Front matter (continued 6)

The lights, however, which Dr. Franklin had thrown on this great subject, were pressed upon the minister with such courage by numbers of honest English writers, that he prudently delayed ordering the collection of the tax until he could get further information. It was not long before an opportunity was offered him to obtain this information in a way highly complimentary to Dr. Franklin, i.e. by summoning him, then in London as colony agent from Pennsylvania, February 2, 1766, to appear before the Bar of the British House of Commons, to answer certain questions, &c.

The next day, accompanied by Mr. Strahan, afterwards member of parliament, with several illustrious Englishmen, his warm friends, he went to the house. The concourse was immense. To see Dr. Franklin—the American, whose philosophical discoveries and political writings had filled the world with his name, excited universal curiosity. The galleries were filled with ladies of the first distinction, and every seat below was occupied by the members from the house of lords. At ten o'clock he appeared at the bar before the eager waiting crowd. The profoundest silence ensued. All eyes were fixed on him; and, from their deep regard, it appeared, that though they beheld no stars nor garters glittering on his breast, no burning velvets nor flaming diamonds adorning his person, yet they were not disappointed. They beheld a spectacle still more interesting and novel.—The spectacle of a man whose simple dress evinced that he asked no aid of the tailor and silkworm to recommend him, but stood solely on the majesty of his mind. The hour for examination being come, and the attendant officer beckoning him thereto, he arose—

"And in his rising seemed a pillar of state—deep on his brow engraven deliberation sat and public care. His looks drew audience and attention still as night, or summer's noontide air."

Who can paint the looks of the minister, as with darkly scowling eye-balls, he beheld this terror of aristocracy! or who can paint the noble lordlings, as lost in equal stare, they gazed and gazed at the wondrous American, forgetting the while, "to quiz," as they were wont, "his homespun coat and simple shoe-strings."

But never did the mind-illumined looks of man shine more divinely bright than did those, that day, of the generous Barry, the godlike Chatham, and the high-minded Dunning, when they beheld the noble form of Franklin. Though born in North America, he shines before their eyes as a true born son of Britain—the luminous and brave interpreter of her sacred constitution, and the wise politician who seeks to exalt her glory, lasting as the skies, on the broad base of impartial justice to all her children. With eyes sparkling with esteem unutterable, they hail him as a brother; and breathe the ardent wish that in the impending examination he may succeed in diverting the minister from that unconstitutional course which may involve the ruin both of England and America.

The moment for trial being come, and the minister giving the signal to begin, the speaker thus commenced:—

Q. What is your name and place of abode?

A. Franklin, of Philadelphia.

Here followed nearly three hundred questions and answers, which were once read with exceeding interest by men, women, and children in America. But as they turn altogether on that great quarrel which the British ministry formerly excited in this country; and which God, to his endless glory, was pleased to put asleep in our favour near half a century ago, then let all these questions and answers lie asleep with it. However, it is but justice to Dr. Franklin to observe, that when we consider these questions, what a wide range they take both of the British and American relations and interests—together with the luminous, prompt, and decisive manner in which they were solved, we are lost in astonishment at the extent of his information and the powers of his mind, and are almost tempted to believe that the answers, and not the questions must have been studied with the nicest discrimination of circumstances.

Charles Fox, an honest Englishman, and an excellent judge in these matters, being asked his opinion of Dr. Franklin and the ministers in the late examination, replied, in his strong way, "Dwarfs, sir, mere dwarfs in the hand of a giant!"

Edmund Burke used to say, that this examination of Dr. Franklin before the ministers, always put him in mind of a "Master examined before a parcel of school-boys."

But though his abilities on this occasion excited the admiration of generous enemies, while his more partial friends set no bounds to their praise, yet it would appear from the following that all afforded him but little pleasure. In a letter to a friend in Philadelphia, he has these remarkable words: "You have, no doubt, heard that I have been examined before the House of Commons in this country. And it is probable you have also been told that I did not entirely disappoint the expectations of my friends, nor betray the cause of truth. This, to be sure, gives me some pleasure; and, indeed it is the only thing that does; for, as to any good being done by my honest statement to ministers, of what I firmly believe to be the best interests of the two countries, 'tis all, I fear, a lost hope. The people of this country are too proud, and too much despise the poor Americans, to allow them the common rights of Englishmen, that is, a representation in parliament. And until this be done, I apprehend that no taxes laid by parliament, will ever be collected, but such as must be stained with blood. How lamentable it is that two people, sprung from the same origin, speaking the same language, governed by the same laws, and worshipping at the same altar of God, and capable, by a wise use of the extraordinary means he has now put into their hands, of becoming the greatest nation on earth, should be stopped short and perhaps reduced to insignificance by a civil war, kindled by ministers obstinately contending for what they cannot but know to be utterly unconstitutional and eternally inadmissible among the free-born sons of Englishmen. But I suppose the repeal will not now be agreed to, from what I think a mistaken opinion, that the honour and dignity of government are better supported by persisting in a wrong measure, once entered into, than by rectifying an error as soon as it is discovered."

Differently, however, from the apprehensions of Franklin, the stamp act was repealed, and even in the course of the same year!

But though so little expected by him, yet was this event ascribed, in a great measure, to Dr. Franklin. His famous examination, printed in a shilling pamphlet, had been distributed by myriads throughout Britain and America. In America it served to brighten up the old land marks of their rights as free-born sons of Englishmen, and to quicken their sensibilities to ministerial frauds. In England, it served to show the ignorance of the ministers; the impolicy of their measures towards America; and the utter inexpediency of the stamp act. The stamp act of course fell to the ground. The reader, if a good man, exults, no doubt, in this as a most fortunate event, and already hails this removal of strife, as a certain prelude to that return of love between the mother country and her colonies, which will make them both, glorious and happy. He may hope it, but alas! he is never to see the accomplishment of that good hope. Death is whetting his scythe; and civil wars and slaughters are now just as near at hand as though the stamp act had never been repealed. For a pamphlet in some popular style that should unrip the black budget of ministerial injustice and lay naked to view the causes of the coming war; that unnatural war that is to sever England and her colonies for ever! Brighter than a thousand sermons it would illustrate to politicians that "the Lord is King"—that the sole end of his government, is to glorify himself in the happiness of his creatures—that thereunto he hath established his throne in justice—the eternal justice of men "doing unto others as they would that others should do unto them," and that none, however great, shall ever violate this blessed order with impunity. The British ministry are destined to illustrate this. They are fond of power—to preserve this, they must continue in place—in order thereunto they must please the merchants and manufacturers—to accomplish this they must favour their trade and lighten their taxes. And how is this to be done? why, by a little peccadillo of injustice. They have only to sweat the "convicts on their American plantations,"—the rascals live a great way off, and have no representative in parliament to make a noise about it. Accordingly, soon as the Americans were supposed to have gotten a little over their fever about the stamp act, the minister, lord North, of famous memory, determined to try them again. However it was but a small affair now—only a three penny excise on the pound of tea.

When Dr. Franklin, our ARGUS, then in London, discovered the designs of minister North, he exerted himself to point that purblind gentleman to the horrible gulf that was yawning at his feet. He wrote letters to several members of parliament, his friends; and he published a number of luminous pieces in the patriotic gazettes, all admirably calculated to rouse the friends of the nation to a sense of the impending dangers.

In three letters to the honourable Mr. W. Strahan, he has, in the extract, these remarkable words:—

"London, November, 1768.

"Dear Sir,

"With respect to the present dispute between Great Britain and the colonies, there is nothing I wish for more than to see it amicably settled. But Providence brings about its own ends by its own means; and if it intends the downfall of a nation, that nation will be so blinded by its pride and other passions as not to see its danger, or how its fall may be prevented.

"The friends of the ministry say that this tax is but a trifle; granted. But who does not see what will be the consequence of submitting to it? Is it not the more dangerous for being a trifle? Is it not in this way that the devil himself most effectually works our ruin? If he can but prevail on a poor thoughtless youth to shake hands with innocence, and to steal, he is abundantly satisfied. To get the boy's hand in, is all he wants. And he would as leave the simpleton should begin with stealing a halter as a horse. For he well knows that if he but begins with the one he is sure to end with the other. Just so the minister, angling for American liberty, artfully covers his hook with this delicate bait. But the truth is, I have talked and written so much and so long on the subject of this unhappy quarrel, that my acquaintance are weary of hearing, and the public of reading, any more of it; which begins to make me weary of talking and writing; especially as I do not find that I have gained any point in either country, except that of rendering myself suspected, by my impartiality, in England of being too much an American, and in America of being too much an Englishman. However, as in reply to your polite question, "what is to be done to settle this alarming dispute?" I have often told you what I think the minister ought to do: I now go a step farther, and tell you what I fear he will do.

