From a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money that came into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased with the Pilgrim's Progress, my first collection was of John Bunyan's works in separate little volumes. I afterward sold them to enable me to buy R. Burton's Historical Collections; they were small chapmen's books, and cheap, 40 or 50 in all. My father's little library consisted chiefly of books in polemic divinity, most of which I read, and have since often regretted that, at a time when I had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper books had not fallen in my way, since it was now resolved I should not be a clergyman. Plutarch's Lives there was in which I read abundantly, and I still think that time spent to great advantage. There was also a book of DeFoe's, called an Essay on Projects, and another of Dr. Mather's, called Essays to do Good, which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking that had an influence on some of the principal future events of my life.
From childhood I loved reading, and all the little money that came into my hands was always spent on books. I liked the Pilgrim's Progress, so my first collection was of John Bunyan's works in separate little volumes. Later I sold them so that I could buy R. Burton's Historical Collections. These were small, cheap chapmen's books, forty or fifty in all. My father's little library consisted chiefly of books of religious controversy, and I read most of them. I have often regretted since then that, when I had such a thirst for knowledge, more suitable books had not come my way. For it had now been decided that I would not be a clergyman. There was a copy of Plutarch's Lives, which I read a great deal, and I still think that time was spent to great advantage. There was also a book of DeFoe's called an Essay on Projects, and another of Dr. Mather's called Essays to do Good. These perhaps gave me a turn of thinking that influenced some of the principal events of my later life.
Small books sold by chapmen, that is, traveling peddlers.
This bookish inclination at length determined my father to make me a printer, though he had already one son (James) of that profession. In 1717 my brother James returned from England with a press and letters to set up his business in Boston. I liked it much better than that of my father, but still had a hankering for the sea. To prevent the apprehended effect of such an inclination, my father was impatient to have me bound to my brother. I stood out some time, but at last was persuaded, and signed the indentures when I was yet but twelve years old. I was to serve as an apprentice till I was twenty-one years of age, only I was to be allowed journeyman's wages during the last year. In a little time I made great proficiency in the business, and became a useful hand to my brother. I now had access to better books. An acquaintance with the apprentices of booksellers enabled me sometimes to borrow a small one, which I was careful to return soon and clean. Often I sat up in my room reading the greatest part of the night, when the book was borrowed in the evening and to be returned early in the morning, lest it should be missed or wanted.
This love of books finally led my father to decide I should be a printer, even though he already had a son, James, in that trade. In 1717 my brother James returned from England with a press and type to set up his business in Boston. I liked printing much more than my father's trade, but I still longed for the sea. To keep me from going to sea, my father was eager to have me bound as an apprentice to my brother. I resisted for a while, but finally agreed. I signed the indentures when I was only twelve years old. I was to serve as an apprentice until I was twenty-one. I would receive journeyman's wages during the final year. Soon I became very skilled at the trade and a useful help to my brother. I now had access to better books. I got to know the booksellers' apprentices, and they sometimes let me borrow a small book. I made sure to return it soon and in good condition. Often I stayed up most of the night reading, when I had borrowed a book in the evening and had to return it early the next morning, for fear it might be needed.
And after some time an ingenious tradesman, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had a pretty collection of books, and who frequented our printing-house, took notice of me, invited me to his library, and very kindly lent me such books as I chose to read. I now took a fancy to poetry, and made some little pieces; my brother, thinking it might turn to account, encouraged me, and put me on composing occasional ballads. One was called The Lighthouse Tragedy, and contained an account of the drowning of Captain Worthilake, with his two daughters: the other was a sailor's song, on the taking of Teach (or Blackbeard) the pirate. They were wretched stuff, in the Grub-street-ballad style; and when they were printed he sent me about the town to sell them. The first sold wonderfully, the event being recent, having made a great noise. This flattered my vanity; but my father discouraged me by ridiculing my performances, and telling me verse-makers were generally beggars. So I escaped being a poet, most probably a very bad one; but as prose writing has been of great use to me in the course of my life, and was a principal means of my advancement, I shall tell you how, in such a situation, I acquired what little ability I have in that way.
