he was compounded of pipe, and not of porcelain, clay. The postscript to this letter, too, is flavored with the rude gallantry of the husking-bee. "The Plums," it said, "came safe, and were so sweet from the Cause you mentioned, that I could scarce taste the Sugar." But when Deputy-Postmaster Franklin next writes to Miss Ray it is with the light, playful grace of his best hours.

Your Apology [he said] for being in Boston, "_that you
must visit that Sister once a year_" makes me suspect
you are here for some other Reason; for why should you
think your being there would need an Excuse to me when
you knew that I knew how dearly you lov'd that Sister?
Don't offer to hide your Heart from me. You know I can
conjure.--Give my best respects, to yr Sister, &
tell her and all your other Sisters and Brothers, that
they must behave very kindly to you, & love you dearly;
or else I'll send a young Gentleman to steal & run away
with you, who shall bring you to a Country from whence
they shall never hear a word of you, without paying
Postage. Mrs. Franklin joins in Love to you & sincere
wishes for your welfare, with dear good Girl, your
affectionate Friend.

Some six months later, when Franklin is on the eve of leaving America on his first mission to England, he writes briefly to Miss Ray again, and tells her he cannot go without taking leave of his dear friend, and is ashamed of having allowed her last letter to remain unanswered so long.

Present my best compliments [he adds] to your good
mamma, brother and sister Ward, and all your other
sisters, the agreeable Misses Ward, Dr. Babcock and
family, the charitable Misses Stanton, and, in short,
to all that love me. I should have said all that love
you, but that would be giving you too much trouble.
Adieu, dear good girl, and believe me ever your
affectionate friend.

On the return of Franklin from England, he resumed his correspondence with Miss Ray; but Miss Ray she was no longer, for the divination of the conjurer had not failed him, and she was then married to William Greene. In a letter to Mrs. Greene, dated January 23, 1763, this fact leads to another smutty joke on Franklin's part over the arithmetic of matrimony, the worse for being jestingly ascribed to Mrs. Franklin, who, he said, accepted Mrs. Greene's apology for dropping the correspondence with her, but hoped that it would be renewed when Mrs. Greene had more leisure. That the joke should be debited to the manners of the day fully as much as to Franklin himself, is made clear enough by the fact that it is immediately followed by the assurance that he would not fail to pay his respects to Mr., as well as Mrs., Greene when he came their way. "Please to make my Compliments acceptable to him," he added. The conclusion of this letter is in the former affectionate vein. "I think I am not much alter'd; at least my Esteem & Regard for my Katy (if I may still be permitted to call her so) is the same, and I believe will be unalterable whilst I am B. Franklin."

That they did prove unalterable it is hardly necessary to say. Some twenty-six years after the date of this letter, Franklin writes to Mrs. Greene: "Among the felicities of my life I reckon your friendship, which I shall remember with pleasure as long as that life lasts." And, in the meantime, he had given Mrs. Greene the proof of affectionate interest which, of all others, perhaps, is most endearing in a friend; that is he had taken her children as well as herself to his heart. After a brief visit with Sally to the Greenes in 1763, he wrote to Mrs. Greene, "My Compliments too to Mr. Merchant and Miss Ward if they are still with you; and kiss the Babies for me. Sally says, & _for me too_." This letter ends, "With perfect Esteem & Regard, I am, Dear Katy (I can't yet alter my Stile to Madam) your affectionate friend." In another letter to Mrs. Greene, about a month later, he says, "My best respects to good Mr. Greene, Mrs. Ray, and love to your little ones. I am glad to hear they are well, and that your Celia goes alone." The last two letters mentioned by us were written from Boston. Franklin's next letter to Mrs. Greene was written from Philadelphia, condoles with her on the death of her mother, tells her that his dame sends her love to her with her thanks for the care that she had taken of her old man, and conveys his love to "the little dear creatures." "We are all glad to hear of Ray, for we all love him," he wrote to Mrs. Greene from Paris.