"I apprehend he will, ere long, attempt to enforce this obnoxious tax, whatever may be the consequences.—I apprehend that in the mean time, the colonies will continue to be treated with contempt, and the redress of their grievances be neglected—that, this will inflame matters still more in that country—that, further rash measures there, may create more resentments here—that, their assemblies will be attempted to be dissolved—that, more troops will be sent to oppress them—that, to justify these measures of government, your newspapers will revile them as miscreants, rogues, dastards, and rebels—that, this will alienate the minds of the people here from them, and theirs from you—that, possibly too, some of their warm patriots may be distracted enough to do some mad act which will cause them to be sent for hither—and that government may be indiscreet enough to hang them for it—that mutual provocations will thus go on to complete the separation, and instead of that cordial affection which so long existed, and which is so necessary to the glory and happiness of both countries, an implacable malice, dishonourable and destructive to both, may take place. I hope, however, that this may all prove false prophecy, and that you and I may live to see as sincere a friendship established between our countries, as has so many years subsisted between W. Strahan, Esq. and his truly affectionate old friend,

"B. FRANKLIN."

But notwithstanding his prayer to the contrary, every body recollects how, exactly as Dr. Franklin had predicted, the minister continued to blunder and blunder on with his face constantly towards war—how nothing was trumpeted by the ministerial party, like the ingratitude and baseness of the Americans—how certain newspapers perpetually vilified them as miscreants, rascals and rebels—how the public mind was so set against them that even the shoe-blacks, as Mr. Wilkes said, talked of the colonies as their plantations, and of the people there as if they had been their overseers and negroes—how the minister determined at last, to enforce the tea-tax—how, on hearing the news of this, as of the stamp act, the yankees muffled their drums, and played the dead march—how they took the sacrament never to submit to it—how the minister, to test their valour, sent three ships laden with this three-penny tea—how the yankees, dressed like Mohawks, boarded their ships and destroyed their cargoes—how the minister, waxing more in wrath, sent more soldiers to quell the rebels—how the rebels insulted the soldiers—how the soldiers fired on the rebels—how the port of Boston was shut by royal proclamation—how, in spite of the royal proclamation, the colonies would trade with her and send monies to her relief—how the lords and commons petitioned the king that, any rebel opposing the officers of his sacred majesty, should be instantly hung up without judge or jury—how the king thanked his noble lords and commons, and was graciously pleased to decree that all rebels thus offending should be thus hung up without judge or jury—how that, notwithstanding this gracious decree, when his majesty's troops attempted to destroy the rebel stores at Concord, the rebels attacked and killed them, without any regard to his majesty's decree.

This unpardonable sin against the "Lord's anointed," which happened on the 19th of April 1775, served as the double bolting and barring of the door against all hope of peace. Throughout America, it struck but one deep and awful sentiment, "the sword is drawn, and we must now throw the scabbard away." In May, the news got to England, where it excited emotions that beggar all description. They somewhat, however, resembled the effects of the trumpet of the great angel spoken of in the Revelations, that sounded "wo! wo! wo! to the inhabitants" of America, and proclaimed the pouring forth of fire and sword. But, reserving this tragedy for the next chapter, we will conclude the present with the following anecdote. It will show at least, that doctor Franklin left no stone unturned to carry his point; and that where logic failed he had recourse to wit.

THE CAT AND EAGLE.

A FABLE, BY DOCTOR FRANKLIN.

Lord Spencer was a great admirer of Dr. Franklin, and never missed sending him a card when he intended a quorum of learned ones at his table. The last time that our philosopher enjoyed this honour, was in 1775, just before he was driven from England by lord North. The conversation taking a turn on fables, lord Spencer observed, that it had certainly been a very lucky thing, especially for the young, that this mode of instruction had ever been hit on, as there was a something in it wonderfully calculated to touch a favourite string with them, i.e. novelty and surprise. They would listen, he said, to a fox, when they would not to a father, and they would be more apt to remember any thing good told them by an owl or a crow, than by an uncle or an aunt. But I am afraid, continued his lordship, that the age of fables is past. Æsop and Phædrus among the ancients, and Fontaine and Gay among the moderns, have given us so many fine speeches from the birds and beasts, that I suspect their budgets are pretty nearly exhausted.

The company concluded with his lordship, except Franklin, who was silent.

"Well, doctor," said lord Spencer, "what is your opinion on this subject?"

"Why, my lord," replied Franklin, "I cannot say that I have the honour to think with you in this affair. The birds and beasts have indeed said a great many wise things; but it is likely they will say a great many more yet before they are done. Nature, I am thinking, is not quite so easily exhausted as your lordship seems to imagine."

Lord Spencer, evidently confused, but still with that countenance of pleasure which characterizes great souls, when they meet superior genius, exclaimed—"Well, doctor, suppose you give us a fable? I know you are good at an impromptu." The company all seconded the motion. Franklin thanked them for the compliment, but begged to be excused. They would hear no excuses. They knew, they said, he could go it, and insisted he should gratify them. Finding all resistance ineffectual, he drew his pencil, and after scribbling a few minutes, reached it to Spencer, saying—"Well, my lord, since, you will have it so, here's a something fresh from the brain, but I'm afraid you'll not find Æsop in it."

"Read it, doctor, read it!" was the cry of the noble lord and his friends. In a mood, spriteful and pleasant, Franklin thus began—"Once upon a time—hem!—as an Eagle in the full pride of his pinions, soared over a humble farm-yard, darting his fiery eyes around in search of a pig, a lamb, or some such pretty tit-bit, what should he behold but a plump young rabbit, as he thought, squatted among the weeds. Down at once upon him, he pounced like thunder, and bearing him aloft in his talons, thus chuckled to himself with joy—Zounds, what a lucky dog I am! such a nice rabbit here, this morning, for my breakfast!

"His joy was but momentary; for the supposed rabbit happened to be a stout cat, who, spitting and squalling with rage, instantly stuck his teeth and nails, like any fury, into the eagle's thighs, making the blood and feathers fly at a dreadful rate.

"Hold! hold! for mercy's sake, hold! cried the eagle, his wings shivering in the air with very torment.

"Villain! retorted the cat, with a tiger-like growl, dare you talk of mercy after treating me thus, who never injured you?"

O, God bless you, Mr. Cat, is that you? rejoined the eagle, mighty complaisant; 'pon honour, I did not intend, sir. I thought it was only a rabbit I had got hold of—and you know we are all fond of rabbits. Do you suppose, my dear sir, that if I had but dreamt it was you, I would ever have touched the hair of your head? No, indeed: I am not such a fool as all that comes to. And now, my dear Mr. Cat, come let's be good friends again, and I'll let you go with all my heart.

"Yes, you'll let me go, scoundrel, will you—here from the clouds—to break every bone in my skin!—No, villain, carry me back, and put me down exactly where you found me, or I'll tear the throat out of you in a moment.

"Without a word of reply, the eagle stooped at once from his giddy height, and sailing humbly down, with great complaisance restored the cat to his simple farm-yard, there to sleep, or hunt his rats and mice at pleasure."

A solemn silence ensued. At length, with a deep prophetic sigh, lord Spencer thus replied: "Ah! Dr. Franklin I see the drift of your fable; and my fears have already made the application. God grant, that Britain may not prove the eagle, and America the cat." This fable paraphrased in the Whig papers of that day, concludes in this way:

CHAPTER XLI.

Doctor Franklin now began to find his situation in London extremely unpleasant. For twelve years, like heaven's own minister of peace, he had pressed the olive-branch on the British ministry; and yet after all, their war-hawks could hardly tolerate the sight of him. They even went so far as to call him "the hoary headed villain, who first stirred up the Americans to rebellion." As soon as he could obtain his passports he left England.

His old friend, Strahan, advised him to continue in that country, for that America would soon be filled with tumult and bloodshed. He replied, "No, sir, where liberty is, there is my country."

Unbounded was the joy of the Americans on the return of so great a patriot and statesman. The day following he was elected by the legislature of Pennsylvania, a member of Congress. The following letters, in extract, to his constant friend, and the friend of science and liberty, the celebrated doctor Priestley, will show how full his hands were

"Philadelphia, July 7, 1775.

"Dear Friend,

"Britain has begun to burn our sea port towns; secure, I suppose, that we shall never be able to return the outrage in kind. She may doubtless destroy them all. But is this the way to recover our friendship and trade? She must certainly be distracted; for no tradesman out of Bedlam ever thought of increasing the number of his customers by knocking them on the head; or of enabling them to pay their debts, by burning their houses.

"My time was never more fully employed. I breakfast before six. At six I hasten to the committee of safety for putting the province in a state of defence. At nine I go to Congress, which sits till after four. It will scarcely be credited in Britain, that men can be as diligent with us, from zeal for the public good, as with you, for thousands per annum. Such is the difference between uncorrupted new states, and corrupted old ones.