After a while, a clever tradesman, Mr. Matthew Adams, who owned a nice collection of books and often visited our printing house, noticed me. He invited me to his library and kindly lent me any books I wanted to read. I developed a taste for poetry and wrote a few short pieces. My brother thought it might be useful, so he encouraged me and had me compose occasional ballads. One was called The Lighthouse Tragedy. It told of the drowning of Captain Worthilake and his two daughters. The other was a sailor's song about the capture of Teach (or Blackbeard) the pirate. They were wretched stuff, written in the Grub-street-ballad style. When they were printed, he sent me around town to sell them. The first sold wonderfully because the event was recent and had caused a great stir. This flattered my vanity. My father discouraged me by mocking my efforts and saying verse-makers were usually beggars. So I avoided becoming a poet, probably a very bad one. But prose writing proved very useful to me in life and was a main way I advanced. I will tell you how, in that situation, I learned the little skill I have.
Grub-street was a famous name in English literature. It referred to the neighborhood of poor writers.
There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name, with whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond we were of argument, and very desirous of confuting one another, which disputatious turn, by the way, is apt to become a very bad habit, making people often extremely disagreeable in company by the contradiction that is necessary to bring it into practice; and thence, besides souring and spoiling the conversation, is productive of disgusts and, perhaps enmities where you may have occasion for friendship. I had caught it by reading my father's books of dispute about religion. Persons of good sense, I have since observed, seldom fall into it, except lawyers, university men, and men of all sorts that have been bred at Edinborough.
There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name, with whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed. We were very fond of argument and eager to refute one another. This habit of arguing, by the way, can become very bad. It often makes people extremely disagreeable in company because they must contradict others to practice it. It also sours conversation, causes offense, and can even create enemies where you might have needed friends. I picked it up from reading my father's books about religious disputes. People of good sense, I have since observed, seldom fall into it. The exceptions are lawyers, university men, and men of all kinds who were brought up in Edinburgh.
A question was once, somehow or other, started between Collins and me, of the propriety of educating the female sex in learning, and their abilities for study. He was of opinion that it was improper, and that they were naturally unequal to it. I took the contrary side, perhaps a little for dispute's sake. He was naturally more eloquent, had a ready plenty of words, and sometimes, as I thought, bore me down more by his fluency than by the strength of his reasons. As we parted without settling the point, and were not to see one another again for some time, I sat down to put my arguments in writing, which I copied fair and sent to him. He answered, and I replied. Three or four letters of a side had passed, when my father happened to find my papers and read them. Without entering into the discussion, he took occasion to talk to me about the manner of my writing; observed that, though I had the advantage of my antagonist in correct spelling and pointing (which I ow'd to the printing-house), I fell far short in elegance of expression, in method and in perspicuity, of which he convinced me by several instances. I saw the justice of his remarks, and thence grew more attentive to the manner in writing, and determined to endeavor at improvement.
Once Collins and I got into a question about educating women. We debated whether it was proper to teach them and whether they were capable of study. He thought it improper. He believed women were naturally unsuited to it. I argued the opposite, perhaps partly for the sake of argument. He was naturally more eloquent and had plenty of ready words. Sometimes, I thought, his fluency overpowered me more than the strength of his reasons. We parted without settling the issue and would not see each other for some time. I sat down to write out my arguments. I copied them neatly and sent them to him. He answered. I replied. After three or four letters were exchanged, my father happened to find my papers and read them. He did not join the discussion. Instead, he used the opportunity to talk to me about my writing style. He observed that, though I had an advantage over my opponent in correct spelling and punctuation (which I owed to the printing house), I fell far short in elegance of expression, method, and clarity. He convinced me of this with several examples. I saw that his remarks were fair. From then on I paid more attention to my writing and resolved to try to improve.
