True Stories From History and Biography (30 page)

But, when the constables were dismissed, the poor boys had to go through
another trial, and receive sentence, and suffer execution too, from their
own fathers. Many a rod I grieve to say, was worn to the stump, on that
unlucky night.

As for Ben, he was less afraid of a whipping than of his father's
disapprobation. Mr. Franklin, as I have mentioned before, was a sagacious
man, and also an inflexibly upright one. He had read much, for a person in
his rank of life, and had pondered upon the ways of the world, until he
had gained more wisdom than a whole library of books could have taught
him. Ben had a greater reverence for his father, than for any other person
in the world, as well on account of his spotless integrity, as of his
practical sense and deep views of things.

Consequently, after being released from the clutches of the law, Ben came
into his father's presence, with no small perturbation of mind.

"Benjamin, come hither," began Mr. Franklin, in his customary solemn and
weighty tone.

The boy approached, and stood before his father's chair, waiting
reverently to hear what judgment this good man would pass upon his late
offence. He felt that now the right and wrong of the whole matter would be
made to appear.

"Benjamin," said his father, "what could induce you to take property which
did not belong to you?"

"Why, father," replied Ben, hanging his head, at first, but then lifting
his eyes to Mr. Franklin's face, "if it had been merely for my own
benefit, I never should have dreamed of it. But I knew that the wharf
would be a public convenience. If the owner of the stones should build a
house with them, nobody will enjoy any advantage except himself. Now, I
made use of them in a way that was for the advantage of many persons. I
thought it right to aim at doing good to the greatest number."

"My son," said Mr. Franklin, solemnly, "so far as it was in your power,
you have done a greater harm to the public, than to the owner of the
stones."

"How can that be, father?" asked Ben.

"Because," answered his father, "in building your wharf with stolen
materials, you have committed a moral wrong. There is no more terrible
mistake, than to violate what is eternally right, for the sake of a
seeming expediency. Those who act upon such a principle, do the utmost in
their power to destroy all that is good in the world."

"Heaven forbid!" said Benjamin.

"No act," continued Mr. Franklin, "can possibly be for the benefit of the
public generally, which involves injustice to any individual. It would be
easy to prove this by examples. But, indeed, can we suppose that our
all-wise and just Creator would have so ordered the affairs of the world,
that a wrong act should be the true method of attaining a right end? It is
impious to think so! And I do verily believe, Benjamin, that almost all
the public and private misery of mankind arises from a neglect of this
great truth—that evil can produce only evil—that good ends must be wrought
out by good means."

"I will never forget it again," said Benjamin, bowing his head.

"Remember," concluded his father, "that, whenever we vary from the highest
rule of right, just so far we do an injury to the world. It may seem
otherwise for the moment; but, both in Time and in Eternity, it will be
found so."

To the close of his life, Ben Franklin never forgot this conversation with
his father; and we have reason to suppose, that in most of his public and
private career, he endeavored to act upon the principles which that good
and wise man had then taught him.

After the great event of building the wharf, Ben continued to cut
wick-yarn and fill candle-moulds for about two years. But, as he had no
love for that occupation, his father often took him to see various
artisans at their work, in order to discover what trade he would prefer.
Thus Ben learned the use of a great many tools, the knowledge of which
afterwards proved very useful to him. But he seemed much inclined to go to
sea. In order to keep him at home, and likewise to gratify his taste for
letters, the lad was bound apprentice to his elder brother, who had lately
set up a printing-office in Boston.

Here he had many opportunities of reading new books, and of hearing
instructive conversation. He exercised himself so successfully in writing
composition, that, when no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, he
became a contributor to his brother's newspaper. Ben was also a versifier,
if not a poet. He made two doleful ballads; one about the shipwreck of
Captain Worthilake, and the other about the pirate Black Beard, who not
long before, infested the American seas.