"Great frugality and great industry are now become fashionable here: gentlemen, who used to entertain with two or three courses, pride themselves now in treating with simple beef and pudding. By these means, and the stoppage of our consumptive trade with Britain, we shall be better able to pay our voluntary taxes for the support of our troops. Our savings in the article of trade, amount to near five millions of sterling per annum.—Yours, most affectionately,

"B. FRANKLIN."

In another letter to the same, dated October 3d, he says:

"Tell our dear good friend, doctor Price, who sometimes has his doubts and despondencies about our firmness, that America is determined and unanimous: a very few tories and placemen excepted, who will probably soon export themselves. Britain, at the expense of three millions has killed in this campaign, one hundred and fifty yankees! which is 20,000 pounds sterling a head; and at Bunker's hill she gained half a mile of ground! During the same time she lost, at one place, near one thousand men, and we have had a good sixty thousand children born in America. From these data, with the help of his mathematical head, lord North will easily calculate the time and expense necessary to kill us all, and conquer our whole territory.—

"I am yours, B. FRANKLIN."

In another letter to the same, and of the same date, he says:

"Britain still goes on to goad and exasperate. She despises us too much; and seems to forget the Italian proverb, that 'there is no little enemy.' I am persuaded the body of the British people are our friends; but your lying gazettes may soon make them our enemies—and I see clearly that we are on the high road to mutual enmity, hatred, and detestation. A separation will of course be inevitable. It is a million of pities so fair a plan, as we have hitherto been engaged in for increasing strength and empire with public felicity, should be destroyed by the mangling hands of a few blundering ministers. It will not be destroyed: God will protect and prosper it: you will only exclude yourselves from any share of it. We hear that more ships and troops are coming out. We know you may do us a great deal of mischief, but we are determined to bear it patiently; but if you flatter yourselves with beating us into submission, you know neither the people nor the country.

"I am ever your's, most affectionately,

"B. FRANKLIN."

This letter of Doctor Franklin's is the first thing I have seen that utters a whisper about Independence. It was, however, a prophetical whisper, and soon found its accomplishment in the source that Franklin predicted—the barbarity of Britain. To see war waged against them by a power whom they had always gloried in as their Mother Country—to see it waged because as the children of Englishmen, they had only asked for the common rights of Englishmen—to see it waged with a savageness unknown among civilized nations, and all the powers of earth and hell, as it were, stirred up against them—the Indians with their bloody tomahawks and scalping knives—the negroes with their midnight hoes and axes—the merciless flames let loose on their midwinter towns—with prisons, chains, and starvation of their worthiest citizens. "Such miserable specimens," as Franklin termed them, "of the British government," produced every where in the colonies a disposition to detest and avoid it as a complication of robbery, murder, famine, fire and pestilence.

On the 7th of June, resolutions respecting independence, were moved and seconded in Congress. Doctor Franklin threw all the weight of his wisdom and character into the scale in favour of independence.

"Independence," said he, "will cut the Gordian knot at once, and give us freedom.

"I. Freedom from the oppressive kings, and endless wars, and mad politics, and forced religion of an unreasonable and cruel government.

"II. Freedom to choose a fair, and cheap, and reasonable government of our own.

"III. Freedom to live in friendship with all nations; and

"IV. Freedom to trade with all."

On the 4th of July, the Independence of the United States was declared. Immediately on the finishing of this great work, doctor Franklin, with a committee of the first talents in Congress, prepared a number of very masterly addresses to the courts of Europe, informing what the United States had done; assigning their reasons for so doing; and tendering in the most affectionate terms, the friendship and trade of the young nation. The potentates of Europe were, generally, well pleased to hear that a new star had risen in the west, and talked freely of opening their treasures and presenting their gifts of friendship, &c.

But the European power that seemed most to rejoice in this event was the French. In August, doctor Franklin was appointed by Congress to visit the French court, for the purpose of forming an alliance with that powerful people. It was his friend, Doctor B. Rush, who first announced to him the choice which Congress had made, adding, at the same time, his hearty congratulations on that account.

"Why, doctor," replied he with a smile, "I am now, like an old broom, worn down to the stump in my country's service—near seventy years old. But such as I am, she must, I suppose, have the last of me." Like the brave Dutch republicans, each with his wallet of herrings on his back, when they went forth to negotiate with the proud Dons, so did doctor Franklin set out to court the great French nation, with no provisions for his journey, but a few hogsheads of tobacco. He was received in France, however, with a most hearty welcome, not only as an envoy from a brave people fighting for their rights, but also as the famed American philosopher, who by his paratonerres (lightning rods) had disarmed the clouds of their lightnings, and who, it was hoped, would reduce the colossal power of Great Britain.

He had not been long in Paris, before the attention of all the courts of Europe was attached to him, by a publication, wherein he demonstrated, that, the young, healthy, and sturdy republic of America, with her simple manners, laborious habits, and millions of fresh land and produce, would be a much safer borrower of money, than the old, profligate, and debt-burthened government of Britain. The Dutch and French courts, in particular, read his arguments with such attention, that they soon began to make him loans. To the French cabinet he pointed out, "the inevitable destruction of their fleets, colonies, and commerce, in case of a re-union of britain and america." There wanted but a grain to turn the trembling balance in favour of America.

But it was the will of Heaven to withhold that grain a good long while. And Franklin had the mortification to find, that although the French were an exceedingly polite people; constantly eulogizing General Washington and the Brave Bostonians, on every little victory; and also for their tobacco, very thriftily smuggling all the fire arms and ammunition they could into the United States, yet they had no notion of coming out manfully at once upon the British lion, until they should first see the American Eagle lay the monster on his back. Dr. Franklin, of course, was permitted to rest on his oars, at Passy, in the neighbourhood of Paris, His characteristic philanthropy, however, could not allow him to be idle at a court, whose pride and extravagance were so horribly irreconcileable with his ideas of the true use of riches, i.e. Independence for ourselves, and Beneficence to others. And he presently came out in the Paris Gazette with the following master piece of Wit and Economics.

To the Editors of the Paris Journal.

Gentlemen,

I was the other evening in a grand company, where the new lamp of Messrs. Quinquet and Lange was introduced, and much admired for its splendour; but a general inquiry was made, whether the oil it consumed, was not in proportion to the light it afforded; in which case there would be no saving in the use of it. No one present could satisfy us on that point; which all agreed ought to be known, it being a very desirable thing to lessen, if possible, the expense of lighting our apartments, when every other article of family expense was so much augmented.

I was pleased to see this general concern for economy; for I love economy exceedingly.

I went home, and to bed, three or four hours after midnight, with my head full of the subject. An accidental sudden noise awaked me about six in the morning, when I was surprised to find my room filled with light; and I imagined, at first, that a number of these lamps had been brought into it; but rubbing my eyes, I perceived the light came in at my windows. I got up, and looked out to see what might be the occasion of it, when I saw the sun just rising above the horizon, whence he poured his rays plentifully into my chamber, my domestic having negligently omitted, the preceding evening, to close the shutters.

I looked at my watch, which goes very well, and found that it was but six o'clock; and still thinking it something extraordinary that the sun should rise so early, I looked into the almanack; where I found it to be the hour given for its rising on that day.

Your readers, who, with me, have never seen any signs of sunshine before noon, and seldom regard the astronomical part of the almanack, will be as much astonished as I was, when they hear of his rising so early; and especially when I assure them that he gives light as soon as he rises. I am certain of the fact. I saw it with my own eyes. And having repeated this observation the three following mornings, I found always precisely the same result.

Yet so it happens, that when I speak of this discovery to others, I can easily perceive by their countenances, though they forbear expressing it in words, that they do not quite believe me. One, indeed, who is a learned natural philosopher, has assured me that I must certainly be mistaken as to the circumstance of the light coming into my room; for it being well known, as he says, that there could be no light abroad at that hour, it follows that none could enter from without; and that of consequence, my windows being accidentally left open, instead of letting in the light, had only served to let out the darkness.

This event has given rise, in my mind, to several serious and important reflections. I considered that, if I had not been awakened so early in the morning, I should have slept six hours longer by the light of the sun, and in exchange have lived six hours the following night by candle-light; and the latter being a much more expensive light than the former, my love of economy induced me to muster up what little arithmetic I was master of, and to make some calculations, which I shall give you, after observing, that utility is, in my opinion, the test of value in matters of invention, and that a discovery which can be applied to no use, or is not good for something, is good for nothing.

I took for the basis of my calculation, the supposition that there are 100,000 families in Paris; and that these families consume in the night half a pound of candles, per hour. I think this a moderate allowance, taking one family with another; for though I believe some consume less, I know that many consume a great deal more. Then, estimating seven hours per day, as the medium quantity between the time of the sun's rising and ours, and there being seven hours, of course, per night, in which we burn candles, the account will stand thus:

In 12 months there are nights 365; hours of each night in which we burn candles 7; multiplication gives for the total number of hours 2555. These multiplied by 100,000, the number of families in Paris, give 255,000,000 hours spent at Paris by candle-light, which, at half a pound of wax and tallow per hour, give 127,750,000 pounds, worth, at 3 livres the pound, 383,250,000 livres; upwards of thirty millions of dollars!!!

