"Why, gentlemen," replied Ben, "don't you see me with great ease carry up and down stairs, a large form of letters in each hand; while you, with both hands, have much ado to carry one? And don't you perceive that these heavy weights which I bear produce no manner of change in my breathing, while you, with only half the weight, cannot mount the stairs without puffing and blowing most distressingly? Now is not this sufficient to prove that water, though apparently the weakest, is yet in reality the strongest liquor in nature, especially for the young and healthy?"
But alas! on most of them, this excellent logic was all thrown away.
"The ruling passion, be it what it will—
The ruling passion governs reason still."
Though they could not deny a syllable of Ben's reasoning, being often heard to say that, "the American Aquatic (or water drinker) as they called him, was much stronger than any of the beer drinkers," still they would drink.
"But suppose," asked some of them, "we were to quit our beer with bread and cheese for breakfast, what substitute should we have?"
"Why, use," said Ben, "the substitute that I do; which is a pint of nice oat-meal gruel brought to me from your beer-house, with a little butter, sugar and nutmeg, and a slice of dry toast. This, which is more palatable and still less costly than a pint of beer, makes a much better breakfast, and keeps the head clearer to boot. At dinner I take a cup of cold water, which is the wholesomest of all beverages, and requires nothing but a little use, to render it as pleasant. In this way, gentlemen, I save nine pence sterling every day, making in the year nearly three thousand pence! an enormous sum, let me tell you, my friends, to a small family; and which would not only save parents the disgrace of being dunned for trifling debts, but also procure a thousand comforts for the children."
Ben did not entirely lose his reward, several of his hearers affording him the unspeakable satisfaction of following his counsel. But the major part, "poor devils," as he emphatically styled them, "went on to drink—thus continuing all their lives in a state of voluntary poverty and wretchedness!!"
Many of them, for lack of punctuality to pay the publican, would often have their porter stopped.—They would then apply to Ben to become security for them, their light, as they called it, being out. I never heard that he upbraided them with their folly; but readily gave his word to the publican, though it cost him the trouble of attending at the pay-table, every Saturday night, to take up the sums he had made himself accountable for.
Thus, by virtue of the right education, i.e. a good trade, and early fondness for labour and books, did Ben rise, like a young swan of heaven, above the dark billows of adversity; and cover himself with glory in the eyes of these young Englishmen, who had at first been so prejudiced against him. And, better still, when night came, instead of sauntering with them to the filthy yet costly ale-houses and porter cellars, he hastened to his little chamber at his frugal boarding-house, (only 1s. 6d. per week) there to enjoy the divine society of his books, which he obtained on hire from a neighbouring book-store. And commanding, as he always did, through his steadiness and rapidity at work, all the quick off-hand jobs, generally the best paid, he might have made money and enjoyed great peace; but alas! there was a moth in his purse which kept him constantly poor; a canker in his peace which filled his life with vexation. That canker and that moth was his young friend Ralph, whom, as we have seen, he had made an infidel of in Philadelphia; and for which good office, Ralph, as we shall presently see, requited him as might have been expected.
CHAPTER XXVII
"Who reasons wisely, is not therefore wise;
His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies."
Some years ago a certain empiric whispered in the ear of a noble lord, in the British parliament, that he had made a wonderful discovery.
"Aye," replied the nobleman, staring; "a wonderful discovery, say you!"
"Yes, my lord, a wonderful discovery indeed! A discovery, my lord, beyond Gallileo, Friar Bacon, or even the great sir Isaac Newton himself."
"The d–l! what, beyond sir Isaac?"
"Yes, 'pon honour, my lord, beyond the great sir Isaac. 'Tis true his attractions and gravitations and all that, are well enough; very clever things to be sure, my lord; but still nothing in comparison of this."
"Zounds, man, what can it be?"
"Why, my lord—please come a little this way—now, in confidence, my lord—I've been such a lucky dog as to discover the wondrous art of raising a breed of sheep without wool!"
The nobleman, who, it is thought, was not very nearly related to Solomon, had like to have gone into fits. "What sir," asked he, with a countenance wild-staring with amazement, "a breed of sheep without wool! impossible!"
"Pardon me, my lord, it is very possible, very true. I have indeed, my lord, discovered the adorable art of raising a breed of sheep without a lock of wool on their backs! not a lock, my lord, any more than there is here on the back of my hand."
