Persons subject to the hyp complain of the north east wind as increasing their malady. But since you promised to send me kisses in that wind, and I find you as good as your word, ’tis to me the gayest wind that blows, and gives me the best spirits. I write this during a n. East storm of snow, the greatest we have had this winter: your favors come mixed with the snowy fleeces which are pure as your virgin innocence, white as your lovely bosom,—and as cold:—but let it warm towards some worthy young man, and may heaven bless you both with every kind of happiness.
I desired Miss Anna Ward to send you over a little book I left with her; for your amusement in that lonely island. My respects to your good father and mother, and sister unknown. Let me often hear of your welfare, since it is not likely I shall ever again have the pleasure of seeing you. Accept mine, and my wife’s sincere thanks for the many civilities I received from you and your relations; and do me the justice to believe me, dear girl, your affectionate faithful friend and humble servant.
My respectful compliments to your good brother Ward, and sister; and to the agreeable family of the Wards at Newport when you see them. Adieu.
TO CATHARINE RAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1755
Begone, business, for an hour, at least, and let me chat a little with my Katy.
I have now before me, my dear girl, three of your favors, viz. of march the 3d. March the 30th. And May the 1st. The first I received just before I set out on a long journey and the others while I was on that journey, which held me near six weeks. Since my return, I have been in such a perpetual hurry of public affairs of various kinds, as rendered it impracticable for me to keep up my private correspondences, even those that afforded me the greatest pleasure.
You ask in your last, how I do, and what I am doing, and whether every body loves me yet, and why I make them do so? In the first place, I am so well. Thanks to God, that I do not remember I was ever better. I still relish all the pleasures of life that a temperate man can in reason desire, and thro favor I have them all in my power. This happy situation shall continue as long as God pleases, who knows what is best for his creatures, and I hope will enable me to bear with patience and dutiful submission any change he may think fit to make that is less agreeable. As to the second question, I must confess, (but don’t you be jealous) that many more people love me now than ever did before: for since I saw you, I have been enabled to do some general services to the country, and to the army, for which both have thanked and praised me; and say they love me; they say so, as you used to do; and if I were to ask any favors of them, would, perhaps, as readily refuse me: so that I find little real advantage in being beloved, but it pleases my humor.
Now it is near four months since I have been favored with a single line from you; but I will not be angry with you, because ’tis my fault. I ran in debt to you three or four letters, and as I did not pay, you would not trust me any more, and you had some reason: but believe me, I am honest, and though I should never make equal returns, you shall see ill keep fair accounts. Equal returns I can never make, though I should write to you by every post: for the pleasure I receive from one of yours, is more than you can have from two of mine. The small news, the domestic occurrences among our friends, the natural pictures you draw of persons, the sensible observations and reflections you make, and the easy chatty manner in which you express every thing, all contribute to heighten the pleasure; and the more, as they remind me of those hours and miles that we talked away so agreeably, even in a winter journey, a wrong road, and a soaking shower.
I long to hear whether you have continued ever since in that monastery; or have broke into the world again, doing pretty mischief; how the lady Wards do, and how many of them are married, or about it; what is become of Mr. B. And Mr. L. And what the state of your heart is at this instant? But that, perhaps I ought not to know; and therefore I will not conjure, as you sometimes say I do. If I could conjure, it should be to know what was that oddest question about me that ever was thought of, which you tell me a lady had just sent to ask you.
I commend your prudent resolutions in the article of granting favors to lovers: but if I were courting you, I could not heartily approve such conduct. I should even be malicious enough to say you were too knowing, and tell you the old story of the girl and the miller.
I enclose you the songs you write for, and with them your Spanish letter with a translation. I honor that honest Spaniard for loving you: it showed the goodness of his taste and judgment. But you must forget him, and bless some worthy young Englishman.
You have spun a long thread, 5022 yards! It will reach almost from Block Island hither. I wish I had hold of one end of it, to pull you to me: but you would break it rather than come. The cords of love and friendship are longer and stronger, and in times past have drawn me farther; even back from England to Philadelphia. I guess that some of the same kind will one day draw you out of that island.
I was extremely pleased with the turff you sent me. The Irish people who have seen it, say, ’tis the right sort; but I cannot learn that we have anything like it here. The cheeses, particularly one of them, were excellent: all our friends have tasted it, and all agree that it exceeds any English cheese they ever tasted. Mrs. Franklin was very proud, that a young lady should have so much regard for her old husband, as to send him such a present. We talk of you every time it comes to table; she is sure you are a sensible girl, and a notable housewife; and talks of bequeathing me to you as a legacy; but I ought to wish you a better, and hope she will live these 100 years; for we are grown old together, and if she has any faults, I am so used to them that I don’t perceive them, as the song says,
Some faults we have all, and so may my Joan,
But then they’re exceedingly small;
And now I’m used to them they’re just like my own,
I scarcely can see them at all,
My dear friends,
I scarcely can see them at all.
Indeed I begin to think she has none, as I think of you. And since she is willing I should love you as much as you are willing to be loved by me; let us join in wishing the old lady a long life and a happy.