An immense sum! that the city of Paris might save every year, by the economy of using sunshine instead of candles.—If it should be said, that the people are very apt to be obstinately attached to old customs, and that it will be difficult to induce them to rise before noon, consequently my discovery can be of little use, I answer, we must not despair. I believe all, who have common sense, as soon as they have learnt, from this paper, that it is daylight when the sun rises, will contrive to rise with him; and to compel the rest, I would propose the following regulations:

First. Let a tax be laid of a louis, (a guinea,) per window, on every window that is provided with shutters to keep out the light of the sun.

Second. Let guards be placed in the shops of the wax and tallow-chandlers; and no family be permitted to be supplied with more than one pound of candles per week.

Third. Let guards be posted, to stop all the coaches, &c. that would pass the streets after sunset, except those of physicians, surgeons, and midwives.

Fourth. Every morning, as soon as the sun rises, let all the bells in the city be set ringing; and if that be not sufficient let cannon be fired in every street, to awake the sluggards effectually, and make them open their eyes to see their true interest.

All the difficulty will be in the first two or three days: after which the reformation will be as natural and easy as the present irregularity. Oblige a man to rise at four in the morning, and, it is more than probable, he shall go willingly to bed at eight in the evening; and having had eight hours sleep, he will rise more willingly at four, in the morning following.

For the great benefit of this discovery, thus freely communicated and bestowed by me, on the good city of Paris, I demand neither place, pension, exclusive privilege, nor any other reward whatever. I expect only to have the honour of it. And yet I know there are little envious minds, who will, as usual, deny me this, and say that my invention was known to the ancients. I will not dispute that the ancients knew that the sun would rise at certain hours. They possibly had almanacks that predicted it; but it does not follow, thence, that they knew that he gave light an soon as he rose. This is what I claim as my discovery. If the ancients knew it, it must long since have been forgotten; for it certainly was unknown to the moderns, at least to the Parisians; which to prove, I need use but one plain simple argument. They are as well instructed and prudent a people as exist, any where in the world; all professing, like myself, to be lovers of economy; and, from the many heavy taxes required from them by the necessities of the state, have surely reason to be economical. I say it is impossible that so sensible a people, under such circumstances, should have lived so long by the smoky, unwholesome and enormously expensive light of candles, if they had really known that they might have as much pure light of the sun for nothing. I am, &c.

An ABONNE.

And now, as Dr. Franklin is permitted to breathe a little from his herculean toils, let us, good reader, breathe a little too, and amuse ourselves with the following anecdotes.

Nothing can better illustrate the spirit, which Dr. Franklin carried with him to the court of Louis XVI., and the spirit he found there.

On Dr. Franklin's arrival at Paris, as plenipotentiary from the United States, during the revolution, the king expressed a wish to see him immediately. As there was no going to the court of France in those days without permission of the wigmaker, a wigmaker of course was sent for. In an instant a richly dressed Monsieur, his arms folded in a prodigious muff of furs, and a long sword by his side, made his appearance. It was the king's Wigmaker, with his servant in livery, a long sword by his side too, and a load of sweet scented band-boxes, full of "de wig," as he said, "de superb wig for de great docteer Franklin." One of the wigs was tried on—a world too small! Band-box after band-box was tried; but all with the same ill success! The wigmaker fell into the most violent rage, to the extreme mortification of Dr. Franklin, that a gentleman so bedecked with silks and perfumes, should, notwithstanding, be such a child. Presently, however, as in all the transports of a grand discovery, the wigmaker cried out to Dr. Franklin, that he had just found out where the fault lay—"not in his wig as too small; O no, by gar! his wig no too small; but de docteer's head too big; great deal too big." Franklin, smiling, replied, that the fault could hardly lie there; for that his head was made of God Almighty himself, who was not subject to err. Upon this the wigmaker took in a little; but still contended that there must be something the matter with Dr. Franklin's head. It was at any rate, he said, out of the fashion. He begged Dr. Franklin would only please for remember, dat his head had not de honeer to be made in Parree. No, by gar! for if it had been made in Parree, it no bin more dan half such a head. "None of the French Noblesse," he swore, "had a head any ting like his. Not de great duke d'Orleans, nor de grand monarque himself had half such a head as docteer Franklin. And he did not see," he said, "what business any body had wid a head more big dan de head of de grand monarque."

Pleased to see the poor wigmaker recover his good humour, Dr. Franklin could not find in his heart to put a check to his childish rant, but related one of his fine anecdotes, which struck the wigmaker with such an idea of his wit, that as he retired, which he did, bowing most profoundly, he shrugged his shoulders, and with a look most significantly arch, he said:

"Ah, docteer Frankline! docteer Frankline! I no wonder your head too big for my wig. By gar I 'fraid your head be too big for all de French nationg."

THE BLUE YARN STOCKINGS.

When Dr. Franklin was received at the French court as American minister, he felt some scruples of conscience in complying with their fashions as to dress. "He hoped," he said to the minister, "that as he was himself a very plain man, and represented a plain republican people, the king would indulge his desire to appear at court in his usual dress. Independent of this, the season of the year, he said, rendered the change from warm yarn stockings to fine silk, somewhat dangerous."

The French minister made him a bow, but said, that the fashion was too sacred a thing for him to meddle with, but he would do himself the honour to mention it to his Majesty.

The king smiled, and returned word that Dr. Franklin was welcome to appear at court in any dress he pleased. In spite of that delicate respect for strangers, for which the French are so remarkable, the courtiers could not help staring, at first, at Dr. Franklin's quaker-like dress, and especially his "Blue Yarn Stockings." But it soon appeared as though he had been introduced upon this splendid theatre only to demonstrate that, great genius, like true beauty, "needs not the foreign aid of ornament." The court were so dazzled with the brilliancy of his mind that they never looked at his stockings. And while many other ministers who figured in all the gaudy fashions of the day are now forgotten, the name of Dr. Franklin is still mentioned in Paris with all the ardour of the most affectionate enthusiasm.

CHAPTER XLII.

Imagination can hardly conceive a succession of pleasures more elegant and refined than those which Dr. Franklin, now on the shady side of threescore and ten, continued daily to enjoy in the vicinity of Paris—his mornings constantly devoted to his beloved studies, and his evenings to the cheerful society of his friends—the greatest monarch of Europe heaping him with honours unasked, and the brightest Wits and Beauties of his court vying with each other in their attentions to him. And thus as the golden hours rolled along, they still found him happy—gratefully contrasting his present glory with his humble origin, and thence breathing nothing but benevolence to man—firmly confiding in the care of Heaven—and fully persuaded that his smiles would yet descend upon his countrymen, now fighting the good fight of liberty and happiness.

While waiting in strong hope of this most desirable of all events, he received, by express, December 1777, the welcome news that the battle had been joined in America, and that God had delivered a noble wing of the British army into the hands of the brave republicans at Saratoga. O ye, who, rejecting the philosophy of all embracing love, know no joys beyond what the miser feels when his own little heap increases, how faintly can you conceive what this great apostle of liberty enjoyed when he found that his countrymen still retained the fire of their gallant fathers, and were resolved to live free or press a glorious grave! He lost no time to improve this splendid victory to the good of his country. In several audiences with the king and his ministers, he clearly demonstrated that France in all her days of ancient danger had never known so dark a cloud impending over her as at this awful crisis. "If Great Britain," said he, "already so powerful were to subdue the revolted colonies and add all North America to her empire, she would in twenty years be strong enough to crush the power of France and not leave her an island or a ship on the ocean." As a sudden flash of lightning from the opening clouds before the burst of thunder and rain, such was the shock produced by this argument on the mind of every thinking man throughout France. The courtiers with all their talents for dissembling could not conceal their hostile feelings from the British minister resident among them. He marked it, not without sentiments of answering hostility, which he could no better conceal, and which, indeed, after the honest bluntness of his national character, he did not care to conceal. The increased attentions paid to Dr. Franklin, and the rejoicings in Paris on account of the American victories, were but illy calculated to soothe his displeasure. Bitter complaints were presently forwarded to his court—angry remonstrances to the French cabinet followed—and in a short time the embers of ancient hate were blown up to flames of fury so diabolical that nothing but war, with all its rivers of human blood could extinguish it. War, of course, was proclaimed—Paris was illuminated—and the thunder of the Royal cannon soon announced to the willing citizens that the die was cast, and that the Grand Monarque was become the Ally of the United States.