When Ben's verses were printed, his brother sent him to sell them to the
town's-people, wet from the press. "Buy my ballads!" shouted Benjamin, as
he trudged through the streets, with a basketful on his arm. "Who'll buy a
ballad about Black Beard? A penny a piece! a penny a piece! who'll buy my
ballads?"

If one of those roughly composed and rudely printed ballads could be
discovered now, it would be worth more than its weight in gold.

In this way our friend Benjamin spent his boyhood and youth, until, on
account of some disagreement with his brother, he left his native town and
went to Philadelphia. He landed in the latter city, a homeless and hungry
young man, and bought three-pence worth of bread to satisfy his appetite.
Not knowing where else to go, he entered a Quaker meeting-house, sat down,
and fell fast asleep. He has not told us whether his slumbers were visited
by any dreams. But it would have been a strange dream, indeed, and an
incredible one, that should have foretold how great a man he was destined
to become, and how much he would be honored in that very city, where he
was now friendless, and unknown.

So here we finish our story of the childhood of Benjamin Franklin. One of
these days, if you would know what he was in his manhood, you must read
his own works, and the history of American Independence.

"Do let us hear a little more of him!" said Edward; "not that I admire him
so much as many other characters; but he interests me, because he was a
Yankee boy."

"My dear son," replied Mr. Temple, "it would require a whole volume of
talk, to tell you all that is worth knowing about Benjamin Franklin. There
is a very pretty anecdote of his flying a kite in the midst of a
thunder-storm, and thus drawing down the lightning from the clouds, and
proving that it was the same thing as electricity. His whole life would be
an interesting story, if we had time to tell it."

"But, pray, dear father, tell us what made him so famous," said George. "I
have seen his portrait a great many times. There is a wooden bust of him
in one of our streets, and marble ones, I suppose, in some other places.
And towns, and ships of war, and steamboats, and banks, and academies, and
children, are often named after Franklin. Why should he have grown so very
famous?"

"Your question is a reasonable one, George," answered his father. "I doubt
whether Franklin's philosophical discoveries, important as they were, or
even his vast political services, would have given him all the fame which
he acquired. It appears to me that Poor Richard's Almanac did more than
any thing else towards making him familiarly known to the public. As the
writer of those proverbs, which Poor Richard was supposed to utter,
Franklin became the counsellor and household friend of almost every family
in America. Thus, it was the humblest of all his labors that has done the
most for his fame."

"I have read some of those proverbs," remarked Edward; "but I do not like
them. They are all about getting money, or saving it."

"Well," said his father, "they were suited to the condition of the
country; and their effect, upon the whole, has doubtless been
good,—although they teach men but a very small portion of their duties."

Hitherto, Mr. Temple's narratives had all been about boys and men. But,
the next evening, he bethought himself that the quiet little Emily would
perhaps be glad to hear the story of a child of her own sex. He therefore
resolved to narrate the youthful adventures of Christina of Sweden, who
began to be a Queen at the age of no more than six years. If we have any
little girls among our readers, they must not suppose that Christina is
set before them as a pattern of what they ought to be. On the contrary,
the tale of her life is chiefly profitable as showing the evil effects of
a wrong education, which caused this daughter of a king to be both useless
and unhappy.

Here follows the story.

In the royal palace at Stockholm, the capital city of Sweden, there was
born, in 1626, a little princess. The king, her father, gave her the name
of Christina, in memory of a Swedish girl with whom he had been in love.
His own name was Gustavus Adolphus; and he was also called the Lion of the
North, because he had gained greater fame in war than any other prince or
general then alive. With this valiant king for their commander, the Swedes
had made themselves terrible to the Emperor of Germany and to the King of
France, and were looked upon as the chief defence of the Protestant
religion.

The little Christina was by no means a beautiful child. To confess the
truth, she was remarkably plain. The queen, her mother, did not love her
so much as she ought; partly, perhaps, on account of Christina's want of
beauty, and also, because both the king and queen had wished for a son,
who might have gained as great renown in battle as his father had.

