MAKING CANDLES.
When Benjamin was ten years old he had acquired all the education his father thought he could afford to give him. He could write a very good hand, and read fluently, though his knowledge of arithmetic was very limited indeed.
"Are you about ready, Benjamin, to come into the shop and help me?"
inquired his father, at the dinner table.
"Am I not going to Mr. Brownwell"s school any longer?" he asked, instead of replying to his father"s question,--a Yankee-like way of doing things, truly.
"I think the close of this term will complete the education I am able to give you," replied his father. "You will fare, then, better than your brothers, in respect to schooling."
"I had rather not go into the shop," said Benjamin. "I think I shall not like to make candles, and I really wish you would engage in some other business."
"And starve, too," said his father. "In such times as these we must be willing to do what will insure us a livelihood. I know of no other business that would give me a living at present, certainly none that I am qualified to pursue."
Mr. Franklin was a dyer by trade, in England, and designed to continue it when he removed to America, about the year 1685. But he found, on arriving at Boston, that it would be quite impossible for him to support his family at this trade. The country was new, and the habits of the people were different from those of the English, so that the dyeing business could receive but little patronage. The next pursuit that presented itself, with fair promises of success, was that of "tallow-chandler and soap-boiler;" not so cleanly and popular a business as some, but yet necessary to be done, and very useful in its place; and this was enough for such a man as Mr. Franklin to know. He cared very little whether the trade was popular, so long as it was indispensable and useful. To him no business was dishonourable, if the wants of society absolutely demanded it.
"Well, I should rather make soap and candles than starve," said Benjamin; "but nothing else could make me willing to follow the business."
"One other thing ought to make you willing to do such work," added his father. "You had better do this than do nothing, for idleness is the parent of vice. Boys like you should be industrious, even if they do not earn their bread. It is better for them to work for nothing than not to work at all."
"I think they may save their strength till they can earn something,"
said Benjamin. "People must like to work better than I do, to work for nothing."
"You do not understand me," continued Mr. Franklin. "I mean to say, it is so important for the young to form industrious habits, that they had better work for nothing than to be idle. If they are idle when they are young, they will be so when they become men, and idleness will finally be their ruin. "The devil tempts all other men, but idle men tempt the devil," is an old and truthful proverb, and I hope you will never consent to verify it."
Mr. Franklin had been a close observer all his life, and he had noticed that industry was characteristic of those who accomplished anything commendable. Consequently he insisted that his children should have employment. He allowed no drones in his family hive. All had something to do as soon as they were old enough to toil. Under such influences Benjamin was reared, and he grew up to be as much in love with industry as his father was. Some of his best counsels, and most interesting sayings, when he became a man, related to this subject. The following are among the maxims which he uttered in his riper years:--
"Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labour wears; while the used key is always bright."
"But dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of."
"If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be the greatest prodigality."
"Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy; and he that ariseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night; while laziness travels so slowly, that poverty soon overtakes him."
"At the working man"s house hunger looks in, but dares not enter."
"Diligence is the mother of good luck, and G.o.d gives all things to industry."
"One to-day is worth two to-morrows."
"Drive thy business, let not thy business drive thee."
"G.o.d helps them that help themselves."
These are very beautiful and expressive sentences, and they show that Benjamin Franklin thought as much of industry in his manhood as his father did a quarter of a century before. Take the first, in which he compares slothfulness to rust, which will consume iron tools or machinery faster than their constant use will. As the use of a hoe or a spade keeps it polished, so the habitual exercise of the powers of human nature preserves them in a good condition. A key that is cast aside soon rusts, and is spoiled, but "the used key is always bright." It is more fit for use because it has been used.
How true it is that "hunger dare not enter the working-man"s house!"
By the sweat of his brow he earns his daily bread, and his children do not cry with hunger. It is the lazy man"s table that has no bread. His children rise up hungry, and go to bed supperless. G.o.d himself hath said, "If any would not work, neither should he eat."