"While there is any thing to be done nothing is done," said Cæsar. Franklin thought so too. He had succeeded in his efforts to persuade the warlike French to take part with his oppressed countrymen; but the Spaniards and the Dutch were still neutral. To rouse their hostile feelings against Great Britain, and to make them the hearty partisans of Washington, was his next study. The event quickly showed that he had studied human nature with success. He who had been the playmate of lightnings for the glory of God, found no difficulty in stirring up the wrath of man to praise him—by chastising the sons of violence. The tall black ships of war were soon seen to rush forth from the ports of Holland and Spain, laden with the implements of death, to arrest the mad ambition of Great Britain, and maintain the balance of power. How dearly ought the American people to prize their liberties, for which such bloody contribution was laid on the human race! Imagination glances with terror on that dismal war whose spread was over half the solid and half the watery globe. Its devouring fires burned from the dark wilds of North America to the distant isles of India; and the blood of its victims was mingled with the brine of every ocean. But, thanks to God, the conflict, though violent, was but short. And much of the honour of bringing it to a close is to be conceded to the instrumentality of Dr. Franklin.

We have seen that in 1763, he was sent (of Heaven no doubt, for it was an act worthy of his all-benevolent character,) a preacher of righteousness, to the proud court of Britain. His luminous preachings, (through the press,) on the injustice and unconstitutionality of the ministerial taxing measures on the colonies, shed such light, that thousands of honest Englishmen set their faces against them, and also against the war to which they saw it was tending. These converts to justice, these doves of peace, were not sufficiently numerous to defeat the war-hawks of their bloody purposes. But when they found that the war into which they had plunged with such confidence, had not, instantly, as they expected, reduced the colonies to slavish submission; but that, instead thereof, one half Europe in favour of America, was in arms against them with a horrible destruction of lives and property which they had not counted on, and of which they saw no end, they seriously deplored their folly in not pursuing the counsel of doctor Franklin. The nation was still, however, dragged on in war, plunging like a stalled animal, deeper and deeper in disaster and distress, until the capture of lord Cornwallis and his army came like a thunder-bolt, inflicting on the war party a death blow, from which they never afterwards recovered.

Dr. Franklin received this most welcome piece of news, the surrender of lord Cornwallis, by express from America. He had scarcely read the letters with the tear of joy swelling in his patriot eye, when Mr. Necker came in. Seeing the transport on his face, he eagerly asked what good news. "Thank God," replied Franklin, "the storm is past. The paratonerres of divine justice have drawn off the lightning of British violence, and here, sir, is the rainbow of peace," holding up the letter. What am I to understand by that, replied Necker. Why, sir, quoth Franklin, my lord Cornwallis and his army are prisoners of war to general Washington. Doctor Franklin's calculation, on the surrender of Cornwallis, that the storm was past, was very correct; for, although the thunders did not immediately cease, yet, after that event, they hardly amounted to any thing beyond a harmless rumbling, which presently subsided altogether, leaving a fine bright sky behind them.

CHAPTER XLIII.

The rest of the acts of doctor Franklin while he resided in France, and the many pleasures he enjoyed there, were first, the great pleasure of announcing to the French court, in 1781, as we have seen, the surrender of lord Cornwallis and his army to general Washington. Second, the still greater pleasure of learning in 1782, that the British ministry were strongly inclined to "a peace talk." Third, 1783, the greatest pleasure of all, the pleasure of burying the tomahawk, by general peace.

Thus after having lived to see completely verified all his awful predictions to the blind and obstinate British cabinet about the result of this disastrous war; with losses indeed, beyond his prediction—the loss of two thousand ships!—the loss of one hundred thousand lives!—the loss of seven hundred millions of dollars! and a loss still greater than all, the loss of the immense continent of North America, and the monopoly of its incalculable produce and trade, shortly to fly on wings of canvass to all parts of the globe.

Having lived to see happily terminated, the grand struggle for American liberty, which even Englishmen have pronounced "the last hope and probable refuge of mankind," and having obtained leave from congress to return, he took a last farewell of his generous Parisian friends, and embarked for his native country.

On the night of the 4th of September, the ship made the light-house at the mouth of the Delaware bay. On coming upon deck next morning, he beheld all in full view and close at hand the lovely shores of America, "where his fathers had dwelt." Who can paint the joy-brightened looks of our veteran patriot, when, after an absence of seven years, he beheld once more that beloved country for whose liberties and morals he had so long contended? Formerly, with an aching heart, he had beheld her as a dear mother, whose fame was tarnished, and her liberties half ravished by foreign lords. But now he greets her as free again, and freed, through heaven's blessing on her own heroic virtue and valour. Crowned thus with tenfold glory, he hails her with transport, as the grand nursery of civil and religious freedom, whose fair example of republican wisdom and moderation is, probably, destined of God to recommend the blessings of free government to all mankind.

The next day in the afternoon he arrived at Philadelphia. It is not for me to describe what he felt in sailing along up these lovely shores, while the heaven within diffused a double brightness and beauty over all the fair and magnificent scenes around. Neither is it for me to delineate the numerous demonstrations of public joy, wherewith the citizens of Philadelphia welcomed the man whom they all delighted to honour. Suffice it to say, that he was landed amidst the firing of cannon—that he was crowded with congratulatory addresses—that he was invited to sumptuous banquets, &c. &c. &c. But though it was highly gratifying to others to see transcendent worth so duly noticed, yet to himself, who had been so long familiar with such honours, they appeared but as baubles that had lost their tinsel.

But there were some pledges of respect offered him, which afforded a heartfelt satisfaction; I mean those numbers of pressing invitations to accept the presidencies of sundry noble institutions for public good, as

I. A society for diffusing a knowledge of the best politics for our republic.

II. A society for alleviating the miseries of public prisons.

III. A society for abolishing the slave trade—the relief of free negroes unlawfully held in bondage—and for bettering the condition of the poor blacks.

"It was because," said the trustees, "they well knew he had made it the sole scope of his greatly useful life to promote institutions for the happiness of mankind, that they now solicited the honour and benefit of his special care and guardianship."

Though now almost worn out with the toils of fourscore years, and oftentimes grievously afflicted with his old complaint, the gravel, he yet accepted the proffered appointments with great pleasure, and attended to the duties of them with all the ardour of youth. Thus affording one more proof,

"But though the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak." His strength was so sensibly diminished that it could scarcely second his mind, which seemed as unimpaired as ever.

But there was still one more service that his country looked to him for, before he went to rest; I mean that of aiding her councils in the grand convention that was about to sit in Philadelphia for the purpose of framing the present excellent constitution. He was called to this duty in 1787. The speech which he made in that convention has a high claim to our notice, not only because it was the last speech that Dr. Franklin ever made in public; but because nothing ever yet placed in a fairer light the charm of modesty in a great man; and also the force of temperance, exercise and cheerfulness, which could preserve the intellectual faculties in such vigour, to the astonishing age of eighty-two!!

Final Speech of doctor Franklin in the Federal Convention.— George Washington, President.

Mr. President,

I do not entirely approve this constitution at present, but, sir, I am not sure I shall never approve it; for, having lived long, I have experienced many instances of being obliged, by better information, to change opinions which I once thought right. It is, therefore, that the older I grow, the more apt I am to doubt my own judgment, and to pay more respect to the judgment of others. Most men, indeed, as well as most sects of religion, think themselves in possession of all truth, and that whenever others differ from them, it is so far error. Steele, a protestant, tells the pope, that "the only difference between our two churches, in their opinion of the certainty of their doctrines, is, the Romish church is infallible, and the church of England never in the wrong."

But though many private persons think almost as highly of their own infallibility, as of that of their sect, few express it so naturally as a certain French lady, who, in a little dispute with her sister, said, "I don't know how it happens, sister, but I meet with nobody but myself that is always in the right." In these sentiments, sir, I agree to this constitution, with all its faults, if they are such; because I think a general government necessary for us, and there is no form of government but what may be a blessing, if well administered; and I believe farther, that this is likely to be well administered for a course of years, and can only end in despotism, as other forms have done before it, when the people shall become so corrupted, as to need despotic government, being incapable of any other. I doubt too, whether any other convention we can obtain, may be able to make a better constitution. For when you assemble a number of men, to have the advantage of their joint wisdom, you assemble with those men, all their prejudices, their passions, their errors of opinion, their local interests, and their selfish views. From such an assembly, can a perfect production be expected? It therefore astonishes me, sir, to find this system approaching so near to perfection as it does; and I think it will confound our enemies, who are waiting with confidence, to hear that our councils are confounded, like those of the builders of Babel, and that our states are on the point of separation, only to meet hereafter for the purpose of cutting each other's throats.