"Your fortune is made, sir," replied the nobleman, smacking his hands and lifting both them and his eyes to heaven as in ecstasy—"Your fortune is made for ever. Government, I am sure, sir, will not fail suitably to reward a discovery that will immortalize the British nation."
Accordingly, a motion to that purpose was made in the House of Lords, and the empiric was within an ace of being created a peer of the realm; when, most unfortunately, the duke of Devonshire, a district famed for sheep, got up and begged a little patience of the house until it could be fully understood what great benefit the nation was to derive from a flock of sheep without wool. "Why, zounds! my lords," said the noble duke, "I thought all along that wool was the main chance in a flock of sheep."
A most learned discussion ensued. And it being made apparent to the noble lords, that wool is actually the basis of broadcloths, flannels, and most other of the best British manufactures—and it being also made apparent to the noble lords, which was another great point gained, that two good things are better than one, i.e. that wool and mutton together, are better than mutton by itself, or wool by itself, the motion for a title was unanimously scouted: and in place of a pension the rascal had like to have got a prison, for daring thus to trump up a vile discovery that would have robbed the world of one its greatest comforts.
Just so, to my mind at least, it fares with all the boasted discoveries of our modern atheists. Admitting that these wonderful wizards could raise a nation of men and women without religion, as easily as this, their brother conjurer, could a breed of Merinos without wool—still we must ask cui bono? that is, what good would it be to the world? Supposing they could away at a dash, with all sense of so glorious a being as God, and all comfort of so mighty a hope as heaven, what benefit would it bring to man or beast?
But, God be praised, this dismal question about the consequence of discarding religion need not be asked at this time of day. These gentlemen without religion, like bell-wethers without wool, do so constantly betray their nakedness, I mean their want of morality, that the world, bad as it is, is getting ashamed of them. Here, for example, is master Ralph, who, for reasons abundantly convenient to himself, had accompanied Ben to London—Ben, as he himself confesses, had lent a liberal hand to make Ralph a sturdy infidel, that is, to free him from the restraints of the gospel. Now mark the precious fruits of this boasted freedom. Getting displeased with the parents of a poor girl, whom he had married, he determines to quit her for ever, as also a poor unoffending child he had by her, whom, by the ties of nature, he was bound to comfort and protect! Ben, though secretly abhorring this villany of Ralph, yet suffered himself to be so enamoured of his vivacity and wit, as to make him an inmate. "We were," says Ben, "inseparable companions." Very little cause had he, poor lad! as he himself owns afterwards, to boast of this connexion. But it was fine sport for Ralph; for having brought no money with him from America but what just sufficed to pay his passage, and knowing what a noble drudge Ben was, and also that he had with him fifteen pistoles, the fruits of his hard labours and savings in Philadelphia, he found it very convenient to hang upon him; not only boarding and lodging at his expense, and at his expense going to plays and concerts, but also frequently drawing on his dear yellow boys, the pistoles, for purposes of private pleasure.
If the reader should ask, how Ralph, even as a man of honour, could reconcile it to himself, thus to devour his friend, let me, in turn, ask what business had Ben to furnish Ralph the very alphabet and syntax of this abominable lesson against himself? And, if that should not be thought quite to the point, let me ask again, where, taking the fear of God out of the heart, is the difference between a man and a beast? If man has reason, it is only to make him ten-fold more a beast. Ralph, it is true, did no work; but what of that? He wrote such charming poetry—and spouted such fine plays—and talked so eloquently with Ben of nights!—and sure this was a good offset against Ben's hard labours and pistoles. At any rate Ralph thought so. Nay, more; he thought, in return for these sublime entertainments, Ben ought to support not only him, but also his concubine. Accordingly he went and scraped acquaintance with a handsome young widow, a milliner, in the next street: and what with reading his fine poetry to her, and spouting his plays, he got so completely into her good graces, that she presently turned actress too; and in the "comedy of errors," or "all for love," played her part so unluckily, that she was hissed from the stage, by all her virtuous acquaintance, and compelled to troop off with a big belly to another neighbourhood, where Ralph continued to visit her.
The reader will hardly wonder, when told that Ralph and his fair milliner soon found the bottom of Ben's purse. He will rather wonder what sort of love-powder it was that Ben took of this young man that could, for such a length of time, so fatally have befooled him. But Ben was first in the transgression. Like Alexander the coppersmith, he had done Ralph "much harm," and "God, who is wiser than all, had ordained that he should be "rewarded according to his works.
