Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
Having emerged from the poverty and obscurity in which I was born and
bred, to a state of affluence and some degree of reputation in the
world, and having gone so far through life with a considerable share
of felicity, the conducing means I made use of, which with the
blessing of God so well succeeded, my posterity may like to know, as
they may find some of them suitable to their own situations, and
therefore fit to be imitated.
[3] A small village not far from Winchester in
Hampshire, southern England. Here was the country seat
of the Bishop of St. Asaph, Dr. Jonathan Shipley, the
"good Bishop," as Dr. Franklin used to style him. Their
relations were intimate and confidential. In his pulpit,
and in the House of Lords, as well as in society, the
bishop always opposed the harsh measures of the Crown
toward the Colonies.--Bigelow.
That felicity, when I reflected on it, has induced me sometimes to
say, that were it offered to my choice, I should have no objection to
a repetition of the same life from its beginning, only asking the
advantages authors have in a second edition to correct some faults of
the first. So I might, besides correcting the faults, change some
sinister accidents and events of it for others more favourable. But
though this were denied, I should still accept the offer. Since such a
repetition is not to be expected, the next thing most like living
one's life over again seems to be a recollection of that life, and to
make that recollection as durable as possible by putting it down in
writing.
Hereby, too, I shall indulge the inclination so natural in old men, to
be talking of themselves and their own past actions; and I shall
indulge it without being tiresome to others, who, through respect to
age, might conceive themselves obliged to give me a hearing, since
this may be read or not as anyone pleases. And, lastly (I may as well
confess it, since my denial of it will be believed by nobody), perhaps
I shall a good deal gratify my own _vanity_.[4] Indeed, I scarce ever
heard or saw the introductory words, "_Without vanity I may say_,"
etc., but some vain thing immediately followed. Most people dislike
vanity in others, whatever share they have of it themselves; but I
give it fair quarter wherever I meet with it, being persuaded that it
is often productive of good to the possessor, and to others that are
within his sphere of action; and therefore, in many cases, it would
not be altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his vanity
among the other comforts of life.
[4] In this connection Woodrow Wilson says, "And yet the
surprising and delightful thing about this book (the
_Autobiography_) is that, take it all in all, it has not
the low tone of conceit, but is a staunch man's sober
and unaffected assessment of himself and the
circumstances of his career."
Gibbon and Hume, the great British historians, who were
contemporaries of Franklin, express in their
autobiographies the same feeling about the propriety of
just self-praise.
And now I speak of thanking God, I desire with all humility to
acknowledge that I owe the mentioned happiness of my past life to His
kind providence, which lead me to the means I used and gave them
success. My belief of this induces me to _hope_, though I must not
_presume_, that the same goodness will still be exercised toward me,
in continuing that happiness, or enabling me to bear a fatal reverse,
which I may experience as others have done; the complexion of my
future fortune being known to Him only in whose power it is to bless
to us even our afflictions.
The notes one of my uncles (who had the same kind of curiosity in
collecting family anecdotes) once put into my hands, furnished me with
several particulars relating to our ancestors. From these notes I
learned that the family had lived in the same village, Ecton, in
Northamptonshire,[5] for three hundred years, and how much longer he
knew not (perhaps from the time when the name of Franklin, that before
was the name of an order of people,[6] was assumed by them as a
surname when others took surnames all over the kingdom), on a freehold
of about thirty acres, aided by the smith's business, which had
continued in the family till his time, the eldest son being always
bred to that business; a custom which he and my father followed as to
their eldest sons. When I searched the registers at Ecton, I found an
account of their births, marriages and burials from the year 1555
only, there being no registers kept in that parish at any time
preceding. By that register I perceived that I was the youngest son of
the youngest son for five generations back. My grandfather Thomas, who
was born in 1598, lived at Ecton till he grew too old to follow
business longer, when he went to live with his son John, a dyer at
Banbury, in Oxfordshire, with whom my father served an apprenticeship.
There my grandfather died and lies buried. We saw his gravestone in
1758. His eldest son Thomas lived in the house at Ecton, and left it
with the land to his only child, a daughter, who, with her husband,
one Fisher, of Wellingborough, sold it to Mr. Isted, now lord of the
manor there. My grandfather had four sons that grew up, viz.: Thomas,
John, Benjamin and Josiah. I will give you what account I can of them
at this distance from my papers, and if these are not lost in my
absence, you will among them find many more particulars.
[5] See _Introduction_.
[6] A small landowner.