Thus I consent, sir, to this constitution, because I expect no better, and because I am not sure that this is not the best. The opinions I have had of its errors, I sacrifice to the public good. I have never whispered a syllable of them abroad. Within these walls they were born, and here they shall die. If every one of us, in returning to our constituents, were to report the objections he has had to it, and endeavour to gain partisans in support of them, we might prevent its being generally received, and thereby lose all the great advantages resulting naturally in our favour among foreign nations, as well as among ourselves, from our real or apparent unanimity. Much of the efficiency of any government, in procuring and securing happiness to the people, depends on the general opinion of the goodness of that government, as well as of the wisdom and integrity of its governors.

I hope, therefore, that for our own sakes, as a part of the people, and for the sake of our posterity, we shall act heartily and unanimously, in recommending this constitution, wherever our influence may extend, and turn our future thoughts and endeavours to the means of having it well administered.

On the whole, sir, I cannot help expressing a wish, that every member of the convention, who may still have objections, would, with me, on this occasion, doubt a little of his own infallibility, and making manifest our unanimity, put his name to this instrument.

CHAPTER XLIV.

The time is now at hand that Franklin must die. When that time approaches, or when only the chilling thought of it strikes the heart, how happy is he who in looking on the withered face or snowy locks of a dear friend, can enjoy the exulting hope that he is prepared for the awful change. This leads us to speak of doctor Franklin on a much higher subject than has yet engaged our attention. I mean his religion.

I have met with nothing in the life of any great man in our country about which there has been such universal inquiry, as about the Religion of Dr. Franklin.

Some, who in despite of Christ and all his apostles, will "judge their brother;" and judge him too by the letter which killeth, will not allow that Dr. Franklin had any religion at all, because, forsooth, he did not believe and "confess Christ before men," in the manner they did. But others, construing the Gospel, as Christ himself commands, by "the spirit;" which teaches that, "with the heart man believeth unto salvation, through love and good works;" and that the right way of "confessing Christ before men" is by a good life.—These gentlemen tell us, that Dr. Franklin not only had religion, but had it in an eminent degree.

Most people seem inclined to judge of Dr. Franklin by these latter commentators, and wind up with the words of our great moral poet.

For my part, after all that I have heard on this subject, and I have heard a great deal, I do not know that I have met with any thing that expresses my opinion of Dr. Franklin's religion more happily than the following laconic remark by one of our most distinguished senators, I mean the honourable Rufus King. Knowing that this gentleman was a compatriot of Dr. Franklin during the revolution, and also sat by his side, a member of the grand Convention in 1788, I took the greater pleasure in asking his opinion of that great man in respect of his religion. "Why, sir," replied he, "my opinion of doctor Franklin has always been, that, although he was not, perhaps, quite so orthodox in some of his notions, he was very much a Christian in his practice. Nor is it indeed to be wondered at," continued this able critic, "that a man of doctor Franklin's extraordinary sagacity, born and brought up under the light of the Gospel, should have imbibed its spirit, and got his whole soul enriched, and as it were interlarded, with its benevolent affections."

And I have since found from conversation with many of our most enlightened and evangelical divines, that they all agree, with Mr. King, that doctor Franklin's extraordinary benevolence and useful life were imbibed, even unconsciously, from the Gospel. For whence but from the luminous and sublime doctrines of that blessed book could he have gained such pure and worthy ideas of God—his glorious unity, and most adorable benevolence: always, himself, loving and doing good to his creatures; and constantly seeking such to worship him? Whence, we ask, could he have got all these exalted truths—truths, so honourable to the Deity—so consolatory to man—so auxiliary of human virtue and happiness—whence could he have got them, but from the light of the Gospel? Certainly, you will not say that he might have got them from the light of nature. For, look around you among all the mighty nations of antiquity. Look among the Egyptians—the Greeks—the Romans, to equal him? Two thousand years have rolled between them and us, and yet the immortal monuments of their arts—their poetry—their painting—their statuary—their architecture—their eloquence—all triumphant over the wreck of time, have come down to our days, boldly challenging the pride of modern genius to produce their parallels. Evidently then, they had among them prodigies of mind equal to our Franklin. And yet how has it yet come to pass, that, with all their astonishing talents, and the light of nature besides, they were so stupidly blind and ignorant of God, while he entertained such exalted ideas of him? That while they, like the modern idolaters of Juggernaut, were disgracing human reason by worshipping not only four-footed beasts and creeping things, but even thieves, murderers, &c. deified, doctor Franklin was elevating his devotions to the one all-perfect God, MOST GLORIOUS IN ALL MORAL EXCELLENCE.

And how has it come to pass that while they, imitating their bloody idols, could take pleasure in sacrificing their prisoners of war! beholding murderous fights of gladiators! and even giving up their own children to be burnt alive! Franklin, by imitating the moral character of God, attained to all that gentle wisdom and affectionate goodness that we fancy when we think of an angel? To what, I ask, can we ascribe all this, but to the very rational cause assigned by Mr. King, viz. his having been born and brought up in a land of Gospel light and love? Indeed, who can read the life of doctor Franklin, attentively, without tracing in it, throughout, that true Christian charity which bound him, as by the heart-strings, to his fellow men—on every occasion going out of self to take an interest in them. "Rejoicing with them, when they acted wisely and attained to honour."—"Weeping with them when they acted foolishly and came to shame." Never meeting with any good fortune, through wise doings of his own, but he made it known to them for their encouragement in similar doings—never falling into misfortunes, by his own folly, but he was sure to publish that too, to deter others from falling into the like sufferings.

Now what was it but this amiable oneness of heart, with his fellow men; this sweet Christian sensibility to their interests and consequent generous delight in doing them good, that filled his life with such noble charities. "Where love is," said the great William Penn, "there is no labour; or if there be, the labour is sweet." And what was it but this, that bore him up so bravely under his many toils and hardships for his selfish brother James?

What made him so liberal of his money and services to the base Collins and Ralph?

What made him so patient and forgiving of the injuries done him by the worthless Keimer and Keith?

What made him so importunate with his young acquaintance in London, to divert them from their brutalizing and fatal intemperance?

What set him so vehemently against pride and extravagance, which besides starving all justice and hospitality among neighbours, tend to make them demons of fraud and cruelty to one another?

What made him, through life, such a powerful orator for industry, frugality, and honesty, which multiplied riches and reciprocal esteem and usefulness among men, and would make them all loving and happy as brothers?

In short, all those labours which doctor Franklin took under the sun—labours so various and unending, for public and private good, such as his fire-engines; his lightning rods; his public libraries; his free schools; his hospitals; his legacies for encouragement of learning, and helping hundreds of indigent young mechanics with money to carry on their trades after his death—whence originated all this, but from that love which is stronger than death, subduing all obstacles, and overleaping the narrow limits of this mortal life?

What but the ingenuity of love, eager to swell the widow's mite of charity into the rich man's talent could have suggested the following curious method of making a little do a great deal of good?

"Received of Benjamin Franklin, ten guineas, which I hereby promise, soon as I get out of my present embarrassments, to lend to some other honest and industrious man, as near as I can guess, he giving his obligation to act in the same way by the next needy honest man; so that by thus going around it may in time, though a small sum, do much good, unless stopped by a thief.

"JAMES HOPEWELL.

"Passy, Aug. 10, 1773."

What but the noble spirit of that religion whose sole aim is to "overcome evil with good" could have dictated the following instructions to Paul Jones, and his squadron, who after scouring the British channel, was about to make a descent on their coasts.

"As many of your officers and people have lately escaped from English prisons, you are to be particularly attentive to their conduct towards the prisoners you take, lest resentment of the more than barbarous usage which they have received from the English, should occasion a retaliation, and an imitation of what ought rather to be detested and avoided for the sake of humanity and the honour of our country.

"B. FRANKLIN.

"To Commodore P. Jones.

"April 28, 1779."

What but the spirit of that benevolent religion which is the firm patroness of all discoveries for human benefit, could have dictated the ensuing letter "to the commanders of American ships of war," in favour of captain Cook.

"Gentlemen,

"A ship having been fitted out from England, before the commencement of this war, to make discoveries of new countries in unknown seas, under the conduct of that celebrated navigator, captain Cook—an undertaking truly laudable in itself, as the increase of geographical knowledge facilitates the communication between distant nations, and the exchange of useful products and manufactures, and the extension of arts, whereby the common enjoyments of human life are multiplied and augmented, and science of other kinds increased, to the benefit of mankind in general.

"This is, therefore, most earnestly to recommend to every one of you, that in case the said ship, which is now expected to be soon in the European seas, on her return, should happen to fall into your hands, you would not consider her as an enemy, but that you treat the said captain Cook and his people with all civility and kindness, affording them, as common friends to mankind, all the assistance in your power, which they may happen to stand in need of.

"I have the honour to be, &c.

"B. FRANKLIN,

"Minister plenipotentiary from the United States to the court of France.

"Passy. near Paris, March 10, 1779."