About this time I met with an odd volume of the Spectator. It was the third. I had never before seen any of them. I bought it, read it over and over, and was much delighted with it. I thought the writing excellent, and wished, if possible, to imitate it. With this view I took some of the papers, and, making short hints of the sentiment in each sentence, laid them by a few days, and then, without looking at the book, try'd to compleat the papers again, by expressing each hinted sentiment at length, and as fully as it had been expressed before, in any suitable words that should come to hand. Then I compared my Spectator with the original, discovered some of my faults, and corrected them. But I found I wanted a stock of words, or a readiness in recollecting and using them, which I thought I should have acquired before that time if I had gone on making verses; since the continual occasion for words of the same import, but of different length, to suit the measure, or of different sound for the rhyme, would have laid me under a constant necessity of searching for variety, and also have tended to fix that variety in my mind, and make me master of it. Therefore I took some of the tales and turned them into verse; and, after a time, when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, turned them back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best order, before I began to form the full sentences and compleat the paper. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By comparing my work afterwards with the original, I discovered many faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying that, in certain particulars of small import, I had been lucky enough to improve the method of the language, and this encouraged me to think I might possibly in time come to be a tolerable English writer, of which I was extremely ambitious. My time for these exercises and for reading was at night, after work or before it began in the morning, or on Sundays, when I contrived to be in the printing-house alone, evading as much as I could the common attendance on public worship which my father used to exact of me when I was under his care, and which indeed I still thought a duty, thought I could not, as it seemed to me, afford time to practise it.
About this time I came across an odd volume of the Spectator. It was the third. I had never seen any of them before. I bought it, read it over and over, and was much delighted with it. I thought the writing excellent and wished, if possible, to imitate it. With this in view, I took some of the essays and made short notes of the meaning of each sentence. I laid them aside for a few days. Then, without looking at the book, I tried to complete the essays again. I expressed each noted idea at length, and as fully as it had been expressed before, in any suitable words that came to hand. Then I compared my Spectator with the original, found some of my faults, and corrected them. But I found I lacked a stock of words, or a readiness in recalling and using them. I thought I would have acquired this by then if I had kept on writing verse. Writing verse would have given me constant occasion for words of the same meaning but of different lengths, to fit the meter, or of different sounds, for the rhyme. That would have forced me to search constantly for variety. It would also have tended to fix that variety in my mind and make me master of it. So I took some of the tales and turned them into verse. After a while, when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, I turned them back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collections of notes into confusion. After some weeks I tried to put them into the best order before I began to form the full sentences and complete the essay. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. Afterward I compared my work with the original, found many faults, and corrected them. But I sometimes had the pleasure of imagining that, in certain details of small importance, I had been lucky enough to improve the arrangement of the language. This encouraged me to think that in time I might possibly become a tolerable English writer, which I was extremely ambitious to be. My time for these exercises and for reading was at night after work, or in the morning before work began, or on Sundays. On Sundays I managed to be alone in the printing house, avoiding as much as I could the usual attendance at public worship. My father used to require it of me when I was under his care. I still thought it a duty, though it seemed to me I could not afford the time to practice it.
A daily London journal of satirical essays on social topics. 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.
When I was about sixteen, I found a book by a man named Tryon. It recommended a vegetable diet. I decided to adopt it. My brother was still unmarried and did not keep house. He and his apprentices boarded with another family. My refusal to eat meat caused problems, and I was often scolded for my oddness. I learned Tryon's ways of preparing some dishes, like boiled potatoes, rice, hasty pudding, and a few others. I then proposed to my brother that if he gave me half the weekly board money, I would board myself. He agreed at once. I soon found I could save half of what he had been paying. That gave me extra money for buying books. I had another advantage too. When my brother and the others left the printing house to eat, I stayed behind. I quickly ate a light meal, often only a biscuit or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins or a tart from the pastry cook, and a glass of water. I then had the rest of the time until they returned for study. I made faster progress because my head was clearer and my understanding quicker. That clarity and quickness usually come from moderation 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, and the Art of Thinking, by Messrs. du Port Royal.
At that time I was once ashamed of my ignorance in arithmetic. I had twice failed to learn it at school. I took Cocker's book of Arithmetic and worked through the whole thing by myself. I did this with great ease. I also read Seller's and Shermy's books of Navigation, and learned the little geometry they contain. But I never went far in that science. About the same time I read Locke On Human Understanding, and the Art of Thinking, by Messrs. du Port Royal.
John Locke (1632-1704) was a celebrated English philosopher, founder of the so-called "common-sense" school of philosophers. He drew up a constitution for the colonists of Carolina.