Thomas was bred a smith under his father; but, being ingenious, and
encouraged in learning (as all my brothers were) by an Esquire Palmer,
then the principal gentleman in that parish, he qualified himself for
the business of scrivener; became a considerable man in the county;
was a chief mover of all public-spirited undertakings for the county
or town of Northampton, and his own village, of which many instances
were related of him; and much taken notice of and patronized by the
then Lord Halifax. He died in 1702, January 6, old style,[7] just four
years to a day before I was born. The account we received of his life
and character from some old people at Ecton, I remember, struck you as
something extraordinary, from its similarity to what you knew of mine.
"Had he died on the same day," you said, "one might have supposed a
transmigration."
[7] January 17, new style. This change in the calendar
was made in 1582 by Pope Gregory XIII, and adopted in
England in 1752. Every year whose number in the common
reckoning since Christ is not divisible by 4, as well as
every year whose number is divisible by 100 but not by
400, shall have 365 days, and all other years shall have
366 days. In the eighteenth century there was a
difference of eleven days between the old and the new
style of reckoning, which the English Parliament
canceled by making the 3rd of September, 1752, the 14th.
The Julian calendar, or "old style," is still retained
in Russia and Greece, whose dates consequently are now
13 days behind those of other Christian countries.
John was bred a dyer, I believe of woollens, Benjamin was bred a silk
dyer, serving an apprenticeship at London. He was an ingenious man. I
remember him well, for when I was a boy he came over to my father in
Boston, and lived in the house with us some years. He lived to a
great age. His grandson, Samuel Franklin, now lives in Boston. He left
behind him two quarto volumes, MS., of his own poetry, consisting of
little occasional pieces addressed to his friends and relations, of
which the following, sent to me, is a specimen.[8] He had formed a
short-hand of his own, which he taught me, but, never practising it, I
have now forgot it. I was named after this uncle, there being a
particular affection between him and my father. He was very pious, a
great attender of sermons of the best preachers, which he took down in
his short-hand, and had with him many volumes of them. He was also
much of a politician; too much, perhaps, for his station. There fell
lately into my hands, in London, a collection he had made of all the
principal pamphlets relating to public affairs, from 1641 to 1717;
many of the volumes are wanting as appears by the numbering, but
there still remain eight volumes in folio, and twenty-four in quarto
and in octavo. A dealer in old books met with them, and knowing me by
my sometimes buying of him, he brought them to me. It seems my uncle
must have left them here when he went to America, which was about
fifty years since. There are many of his notes in the margins.
[8] The specimen is not in the manuscript of the
_Autobiography_.
This obscure family of ours was early in the Reformation, and
continued Protestants through the reign of Queen Mary, when they were
sometimes in danger of trouble on account of their zeal against
popery. They had got an English Bible, and to conceal and secure it,
it was fastened open with tapes under and within the cover of a
joint-stool. When my great-great-grandfather read it to his family, he
turned up the joint-stool upon his knees, turning over the leaves then
under the tapes. One of the children stood at the door to give notice
if he saw the apparitor coming, who was an officer of the spiritual
court. In that case the stool was turned down again upon its feet,
when the Bible remained concealed under it as before. This anecdote I
had from my uncle Benjamin. The family continued all of the Church of
England till about the end of Charles the Second's reign, when some of
the ministers that had been outed for non-conformity, holding
conventicles[9] in Northamptonshire, Benjamin and Josiah adhered to
them, and so continued all their lives: the rest of the family
remained with the Episcopal Church.
[9] Secret gatherings of dissenters from the established
Church.
Josiah, my father, married young, and carried his wife with three
children into New England, about 1682. The conventicles having been
forbidden by law, and frequently disturbed, induced some considerable
men of his acquaintance to remove to that country, and he was
prevailed with to accompany them thither, where they expected to enjoy
their mode of religion with freedom. By the same wife he had four
children more born there, and by a second wife ten more, in all
seventeen; of which I remember thirteen sitting at one time at his
table, who all grew up to be men and women, and married; I was the
youngest son, and the youngest child but two, and was born in Boston,
New England.[10] My mother, the second wife, was Abiah Folger,
daughter of Peter Folger, one of the first settlers of New England, of
whom honorable mention is made by Cotton Mather,[11] in his church
history of that country, entitled _Magnalia Christi Americana_, as "_a
godly, learned Englishman_," if I remember the words rightly. I have
heard that he wrote sundry small occasional pieces, but only one of
them was printed, which I saw now many years since. It was written in
1675, in the home-spun verse of that time and people, and addressed to
those then concerned in the government there. It was in favour of
liberty of conscience, and in behalf of the Baptists, Quakers, and
other sectaries that had been under persecution, ascribing the Indian
wars, and other distresses that had befallen the country, to that
persecution, as so many judgments of God to punish so heinous an
offense, and exhorting a repeal of those uncharitable laws. The whole
appeared to me as written with a good deal of decent plainness and
manly freedom. The six concluding lines I remember, though I have
forgotten the two first of the stanza; but the purport of them was,