With her respectful compliments to your good mother and sisters, present mine, though unknown, and believe me to be, dear girl, your affectionate friend and humble servant,
B. Franklin
TO CATHARINE RAY, OCTOBER 16, 1755
Dear Katy,
Your favor of the 28th of June came to hand but the 28th of September, just 3 months after it was written. I had, two weeks before, wrote you a long chat, and sent it to the care of your brother Ward. I hear you are now in Boston, gay and lovely as usual. Let me give you some fatherly advice. Kill no more pigeons than you can eat. Be a good girl, and don’t forget your catechize. Go constantly to meeting—or church—till you get a good husband; then stay at home, and nurse the children, and live like a Christian. Spend your spare hours, in sober whisk, prayers, or learning to cipher. You must practice addition to your husband’s estate, by industry and frugality; subtraction of all unnecessary expenses; multiplication (I would gladly have taught you that myself, but you thought it was time enough, and wouldn’t learn) he will soon make you a mistress of it. As to division, I say with brother Paul, let there be no divisions among ye. But as your good sister Hubbard (my love to her) is well acquainted with the rule of two, I hope you will become as expert in the rule of three; that when I have again the pleasure of seeing you, I may find you like my grape vine, surrounded with clusters, plump, juicy, blushing, pretty little rogues, like their mama. Adieu. The bell rings, and I must go among the grave ones, and talk politics.
Your affectionate friend,
B. Franklin
P.S. The plums came safe, and were so sweet from the cause you mentioned, that I could scarce taste the sugar.
A Parable on Intolerance
As an apostle of tolerance, Franklin found many ways to express his disdain for religious persecution. Not surprisingly, he often used his favorite devices of the hoa
x or parody. One of these was a fabricated chapter of the Bible, which he wrote in 1755. Four years later, he was visiting Scotland where he stayed at the manor of Sir Alexander Dick, a renowned physician and scientist, and there he met the greats of the Scottish Enlightenment: the economist Adam Smith, the philosopher David Hume, and the jurist and historian Lord Kames. He read them his parable, which so amused his companions that he sent them all copies.
1755
CHAP. XXVII
1. And it came to pass after these Things, that Abraham sat in the Door of his Tent, about the going down of the Sun.
2. And behold a Man, bowed with Age, came from the Way of the Wilderness, leaning on a Staff.
3. And Abraham arose and met him, and said unto him, Turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy Feet, and tarry all Night, and thou shalt arise early on the Morrow, and go on thy Way.
4. And the Man said, Nay, for I will abide under this Tree.
5. But Abraham pressed him greatly; so he turned, and they went into the Tent; and Abraham baked unleavened Bread, and they did eat.
6. And when Abraham saw that the Man blessed not God, he said unto him, Wherefore dost thou not worship the most high God, Creator of Heaven and Earth?
7. And the Man answered and said, I do not worship the God thou speakest of; neither do I call upon his Name; for I have made to myself a God, which abideth always in mine House, and provideth me with all Things.
8. And Abraham’s Zeal was kindled against the Man; and he arose, and fell upon him, and drove him forth with Blows into the Wilderness.
9. And at Midnight God called unto Abraham, saying, Abraham, where is the Stranger?
10. And Abraham answered and said, Lord, he would not worship thee, neither would he call upon thy Name; therefore have I driven him out from before my Face into the Wilderness.
11. And God said, Have I born with him these hundred ninety and eight Years, and nourished him, and clothed him, notwithstanding his Rebellion against me, and couldst not thou, that art thyself a Sinner, bear with him one Night?
12. And Abraham said, Let not the Anger of my Lord wax hot against his Servant. Lo, I have sinned; forgive me, I pray Thee:
13. And Abraham arose and went forth into the Wilderness, and sought diligently for the Man, and found him, and returned with him to his Tent; and when he had entreated him kindly, he sent him away on the Morrow with Gifts.
14. And God spake again unto Abraham, saying, For this thy Sin shall thy Seed be afflicted four Hundred Years in a strange Land:
15. But for thy Repentance will I deliver them; and they shall come forth with Power, and with Gladness of Heart, and with much Substance.
The Way to Wealth:
The Sayings of Poor Richard
In the summer of 1757, Franklin was sent to London as an envoy for the Pennsylvania Assembly to lobby against the taxation policies of the Penn family, the proprietors who ran the colony, On his voyage over, he wrote the preface to what would be his final edition of Poor Richard’s Almanac. In it he invented a character named Father Abraham who gives a speech that strings together all of the best and most famous maxims that Poor Richard had sprinkled in the margins of his almanacs over the years. Franklin’s wry tone was, even then, still intact. Poor Richard, who is standing in the back of the crowd, reports at the end: “The people heard it, and approved the doctrine, and immediately practiced the contrary.” Father Abraham’s speech was soon published as The Way to Wealth and became, for a time, the most famous book to come out of colonial America. Within 40 years, it was reprinted in 145 editions and seven languages; the French one was entitled La Science du Bonhomme Richard.