This was a noted society of scholarly, devout men who lived at the abbey of Port Royal near Paris. They published learned works. One of these is the work referred to here, 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 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 says, judiciously:
While I was intent on improving my language, I came across an English grammar (I think it was Greenwood's). At the end of it were two little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and logic. The logic sketch ended with a sample of a dispute in the Socratic method. Soon after, I obtained Xenophon's Memorable Things of Socrates, which has many examples of the same method. I was charmed with it and adopted it. I dropped my abrupt contradiction and positive argument and took on the role of the humble inquirer and doubter. From reading Shaftesbury and Collins I had by then become a real doubter on many points of our religious doctrine. I found this method the safest for myself and very embarrassing to those I used it against. So I took delight in it and practiced it continually. I grew very artful and expert in drawing people, even people with more knowledge than I had, into concessions whose consequences they did not foresee. I entangled them in difficulties they could not get out of, and so won victories that neither I nor my cause always deserved. I continued this method for a few years but gradually gave it up. I kept only the habit of expressing myself in terms of modest diffidence. When I put forward anything that might possibly be disputed, I never used the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any others that give an opinion an air of positiveness. Instead I would say, I conceive or apprehend a thing to be so and so, or 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 a great advantage to me when I have had occasion to impress my opinions on others and persuade men to support measures I was promoting from time to time. The chief ends of conversation are to inform or to be informed, to please or to persuade. So I wish well-meaning, sensible men would not lessen their power of doing good by a positive, assuming manner. Such a manner seldom fails to disgust people. It tends to create opposition and to defeat every one of the purposes for which speech was given to us, namely giving or receiving information or pleasure. For if you want to inform, a positive and dogmatic manner of stating your views may provoke contradiction and prevent a fair hearing. If you want information and improvement from the knowledge of others, and yet you speak as if firmly fixed in your present opinions, modest, sensible men who do not love argument will probably leave you undisturbed in possession of your error. And with such a manner you can seldom hope to win favor by pleasing your hearers, or to persuade those whose agreement you want. Pope says, judiciously:
Socrates refuted his opponents by asking carefully chosen questions. The answers either supported his point or revealed the opponent's error.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744). He was the greatest English poet of the first half of the eighteenth century.
"Men should be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot;"
"Teach people as if you were not teaching them. Introduce unknown things as if they had been forgotten."
farther recommending to us
further recommending to us
"To speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence."
To speak, though confident, with apparent hesitation.
And he might have coupled with this line that which he has coupled with another, I think, less properly,
He could have paired with this line what he paired with another. I think that was less appropriate.
"For want of modesty is want of sense."
A lack of modesty is a lack of sense.
If you ask, Why less properly? I must repeat the lines,
If you ask why I call that pairing less proper, I must repeat the lines,
"Immodest words admit of no defense, For want of modesty is want of sense."
"Immodest words can have no defense, Because a lack of modesty is a lack 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?
Isn't want of sense, when a man is unlucky enough to lack it, some excuse for his want of modesty? Wouldn't the lines read more fairly like this?
"Immodest words admit but this defense, That want of modesty is want of sense."
"Immodest words allow but this defense. That a lack of modesty is a lack of sense."
This, however, I should submit to better judgments.
However, I should leave this to better judgment.
My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a newspaper. It was the second that appeared in America, 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.
My brother began printing a newspaper in 1720 or 1721. It was the second to appear in America. It was called the New England Courant. The only one before it was the Boston News-Letter. I remember some friends trying to dissuade him from the venture. They thought it unlikely to succeed. In their view, one newspaper was enough for America. At that time (1771) there were at least twenty-five. He went on with the venture, however. After I had set the type and printed the sheets, I was employed to carry the papers through the streets to customers.
Franklin's memory is incorrect here. The Courant was actually the fifth newspaper established in America. It is often called the fourth. The first, Public Occurrences, published in Boston in 1690, was suppressed after the first issue. The other four papers appeared in this order. Boston News Letter, 1704. Boston Gazette, December 21, 1719. The American Weekly Mercury, Philadelphia, December 22, 1719. The New England Courant, 1721.