The king, however, soon became exceedingly fond of the infant princess.
When Christina was very young, she was taken violently sick. Gustavus
Adolphus, who was several hundred miles from Stockholm, travelled night
and day, and never rested until he held the poor child in his arms. On her
recovery, he made a solemn festival, in order to show his joy to the
people of Sweden and express his gratitude to Heaven. After this event, he
took his daughter with him in all the journeys which he made through his
kingdom.

Christina soon proved herself a bold and sturdy little girl. When she was
two years old, the king and herself, in the course of a journey, came to
the strong fortress of Colmar. On the battlements were soldiers clad in
steel armor, which glittered in the sunshine. There were likewise great
cannons, pointing their black mouths at Gustavus and little Christina, and
ready to belch out their smoke and thunder; for whenever a king enters a
fortress it is customary to receive him with a royal salute of artillery.

But the captain of the fortress met Gustavus and his daughter, as they
were about to enter the gateway.

"May it please your Majesty," said he, taking off his steel cap and bowing
profoundly, "I fear that if we receive you with a salute of cannon, the
little princess will be frightened almost to death."

Gustavus looked earnestly at his daughter, and was indeed apprehensive
that the thunder of so many cannon might perhaps throw her into
convulsions. He had almost a mind to tell the captain to let them enter
the fortress quietly, as common people might have done, without all this
head-splitting racket. But no; this would not do.

"Let them fire," said he, waving his hand. "Christina is a soldier's
daughter, and must learn to bear the noise of cannon."

So the captain uttered the word of command, and immediately there was a
terrible peal of thunder from the cannon, and such a gush of smoke that it
enveloped the whole fortress in its volumes. But, amid all the din and
confusion, Christina was seen clapping her little hands, and laughing in
an ecstasy of delight. Probably nothing ever pleased her father so much as
to see that his daughter promised to be fearless as himself. He determined
to educate her exactly as if she had been a boy, and to teach her all the
knowledge needful to the ruler of a kingdom and the commander of an army.

But Gustavus should have remembered that Providence had created her to be
a woman, and that it was not for him to make a man of her.

However, the king derived great happiness from his beloved Christina. It
must have been a pleasant sight to see the powerful monarch of Sweden
playing in some magnificent hall of the palace with this merry little
girl. Then he forgot that the weight of a kingdom rested upon his
shoulders. He forgot that the wise Chancellor Oxenstiern was waiting to
consult with him how to render Sweden the greatest nation of Europe. He
forgot that the Emperor of Germany and the King of France were plotting
together how they might pull him down from his throne.

Yes; Gustavus forgot all the perils and cares and pompous irksomeness of a
royal life, and was as happy, while playing with his child, as the
humblest peasant in the realm of Sweden. How gayly did they dance along
the marble floor of the palace, this valiant king, with his upright,
martial figure, his warworn visage, and commanding aspect, and the small,
round form of Christina, with her rosy face of childish merriment! Her
little fingers were clasped in her father's hand, which had held the
leading-staff in many famous victories. His crown and sceptre were her
playthings. She could disarm Gustavus of his sword, which was so terrible
to the princes of Europe.

But alas! the king was not long permitted to enjoy Christina's society.
When she was four years old, Gustavus was summoned to take command of the
allied armies of Germany, which were fighting against the Emperor. His
greatest affliction was the necessity of parting with his child; but
people in such high stations have but little opportunity for domestic
happiness. He called an assembly of the Senators of Sweden, and confided
Christina to their care, saying that each one of them must be a father to
her, if he himself should fall in battle.

At the moment of his departure Christina ran towards him, and began to
address him with a speech which somebody had taught her for the occasion.
Gustavus was busied with thoughts about the affairs of the kingdom, so
that he did not immediately attend to the childish voice of his little
girl. Christina, who did not love to be unnoticed, immediately stopped
short, and pulled him by the coat.