The truly christian spirit of doctor Franklin, which dictated this passport for captain Cook, was so highly approved by the British government, that, when Cook's voyages in three splendid quarto volumes were printed, the lords of the admiralty sent doctor Franklin a copy accompanied with the elegant plates, and also a gold medal of that illustrious navigator, with a polite letter from lord Howe, informing him that this compliment was made to doctor Franklin with the king's express approbation.

What but the religion that brings life and immortality to light "could have sprung those high hopes and rich consolations," which shine in the following letter from doctor Franklin to his niece, on the death of her father, his favourite brother John Franklin.

"Dear niece,

"I condole with you. We have lost a most dear and valuable relation. But it is the will of God 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 society? We are spirits. That bodies should be lent us, while they can afford us pleasure, assist us in acquiring knowledge, or 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, 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, it was capable of making him suffer.

"Our friend and we were invited abroad on a grand 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?

"B. FRANKLIN."

What but that religion which teaches "the price of truth," could have made him so penitent for having said any thing, in his youthful days against revelation? And while the popular infidels of Europe, the Voltaires, and Humes, and Bolingbrokes were so fond of filling the world with their books against Christ, that they might, as one of them said, "crush the wretch," what but a hearty esteem of him could have led Franklin to write the following pious reproof of a gentleman, who having written a pamphlet against christianity, sent it to him, requesting his opinion of it.

DR. FRANKLIN'S ANSWER.

"Sir,

"I have read your manuscript with some attention. By the argument it contains against a particular providence, though you allow a general providence, you strike at the foundation of all religion. For, without the belief of a providence, that takes cognizance of, guards, and guides, and may favour particular persons, there is no motive to worship a DEITY, to fear his displeasure, or to pray for his protection. I will not enter into any discussion of your principles, though you seem to desire it. At present I shall only give you my opinion, that though your reasonings are subtile, and may prevail with some readers, you will not succeed so as to change the general sentiments of mankind on that subject; and the consequence of printing this piece will be, a great deal of odium drawn upon yourself, mischief to you, and no benefit to others. He that spits against the wind, spits in his own face. But were you to succeed, do you imagine any good would be done by it? You yourself may find it easy to live a virtuous life, without the assistance afforded by religion; you having a clear perception of the disadvantages of vice, and possessing a strength of resolution sufficient to enable you to resist common temptations. But think how great a portion of mankind consists of weak and ignorant men and women, and of inexperienced inconsiderate youth of both sexes, who have need of the motives of religion to restrain them from vice, to support their virtue, and retain them in the practice of it till it becomes habitual, which is the great points of its security. And, perhaps, you are indebted to her original, that is, to your religious education, for the habits of virtue upon which you now justly value yourself. You might easily display your excellent talents of reasoning upon less hazardous objects, and thereby obtain a rank with our most distinguished authors. For among us it is not necessary, as among the Hottentots, that a youth, to be raised into the company of men, should prove his manhood by beating his mother. I would advise you, therefore, not to attempt unchaining the tiger, but to burn this piece before it is seen by any other person—whereby you will save yourself a great deal of mortification from the enemies it may raise against you, and, perhaps a good deal of regret and repentance. If men are so wicked with religion, what would they be without it? I intend this letter itself as a proof of my friendship, and therefore add no professions to it, but subscribe myself simply yours.

"B. FRANKLIN."

For the following, I owe many thanks to the honourable Mr. Rufus King.

After having answered my question on that subject, as before stated, viz. that he considered Dr. Franklin "very much a christian in practice," he added with a fine smile, as if happy that he possessed an anecdote so honourable to the religious character of his illustrious friend, and the friend of mankind—"now, sir, I'll tell you an anecdote of Dr. Franklin." The Convention of '88, of which Dr. Franklin and myself were members, had been engaged several weeks in framing the present Constitution, and had done nothing. Dr. Franklin came in one morning, and rising in his place, called the attention of the house.—"We have been here, Mr. Speaker," said he, (George Washington was in the chair,) "a long time, trying to act on this important subject, and have done nothing; and in place of a speedy and successful close of our business, we see nothing but dark clouds of difficulty and embarrassment gathering before us. It in high time for us, Mr. Speaker, to call in the direction of a wisdom above our own.—(The countenance of Washington caught a brightness at these words, as he leaned forward in deepest gaze on Dr. Franklin.) Yes, sir, it is high time for us to call in the direction of a wisdom above our own. Our fathers before us, the wise and good men of ancient times, acted in this way. Aware of the difficulties and perils that attend all human enterprize, they never engaged in any thing of importance without having implored the guidance and blessing of heaven. The scriptures are full of encouragements to such practice. They every where assert a particular providence over all his works. They assure us that the very hairs of our head are all numbered; and that not even a sparrow but is continually under the eye of his parental care. This, Mr. Speaker, is the language of the gospel, which I most implicitly believe; and which promises the guidance of divine wisdom to all who ask it. We have not asked it; and that may be the reason why we have been so long in the dark. I therefore move, Mr. Speaker, that it be made a rule to open the business of this house, every morning, with prayer."

The following also will show Dr. Franklin's firm belief in that very precious article of the religion of Christ—a particular providence.

To William Strahan, Esq. London

France, August 19th, 1784.

Dear Old Friend,

You "fairly acknowledge that the date war terminated quite contrary to your expectation." Your expectation was ill founded; for you would not believe your old friend, who told you repeatedly, that, by those measures, England would lose her colonies, as Epictetus warned in vain his master, that he would break his leg. You believed rather the tales you heard of our poltroonery, and impotence of body and mind. Don't you remember the story you told me of the Scotch sergeant, who met with a party of forty American soldiers, and, though alone, disarmed them all, and brought them in prisoners! A story almost as improbable as that of the Irishman, who pretended to have alone taken and brought in five of the enemy, by surrounding them. And yet, my friend, sensible and judicious as you are, but partaking of the general infatuation, you seem to believe it. The word general puts me in mind of a general, your general Clark, who had the folly to say, in my hearing, at sir John Pringle's, that with a thousand British grenadiers, he would undertake to go from one end of America to the other, and geld all the males. It is plain, he took us for a species of animals very little superior to brutes. The parliament, too, believed the stories of another foolish general, I forget his name, that the Yankees never felt bold. Yankee was understood to be a sort of Yahoo, and the parliament did not think the petitions of such creatures were fit to be received and read in so wise an assembly. What was the consequence of this monstrous pride and insolence! You first sent small armies to subdue us, believing them more than sufficient, but soon found yourselves obliged to send greater; these, whenever they ventured out of sight of their ships, were either obliged to scamper, or were beaten and taken prisoners. An American planter, who had never seen Europe, was chosen by us to command our troops, and continued during the whole war. This man sent home to you, one after another, five of your best generals, baffled, their heads bare of laurels, disgraced even in the opinion of their employers. Your contempt of our understandings, in comparison with your own, appeared to be not much better founded than that of our courage, if we may judge by this circumstance, that in whatever court of Europe a Yankee negotiator appeared, the wise British minister was routed,—put in a passion,—picked a quarrel with your friends,—and was sent home with a flea in his ear. But after all, my dear friend, do not imagine that I am vain enough to ascribe our success to any superiority in any of those points. I am too well acquainted with all the springs and levers of our machine, not to see that our human means were unequal to our undertaking, and that, if it had not been for the justice of our cause, and the consequent interposition of Providence, in which we had faith, we must have been ruined. If I had ever before been an Atheist, I should now have been convinced of the being and government of a Deity! It is HE who "abases the proud, and exalts the humble." May we never forget his goodness to us, and may our future conduct manifest our gratitude!

B. FRANKLIN.

Now, can any honest man, after this, entertain a doubt that Dr. Franklin was indeed, "in practice very much a christian."

I am aware that some, good men have been offended, and I may add, grieved too, that Dr. Franklin should ever have spoken slightingly of faith, &c. But these gentlemen may rest assured, that Dr. Franklin did this only to keep people from laying such stress on faith, &c. as to neglect what is infinitely more important, even Love and Good Works. And in this grand view, do not the holy apostles, and even Christ himself treat these things in the same way? Every where speaking of "faith and baptism and long prayers," when attempted to be put in place of love and good works, as mere "beggarly elements," and even "damning hypocrisies." However, let honest men read the following letter on the subject, by Dr. Franklin himself. While it serves to remove their doubts and prejudices, it may go to prove that if he had errors in religion, they were not the errors of the heart, nor likely to do any harm in the world; but contrariwise, to make us all much better christians, and happier men, than we are.

The letter is in answer to one from an illustrious foreigner; who, on a trip to Philadelphia, made Dr. Franklin a visit. The doctor, for some malady, advised him to try electricity; and actually gave him several shocks. He had not long been gone, before he wrote Dr. Franklin a most flattering account of the effects of his electricity—begged him to be assured he should never forget such kindness—and concluded with praying that they might both have grace to live a life of Faith, that if they were never to meet again in this world, they might at last meet in heaven.