CHAPTER XXVIII
"Learn to be wise from others' ill,"
And you'll learn to do full well."
As nothing is so repellant of base minds as poverty, soon as Ralph found that Ben's pistoles were all gone, and his finances reduced to the beggarly ebb of living from hand to mouth, he "cleared out," and betook himself into the country to teach school, whence he was continually writing fine poetical epistles to Ben, not forgetting in every postscript, to put him in mind of his dear Dulcinea, the fair milliner, and to commend her to his kindness. As to Ben, he still persevered, after Ralph's departure, in his good old habits of industry and economy—never indulging in tobacco or gin—never sauntering to taverns or play houses, nor at any time laying out his money but on books, which he always visited, as frugal lovers do their sweethearts, at night. But still it would not all do. He could lay up nothing. The daily postage of Ralph's long poetical epistles, with the unceasing application of the poor milliner, kept his purse continually in a galloping consumption. At length he obtained a release from this unpleasant situation, though in a way that he himself never could think of afterwards without a blush.
After very frequent loans of money to her, she came, it seems, one night to his lodgings on the old errand—to borrow half a guinea! when Ben, who had been getting too fond of her, took this opportunity to offer freedoms which she highly resented.
This Ben tells himself, with a candour that will for ever do him credit among those who know that the confession of folly is the first step on the way to wisdom.
"Having, at that time," says he, "no ties of religion upon me, and taking advantage of her necessitous situation, I attempted liberties (another great error of my life,) which she repelled with becoming indignation. She informed Ralph; and the affair occasioned a breach between us. When he returned to London, he gave to understand that he considered all the obligations he owed me as annihilated by this proceeding; and that I was not to expect one farthing of all the monies I had lent him."
Ben used to say, many years afterwards, that this conduct of his friend Ralph put him in mind of an anecdote he had some where heard, of good old Gilbert Tenant: the same that George Whitefield generally called hell-fire Tenant. This eminent divine, believing fear to be a much stronger motive with the multitude than love, constantly made a great run upon that passion in all his discourses. And Boanerges himself could hardly have held a candle to him in this way. Nature had given him a countenance which he could, at will, clothe with all the terrors of the tornado. And besides he had a talent for painting the scenes of dread perdition in such colours, that when aided by the lightning of his eyes, and the bursting thunders of his voice, it was enough to start the soul of lion-hearted innocence; what then of rabbit-livered guilt? The truth is, he wrought miracles in New-Jersey: casting out devils—the devils of drunkenness, gambling, and lust, out of many a wretch possessed.
Among the thousands whom he thus frightened for their good, was a tame Indian of Woodbury, who generally went by the name of Indian-Dick. This poor savage, on hearing Mr. Tenant preach, was so terrified, that he fell down in the meeting house, and roared as if under the scalping knife.
He lost his stomach: and even his beloved bottle was forgotten. Old Mr. Tenant went to see Dick, and rejoiced over him as a son in the gospel;—heartily thanking God for adding this Indian Gem to the crown of his glory.
Not many days after this, the man of God took his journey through the south counties of New-Jersey, calling the poor clam-catchers of Cape May to repentance. As he returned and drew near to Woodbury, lo! a great multitude! He rejoiced in spirit, as hoping that it was a meeting of the people to hear the word of God: but the uproar bursting upon his ear, put him in doubt.
"Surely," said he, "this is not the voice of praise; 'tis rather, I fear, the noise of drunkenness." And so it was indeed; for it being a day of election, the friends of the candidates had dealt out their brandy so liberally that the street was filled with sots of every degree, from the simple stagger to the dead drunk. Among the rest, he beheld his Indian convert, poor Dick, under full sail in the street, reeling and hallooing, great as a sachem. Mr. Tenant strove hard to avoid him; but Dick, whose quick eye had caught the old pie-balled horse that Tenant rode on, instantly staggered towards him. Tenant put forth all his horsemanship to avoid the interview. He kicked old Pie-ball in one flank, and then in the other; pulled this rein and then that; laid on here with his staff, and laid on there; but all would not do; unless he could at once ride down the drunken beasts, there was no way of getting clear of them. So that Dick, half shaved as he was, soon got along side of old Pie-ball, whom he grappled by the rein with one hand, and stretching forth the other, bawled out, "how do? how do, Mr. Tenant?"