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.
He had some clever men among his friends who amused themselves by writing short pieces for the paper. These pieces gave the paper credit and made it more popular. The gentlemen often visited us. Hearing their conversations and their reports of the approval their pieces received, I wanted to try my hand among them. But I was still a boy. I suspected my brother would object to printing anything of mine if he knew it was mine. I therefore disguised my handwriting. I wrote an anonymous piece and slipped it under the printing house door at night. They found it in the morning and showed it to his writer friends when they called as usual. They read it and discussed it within my hearing, and I had the exquisite pleasure of hearing their approval. When they guessed the author, they only named men known here for learning and ingenuity. I now suppose I was lucky in my judges, and that perhaps they were not really as good ones as I then thought.
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 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.
Encouraged by this, however, I wrote several more papers and got them to the press in the same way, and they were equally approved. I kept my secret until my small stock of sense for such pieces was pretty well used up. Then I revealed it, and my brother's acquaintances began to take a little more notice of me. This did not quite please him, since he thought, probably with reason, that it tended to make me too vain. And perhaps this may have been one cause of the quarrels we began to have about this time. Though he was my brother, he regarded himself as my master and me as his apprentice. So he expected the same services from me as he would from any other apprentice. I, on the other hand, expected more indulgence from a brother, and thought he degraded me too much in some of the services he required of me. Our disputes were often brought before our father. I imagine I was either generally in the right or else the better pleader, because the judgment generally went in my favor. But my brother was hot-tempered and had often beaten me, which I took very badly. I found my apprenticeship very tedious and was always wishing for some chance to shorten it. At last such a chance came in an unexpected way.
Made public.
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.
One of the pieces in our newspaper, on some political point I have now forgotten, offended the Assembly. My brother was arrested, officially reprimanded, and imprisoned for a month by the speaker's warrant. I suppose this was because he would not reveal who had written the piece. I too was arrested and examined before the council. But though I gave them no satisfaction, they were content to admonish me and let me go. Perhaps they considered me 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."
During my brother's confinement, which I resented a good deal despite our private differences, I managed the paper. I boldly criticized our rulers in it. My brother took these pieces kindly. Others began to view me unfavorably, as a young genius with a taste for libel and satire. My brother's release came with a very odd order from the House. The order read, "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.
There was a meeting in our printing house among his friends to decide what to do. Some suggested evading the order by changing the paper's name. My brother saw problems with that. They finally agreed on a better plan. From then on the paper would be printed under the name Benjamin Franklin. To avoid an Assembly censure for still having his apprentice print the paper, they arranged a trick. They returned my old indenture to me. They put a full discharge on its back so I could show it when needed. To keep him benefiting from my work, I was to sign new indentures for the rest of the term. Those new papers were to be kept private. It was a very flimsy scheme. However, they carried it out immediately, and the paper continued 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.
At last, after another disagreement with my brother, I decided to claim my freedom. I assumed he would not dare to produce the new indentures. It was not fair of me to take that advantage. I count this as one of the first mistakes of my life. The unfairness bothered me little, though, because I was resentful. His temper too often led him to strike me, even though he was not otherwise a bad-natured man. Perhaps I was too cheeky 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.
When he found I meant to leave him, he took care to stop me from getting work at any other printing house in the town. He went around and spoke to every master, and they all refused to give me work. I then thought of going to New York, the nearest place where there was a printer. I was the more inclined to leave Boston when I reflected that I had already made myself somewhat disliked by the governing party. Given the Assembly's arbitrary treatment of my brother, I would likely soon get myself into trouble if I stayed. Besides, my indiscreet arguments about religion had begun to make good people point at me with horror as an infidel or atheist. I made up my mind, but my father now sided with my brother. I knew that if I tried to leave openly, steps would be taken to stop me. So my friend Collins undertook to manage things a little for me. He arranged my passage with the captain of a New York sloop, passing me off as a young acquaintance of his own. So I sold some of my books to raise a little money and was taken on board secretly. We had a fair wind, and in three days I found myself in New York, nearly 300 miles from home. I was a boy of only 17, without the least recommendation to anyone there or knowledge of anyone, and with very little money in my pocket.