"Diligence is the mother of good luck." Another gem of wisdom that commands our acquiescence. How common for the indolent to complain of "bad luck!" Their families need the necessaries of life, as both a scanty table and rent apparel bear witness, and they cast the blame upon "ill luck," "misfortune," "unavoidable circ.u.mstances," or something of the kind. Many men whose faces are reddened and blotched by intemperance, begotten in the barroom where they have worse than idled away days and weeks of precious time, are often heard to lament over their "bad luck," as if their laziness and intemperance were not the direct cause of their misery. But it is not often that the diligent experience "bad luck." They receive a reward for their labours, and thrift and honour attend their steps, according as it is written in the Bible: "The soul of the sluggard desireth, and _hath_ nothing; but the soul of the diligent shall be made fat. Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before mean men."
But we need not enlarge upon these sayings of Franklin. They are all charged with wisdom, and might be expanded into volumes. The more we study them, the more beauty we perceive.
It was settled that Benjamin should a.s.sist his father in the manufacture of candles, notwithstanding his disinclination to engage in the business. His prospects of more schooling were thus cut off at ten years of age, and now he was obliged to turn his attention to hard work. It was rather an unpromising future to a little boy. No more schooling after ten years of age! What small opportunities in comparison with those enjoyed by nearly every boy at the present day!
Now they are just beginning to learn at this early age. From ten they can look forward to six or eight years of golden opportunities in the school-room. Does the young reader appreciate the privileges which he enjoys?
"To-morrow for the work-shop, Benjamin!" exclaimed Mr. Franklin, with a tone of pleasantry, on the evening before he was initiated into the mysteries of making candles. "I am full of business, and need another hand very much at present."
"You can"t expect much help from me," said Benjamin, "till I learn how to do the work. So I am thinking you will continue to be hurried for a while, unless you have another hand besides me."
"You can do what I shall set you about just as well as a boy, or even a man, who had worked at the business for a year."
"I wonder what that can be, that is so easy!" added Benjamin, with some surprise.
"You can cut the wicks, fill the moulds for cast-candles, keep the shop in order, run hither and thither upon errands, and do other things that will save my time, and thus a.s.sist me just as much as a man could in doing the same things."
"I am sure," said Mrs. Franklin, who had been listening to the conversation attentively, "that is inducement enough for any boy, but a lazy one, to work. You can make yourself about as useful to your father as a man whom he would have to pay high wages."
"You will aid me just as much in going errands," said his father, "as in doing anything else. I have a good deal of such running to do, and if you do it, I can be employed in the more important part of my business, which no one else can attend to. Besides, your nimble feet can get over the ground much quicker than my older and clumsier ones, so that you can really perform this part of the business better than I can myself."
Benjamin made no reply to these last remarks, although he was more favourably impressed, after hearing them, with the tallow-chandler"s calling. On the following day he entered upon his new vocation, and, if "variety is the spice of life," then his first day in the shop had a plenty of spice. The shop was situated at the corner of Hanover and Union Streets, having the sign of a large blue ball, bearing the inscription:
1698 JOSIAS FRANKLIN 1698.
He cut wicks, filled moulds, performed errands, and played the part of general waiter, in which there was much variety. And this was his work for successive weeks, very little of his time running to waste. Do you ask how he likes it? The following conversation with his mother will answer.
"I don"t like it at all, mother,--no better than I thought I should,"
he said. "I wish I could do something else."
"What else is there for you to do, Benjamin?" replied his mother.
"What would you like to do?"
"I would like to go to sea."
"Go to see what?" she inquired, as if she did not understand him at first.
"Go on a voyage to Europe, or the East Indies."
"What!" exclaimed his mother, exhibiting surprise, for she had not dreamed that her son had any inclination to go to sea. "Want to be a sailor? What put that into your head?"
"I have always thought I should like to go to sea," he answered; "and I am so tired of making candles that I want to go now more than ever."
"I am astonished, Benjamin. You might know that I should never give my consent to that. I should almost as lief bury you. And how can you want to leave your good home, and all your friends, to live in a ship, exposed to storms and death all the time?"
"It is not because I do not love my home and friends, but I have a desire to sail on a voyage to some other country. I like the water, and nothing would suit me so well as to be a cabin-boy."