Tenant could not look at him.
Still, Dick, with his arm full extended, continued to bawl, "how do, Mr. Tenant, how do?" Finding that there was no getting clear of him, Mr. Tenant, red as crimson, lifted up his eyes on Dick, who still, bold as brandy, stammered out, "High, Mr. Tenant! d-d-d-don't you know me, Mr. Tenant? Don't you know Indian Dick? Why, sure, Mr. Tenant, you are the man that converted me?"
"I converted you!" replied Tenant, nearly fainting.
"Yes, roared Dick, I'll be d-d-d-nd, Mr. Tenant, if you an't the very man that converted me."
"Poor fellow!" said Tenant, with a heavy sigh, "you look like one of my handiworks. Had God Almighty converted you, you would have looked like another guess sort of a creature."
From Ben's constantly relating this story of old Tenant and Indian Dick, whenever he mentioned the aforesaid case of Ralph's baseness, many of his acquaintance were of opinion, that Ben thereby as good as acknowledged, that at the time he took Ralph in hand, he did not altogether understand the art of converting; or, that at any rate, it would have been much better for Ralph, if, as Mr, Tenant said of Indian Dick, God Almighty had converted him. He would hardly, for the sake of a harlot, have so basely treated his best friend and benefactor.
CHAPTER XXIX
Ben resolves to return to America. – Anecdote of a rare character.
"A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod,
An honest man's the noblest work of God."
Ben used, with singular pleasure, to relate the following story of his Quaker friend Denham. This excellent man had formerly been in business as a Bristol merchant; but failing, he compounded with his creditors and departed for America, where, by his extraordinary diligence and frugality, he acquired in a few years a considerable fortune. Returning to England, in the same ship with Ben, he invited all his old creditors to a dinner. After thanking them for their former kindness and assuring them that they should soon be paid, he begged them to take their seats at table. On turning up their plates, every man found his due, principal and interest, under his plate, in shining gold.
This was the man after Ben's own heart. Though he never found in Denham any of those flashes of wit, or floods of eloquence, which used so to dazzle him in Ralph, yet he contracted such a friendship for him, on account of his honesty and Quaker-like meekness, that he would often steal an hour from his books at night, to go and chat with him. And on the other hand, Ben's steady and persevering industry, with his passion for knowledge, had so exalted him in Denham's esteem, that he was never better pleased than when his young friend Franklin, as he always called him, came to see him. One night Denham asked Ben how he would like a trip to America?
"Nothing on earth would so please me," replied Ben, "if I could do it to advantage."
"Well, friend Benjamin," said Denham, "I am just a-going to make up a large assortment of goods for a store in Philadelphia, and if fifty pounds sterling a year, and bed and board with myself, will satisfy thee, I shall be happy of thy services to go and live with me as my clerk."
The memory of his dear Philadelphia, and the many happy days he had spent there, instantly sprung a something at his heart that reddened his cheeks with joy. But the saddening thought of his total unacquaintedness with commerce, soon turned them pale again. "I should be happy indeed to accompany you," replied he, with a deep sigh, "if I were but qualified to do you justice."
"O! as to that, friend Benjamin, don't be uneasy," replied Denham: "If thou art not qualified now, thou soon wilt be. And then as soon as thou art fit; I'll send thee with a cargo of corn and flour to the West Indies, and put thee in a way wherein, with such talents and industry as thine, thee may soon make a fortune."
Ben was highly delighted with this proposal, for though fifty pounds a year was not so much as he could earn at printing, yet the prospects in other respects were so much greater. Added to this, he was getting heartily tired of printing. He had tried it five years at Boston, three at Philadelphia, and now nearly two in London. At all these places he had worked without ceasing; had lived most sparingly; had left no stone unturned; and after all was now, in his twenty-first year, just as indigent as when he began! "Scurvy, starving business!" thought he to himself, "'tis high time to quit you! and God be thanked for this fair opportunity to do it; and now we will shake hands and part for ever." Taking leave now of the printing business, and as he believed and wished, for ever, he gave himself up entirely to his new occupation, constantly going from house to house with Denham, purchasing goods and packing them. When every thing was safe on board, he took a little leisure to visit his friends, and amuse himself. This was a rule which he observed through life—to do business first, and then enjoy pleasure without a sting.