DR. FRANKLIN'S ANSWER.

Philadelphia, June 6, 1753.

Sir,

I received your kind letter of the 2d instant, and am glad that you increase in strength; I hope you will continue mending till you recover your former health.

As to the kindness you mention, the only thanks I desire is, that you would always be equally ready to serve any other person that may need your assistance, and so let good offices go round, for mankind are all of a family.

For my own part, when I am employed in serving others, I do not look upon myself as conferring favours, but as paying debts. In my travels, and since my settlement, I have received much kindness from men, to whom I shall never have any opportunity of making the least direct return—and numberless mercies from God, who is infinitely above being benefitted by our services. The kindness from men, I can, therefore, only return on their fellow men, and I can only show my gratitude for those mercies from God, by a readiness to help his other children, and my brethren. For I do not think that thanks and compliments, though repeated weekly, can discharge our real obligations to each other, and much less those to our Creator. You will see in this, my notion of good works; that I am far from expecting, as you suppose, to merit heaven by them. By heaven, we understand a state of happiness; infinite in degree, and eternal in duration. I can do nothing to deserve such rewards. He that, for giving a draught of water to a thirsty person, should expect to be paid with a good plantation, would be modest in his demands, compared with those who think they deserve heaven for the little good they do on earth. Even the mixed imperfect pleasures we enjoy in this world, are rather from God's goodness, than our merit; how much more such happiness as heaven. For my part, I have not the vanity to think I deserve it, the folly to expect it, nor the ambition to desire it; but content myself in submitting to the will and disposal of that God who made me—who has hitherto preserved and blessed me—and in whose fatherly goodness I may well confide, that he will never make me miserable—and that even the afflictions I may at any time suffer shall tend to my benefit.

The faith you mention has, doubtless, its use in the world. I do not desire to see it diminished. But I wish it were more productive of good works than I have generally seen it, I mean real good works; works of kindness, charity, mercy, and public spirit; not holiday keeping, sermon reading or hearing, performing church ceremonies, or making long prayers, filled with flatteries and compliments, despised even by wise men, and much less capable of pleasing the Deity. The worship of God is a duty; the hearing and reading of sermons may be useful; but if men rest in hearing and praying, as too many do, it is as if a tree should value itself on being watered and putting forth leaves, though it never produced any fruit. Your great master thought much less of these outward appearances and professions than many of his modern disciples. He preferred the doers of the word to the mere hearers; the son that seemingly refused to obey his father, and yet performed his commands, to him that professed his readiness, but neglected the work; the heretical but charitable Samaritan, to the uncharitable though orthodox priest and sanctified Levite: and those who gave food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, raiment to the naked, entertainment to the stranger, and relief to the sick, though they never heard of his name, he declares they shall in the last day be accepted, when those who cry Lord, Lord, who value themselves on their faith, though great enough to perform miracles, but have neglected good works, shall be rejected. He professed he came "not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance," which implied his modest opinion, that there were some in his time so good, that they needed not to hear even him for improvement; but now-a-days, we have scarce a little parson that does not think it the duty of every man within his reach, to think exactly as he does, and that all dissenters offend God. I wish to such more humility, and to you health and happiness, being

Your friend and servant,

B. FRANKLIN.

What but the spirit of immortal love, which, not content with doing much good in life, fondly looks beyond, and feasts on the happiness that others are to derive from us long after we have ceased to live on earth; what, I ask, but that love, could have dictated

DR. FRANKLIN'S WILL.

"When thou makest a feast, call not thy rich neighbours: lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee.

"But when thou makest a feast, call the poor; and thou shalt be blessed. For they cannot recompense thee, for thou shall be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.

"Luke, xiv."

Sentiments divinely sublime!—Who, without emotions indescribable, can read them! And yet if they were lost from the Bible, they might be found again in the Will of Benjamin Franklin.

While many others "rise early, and late take rest, and eat the bread of labour and care," that they may "die rich"—leaving their massy treasures, some scanty legacies excepted, to corrupt a few proud relatives, doctor Franklin acted as though the above text, the true sublime of wisdom and benevolence, was before him.

After having bequeathed his books, a most voluminous and valuable collection, partly to his family, and partly to the Boston and Philadelphia philosophical societies; and, after having divided a handsome competence among his children, and grand children, he goes on as follows:

"I. Having owed my first instructions in literature to the free grammar schools in Boston, I give one hundred pounds sterling to the free schools in that town, to be laid out in silver medals as honorary rewards for the encouragement of scholarship in those schools.

"II. All the debts to my post-office establishment, which I held many years, I leave to the Philadelphia hospital.

"III. Having always been of opinion, that in democratical governments, there ought to be no offices of great profit, I have long determined to give a part of my public salary to public uses; and being chiefly indebted to Massachusetts, my native state, and Pennsylvania, my adopted state, for lucrative employments, I feel it my duty to remember them; and having from long observation, and my own early experience, discovered that the best objects for assistance are indigent young persons, and the best modes of assistance, a plain education, a good trade, and a little money to set them up; and having been set up in business, while a poor boy, in Philadelphia, by kind loans of money from two friends there, which was the foundation of my fortune and all the usefulness that the world ascribed to me, I feel a wish to be useful, after my death, to others, in the loans of money; I therefore devote, from the savings of my salaries, the following sums, to the following persons and uses:

"1. To the inhabitants of Boston and Philadelphia, one thousand pounds sterling to each city, to be let out by the oldest divines of different churches, on a five per cent. interest and good security, to indigent young tradesmen, not bachelors, (as they have not deserved much from their country and the feebler sex,) but married men."

"2. No borrower to have more than sixty pounds sterling, nor less than fifteen."

"3. And in order to serve as many as possible in their turn, as well as to make the payment of the principal borrowed more easy, each borrower shall be obliged to pay, with the yearly interest, one tenth part of the principal; which sums of principal and interest, so paid, shall be again lent out to fresh borrowers.

"B. FRANKLIN."

In a late Boston paper, the friends of humanity have read with much pleasure that doctor Franklin's legacy to the indigent young married tradesmen of that town, of $4444 44 cents, is now increased to $10,902 28 cents, after having been the means of setting up 206 poor young men, besides 75 others, who are now in the use of the capital.

CHAPTER XLV.

The Death of Doctor Franklin.

One cannot read the biography of this great man without being put in mind of those sweet though simple strains of the bard of Zion.

The latter end of doctor Franklin affords glorious proof that nothing so softens the bed of sickness, and brightens the gloom of the grave, as a life spent in works of love to mankind.

See George Washington, who by an active and disinterested benevolence, was called "The Father of his Country." See Martha Washington, who by domestic virtues, and extensive charities, obtained to herself the high character of "the Mother to the Poor."—Both of these found the last bed spread as it were with roses; and the last enemy converted into a friend. Such is the lot of all who love; "not in word, but in deed and in truth."

The friends of doctor Franklin never entered his chamber without being struck with this precious text, "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace." Though laid on the bed whence he is to rise no more, he shows no sign of dejection or defeat. On the contrary, he appears like an aged warrior reposing himself after glorious victory; while his looks beaming with benevolence, express an air pure and serene as the Heaven to which he is going. Death, which most sick people are so unwilling to mention, was to him a favourite topic, and the sublime conversations of Socrates on that great subject, were heard a second time, from the lips of our American Franklin, pregnant with "immortality and eternal life." No wonder then that with such views doctor Franklin should have been so cheerful on his dying bed; so self-possessed and calm, even under the tortures of the gravel, which was wearing him down to the grave. "Don't go away," said he to the Rev. Dr. Colline, of the Swedes' church, Philadelphia, who, as a friend, was much with him in his last illness, and at sight of his agonies and cold sweats under the fits of the gravel, would take up his hat to retire—"O no! don't go away," he would say, "don't go away. These pains will soon be over. They are for my good. And besides, what are the pains of a moment in comparison of the pleasures of eternity."

Blest with an excellent constitution, well nursed by nature's three great physicians, temperance, exercise, and cheerfulness, he was hardly ever sick until after his seventy-sixth year. The gout and gravel then attacked him with great severity. He bore their excruciating tortures as became one who habitually felt that he was as he said, in the hands of an infinitely wise and benevolent being, who did all things right.

His physician, the celebrated Dr. Jones, published the following account of his last illness.

"The stone, had for the last twelve months confined him chiefly to his bed; and during the extreme painful paroxysms, he was obliged to take large doses of laudanum to mitigate his tortures—still in the intervals of pain, he not only amused himself with reading and conversing with his family, and his friends who visited him, but was often employed in doing business of a public as well as private nature, with various persons who waited on him for that purpose, and in every instance displayed, not only that readiness of doing good, which was the distinguishing characteristic of his life, but the fullest possession of his uncommon mental abilities; and not unfrequently indulged himself in those flashes of wit and entertaining anecdotes, which were the delight of all who heard him.