JULY 7, 1757
Courteous Reader,
I have heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure, as to find his works respectfully quoted by other learned authors. This pleasure I have seldom enjoyed; for though’I have been, if I may say it without vanity, an eminent author of almanacs annually now a full quarter of a century, my brother authors in the same way, for what reason I know not, have ever been very sparing in their applauses; and no other author has taken the least notice of me, so that did not my writings produce me some solid pudding, the great deficiency of praise would have quite discouraged me.
I concluded at length, that the people were the best judges of my merit; for they buy my works; and besides, in my rambles, where I am not personally known, I have frequently heard one or other of my adages repeated, with, as Poor Richard says, at the end of it; this gave me some satisfaction, as it showed not only that my instructions were regarded, but discovered likewise some respect for my authority; and I own, that to encourage the practice of remembering and repeating those wise sentences, I have sometimes quoted myself with great gravity.
Judge then how much I must have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped my horse lately where a great number of people were collected at a vendue of merchant goods. The hour of sale not being come, they were conversing on the badness of the times, and one of the company called to a plain clean old man, with white locks, “Pray, Father Abraham, what think you of the times? Won’t these heavy taxes quite ruin the country? How shall we be ever able to pay them? What would you advise us to do?” Father Abraham stood up, and replied, “If you’d have my advice, I’ll give it you in short, for a word to the wise is enough, and many words won’t fill a bushel, as Poor Richard says.” They joined in desiring him to speak his mind, and gathering round him, he proceeded as follows:
“Friends, says he, and neighbors, the taxes are indeed very heavy, and if those laid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly, and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease or deliver us by allowing an abatement. However let us hearken to good advice, and something may be done for us; God helps them that help themselves, as Poor Richard says, in his almanac of 1733.
“It would be thought a hard government that should tax its people one tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service. But idleness taxes many of us much more, if we reckon all that is spent in absolute sloth, or doing of nothing, with that which is spent in idle employments or amusements, that amount to nothing. Sloth, by bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life. Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears, while the used key is always bright, as Poor Richard says. But dost thou love life, then do not squander time, for that’s the stuff life is made of, as Poor Richard says. How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep! forgetting that the sleeping fox catches no poultry, and that there will be sleeping enough in the grave, as Poor Richard says. If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be, as Poor Richard says, the greatest prodigality, since, as he elsewhere tells us, lost time is never found again, and what we call time-enough, always proves little enough: let us then be up and be doing, and doing to the purpose; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity. Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy, as Poor Richard says; and he that riseth late, must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night. While laziness travels so slowly, that poverty soon overtakes him, as we read in Poor Richard, who adds, drive thy business, let not that drive thee; and early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.
“So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times. We may make these times better if we bestir ourselves. Industry need not wish, as Poor Richard says, and he that lives upon hope will die fasting. There are no gains, without pains, then help hands, for I have no lands, or if I have, they are smartly taxed. And, as Poor Richard likewise observes, he that hath a trade hath an estate, and he that hath a calling hath an office of profit and honor; but then the trade must be worked at, and the calling well followed, or neither the estate, nor the office, will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious we
shall never starve; for, as Poor Richard says, at the working man’s house hunger looks in, but dares not enter. Nor will the bailiff nor the constable enter, for industry pays debts, while despair increaseth them, says Poor Richard. What though you have found no treasure, nor has any rich relation left you a legacy, diligence is the mother of good luck, as Poor Richard says, and God gives all things to industry. Then plough deep, while sluggards sleep, and you shall have corn to sell and to keep, says Poor Dick. Work while it is called today, for you know not how much you may be hindered tomorrow, which makes Poor Richard say, one today is worth two tomorrows; and farther, have you somewhat to do tomorrow, do it today. If you were a servant, would you not be ashamed that a good master should catch you idle? Are you then your own master, be ashamed to catch yourself idle, as Poor Dick says. When there is so much to be done for yourself, your family, your country, and your gracious king, be up by peep of day; let not the sun look down and say, inglorious here he lies. Handle your tools without mittens; remember that the cat in gloves catches no mice, as Poor Richard says. ’Tis true there is much to be done, and perhaps you are weak handed, but stick to it steadily, and you will see great effects, for constant dropping wears away stones, and by diligence and patience the mouse ate in two the cable; and little strokes fell great oaks, as Poor Richard says in his almanac, the year I cannot just now remember.
“Methinks I hear some of you say, must a man afford himself no leisure? I will tell thee, my friend, what Poor Richard says, employ thy time well if thou meanest to gain leisure; and, since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour. Leisure is time for doing something useful; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never; so that, as Poor Richard says, a life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things. Do you imagine that sloth will afford you more comfort than labor? No, for as Poor Richard says, trouble springs from idleness, and grievous toil from needless ease. Many without labor would live by their wits only, but they break for want of stock. Whereas industry gives comfort, and plenty, and respect: fly pleasures, and they’ll follow you. The diligent spinner has a large shift, and now I have a sheep and a cow, everybody bids me good morrow, all which is well said by Poor Richard.