In the same letter, he said, "I live here in great Respect, and dine every day with great folks; but I still long for home & for Repose; and should be happy to eat Indian Pudding in your Company & under your hospitable Roof."

Hardly had he arrived in America on his return from France before he sent this affectionate message to Mrs. Greene and her husband: "I seize this first Opportunity of acquainting my dear Friends, that I have once more the great Happiness of being at home in my own Country, and with my Family, because I know it will give you Pleasure." As for Mrs. Greene, Jane Mecom informed him that, when she heard of his arrival, she was so overjoyed that her children thought she was afflicted with hysteria.

The friendship which existed between Franklin and the Greenes also existed between them and his sister Jane, who was a welcome guest under their roof. "I pity my poor old Sister, to be so harassed & driven about by the enemy," he wrote to Mrs. Greene from Paris in 1778, "For I feel a little myself the Inconvenience of being driven about by my friends."

FOOTNOTES:

[29] The death of John Laurens in an obscure skirmish, almost at the very end of the Revolutionary War, after a brief career, distinguished by rare intellectual promise and daring valor is one of the most painful tragedies of that war. "He had not a fault that I could discover," Washington said of him, "unless it were intrepidity bordering on rashness."

[30] It may be said of the fame of Washington in his own land, with something like approximate accuracy, that a file of wild geese winging its flight along the Atlantic Seaboard from Maine to the alluvial meadows of the Roanoke in Southern Virginia, is, for but brief periods only out of sight of some statue or monument erected in his honor by his grateful countrymen. The fame of Franklin in America is but little less strikingly attested. As long ago as 1864, Parton could say this of it: "As there are few counties in the Union which have not a town named Franklin, so there are few towns of any magnitude, which do not possess a Franklin Street, or a Franklin Square, a Franklin hotel, a Franklin bank, a Franklin fire-engine, a Franklin Lyceum, a Franklin lodge, or a Franklin charitable association. His bust and his portrait are only less universal than those of Washington, and most large cities contain something of the nature of a monument to Franklin." How little this fame has died down since these words were written was seen in the pomp and splendor with which the second centenary of the birth of Franklin was celebrated in the United States and France in 1906.

[31] Another story of Franklin's told by Jefferson is good enough at any rate for a footnote. At parties at the French Court he sometimes had a game of chess with the old Duchess of Bourbon. Happening once to put her king into prize, he took it. "Ah," said she, "we do not take kings so." "We do in America," said he.

[32] It may be said of Ralph that few names are surer of immortality than his, though not for the reasons upon which he founded his deceitful hopes. Between the _Autobiography_ and the _Dunciad_ he is, not unlike a mummy, preserved long beyond the date at which, in the ordinary course of things, he would have been overtaken by oblivion. This is one of the couplets that Pope bestowed upon him in the _Dunciad_:

"Silence, ye Wolves! While Ralph to Cynthia howls,
And makes night hideous--answer him, ye owls."

The couplet was accompanied by a still more venomous sting in prose: "James Ralph, a name inserted after the first editions, not known till he writ a swearing-piece called _Sawney_, very abusive of Dr. Swift, Mr. Gay, and myself. These lines allude to a thing of his entitled _Night_, a poem. This low writer attended his own works with panegyrics in the Journals, and once in particular praised himself highly above Mr. Addison, in wretched remarks upon that author's account of English poets, printed in a London Journal, September, 1728. He was wholly illiterate and knew no language, not even French. Being advised to read the rules of dramatic poetry before he began a play, he smiled and replied 'Shakspeare writ without rules.' He ended at last in the common sink of all such writers, a political newspaper, to which he was recommended by his friend Arnal, and received a small pittance for pay; and being detected in writing on both sides on one and the same day, he publicly justified the morality of his conduct." Another couplet of the _Dunciad_ is this:

"And see! the very Gazetteers give o'er,
Ev'n Ralph repents, and Henley writes no more."

[33] "The ship Ohio still aground," is the manner in which Franklin communicated on one occasion to Galloway the slow progress that the application for the Ohio grant was making.