The failure of the expedition had left the western frontier open to the savage raids of the Indians, and Pennsylvania, owing to her unprotected condition, suffered more than the other colonies. Franklin came to the rescue with a bill to raise volunteers which was carried through the Assembly; troops were quickly organized, and the philosopher was himself appointed general. He was two months in the field and conducted himself with admirable prudence, although he did not undergo the test of actual fighting. After that time he was recalled by the governor to Philadelphia, for the Assembly was about to meet and his services were needed at home.

The old trouble between the proprietary governor and the Assembly had now reached an acute stage. The two sons of William Penn, into whose hands the colony had descended, pursued a narrow and selfish policy, forcing the governor to veto every bill for raising money unless the estates owned by the proprietors were exempted from taxation. From the beginning Franklin had stood with the popular party in opposing these regulations, yet curiously enough had always been a favorite with the governors. These magistrates were bound to follow the proprietors' will under penalty of being recalled; but on the other hand their salary was dependent on the pleasure of the Assembly, and they may well have clung to a wise and tolerant intermediary like Franklin. Nothing, however, could now allay the hostile feelings. The Assembly voted money for immediate defense under the conditions imposed, but at the same time declared that the measure was not to be held as a precedent for the future; and Franklin was sent to England to treat with the proprietaries in person, and if necessary with the Crown.



V

FIRST AND SECOND MISSIONS TO ENGLAND

Franklin reached London July 27, 1757, when he was fifty-one years old. He remained in England five years, and during that period his life was one of manifold interests and vexations. His business with the Penns first engaged his attention; but from those stubborn gentlemen he got nothing but insolence and delays. After much manoeuvring the dispute was brought before a committee of the Privy Council, where the Pennsylvania Assembly through its representative virtually won its case. The proprietary estates were made subject to taxation, and this bone of contention was for a time removed. It was indeed a great victory for the Philadelphia printer; but perhaps its chief value was the training it gave him for the more important diplomatic negotiations that were to come later. There was that in Franklin's nature which made him an ideal diplomatist. Under the utmost candor and simplicity he concealed a penetration into character and a skill in using legitimate chicanery that rarely missed their mark. Then, too, he was persistent: what he undertook to do he never left until it was done. Though far from being an orator, he wielded a pen that for clearness and logical pointedness has scarcely been surpassed, and his powers of irony and sarcasm were worthy of Swift himself.

Among other subjects which engaged Franklin's pen at this time was a question of vital interest, as he thought, to the empire. Under the masterly guidance of the great Pitt, England had come out victorious in the struggle with France, and the government was now debating whether Canada should be retained or given back to the French. The chief argument for surrendering the province was ominous of the future. "A neighbor that keeps us in some awe is not always the worst of neighbors.... If we acquire all Canada, we shall soon find North America itself too powerful and too populous to be governed by us at a distance." To this timid reasoning, which was attributed to William Burke, Franklin replied in a pamphlet, discussing the whole question with the utmost acumen, displaying the future greatness of the empire in America, and denying that the colonies would ever revolt. Touching this last apprehension he says: "There are so many causes that must operate to prevent it that I will venture to say a union amongst them for such a purpose is not merely improbable, it is impossible.... When I say such a union is impossible, I mean without the most grievous tyranny and oppression.... The waves do not rise but when the wind blows.... What such an administration as the Duke of Alva's in the Netherlands might produce, I know not; but this, I think, I have a right to deem impossible." Strange words to come from Franklin in those days; but it is thought they were of considerable influence in the final decision of the question. Franklin indeed was always fond of prophesying the future greatness of America, and again in the diplomatic debates after the revolutionary war he long insisted that Canada should be severed from England and joined to the thirteen States.

But our philosopher had much to occupy him besides politics. He had taken lodgings at No. 7 Craven Street with a Mrs. Stevenson, in whom and in whose daughter he found warm and congenial friends. His correspondence with "Dear Polly," the daughter, contains some of his most entertaining letters; and he even planned, but unsuccessfully, to make her the wife of his son William. His fame as a scientist had preceded him, and introduced him into the society of many distinguished men in England and Scotland, among whom his genial nature freely expanded. And nothing could stop the activity of his mind, not even sickness. For eight weeks he struggled with a fever, but the letter to his wife conveying the story of his illness reads as if he were almost willing to undergo such an experience for the opportunity of studying pathology which it offered.

At last he was ready to return home. The University of St. Andrews had conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Laws, and afterwards Oxford had done the same. He had succeeded in his mission, his son had been appointed governor of New Jersey, and he looked forward to a life of honorable ease in his adopted city. Just before sailing he wrote to Lord Kames: "I am now waiting here only for a wind to waft me to America, but cannot leave this happy island and my friends in it without extreme regret, though I am going to a country and a people that I love. I am going from the old world to the new, and I fancy I feel like those who are leaving this world for the next. Grief at the parting, fear of the passage, hope of the future,—these different passions all affect their minds at once, and these have tendered me down exceedingly."

Peace had come to Europe in 1763, but not to America. The Indians, who had been aroused by European intrigue, were not so easily pacified, and western Pennsylvania especially continued to suffer from their ravages. The men of the frontier banded together for retaliation, and unfortunately their revenge equaled the brutality of the red savages. Religious odium added bitterness to the passions. The Scotch-Irish Presbyterians of the west, enraged at the supineness of the eastern Quakers, made the extermination of the Indians a point of religion. The horror reached its climax when the good people of Paxton in cold blood massacred twenty helpless and innocent Indians, and then with a large following marched towards Philadelphia with the avowed purpose of murdering in the name of an angry God one hundred and forty peaceful Moravian Indians. The governor, a nephew of the proprietaries, came, as all men did, to Franklin in his perplexity; he even lodged in Franklin's house, and concerted with him hourly on the means of repelling the invaders. The "Paxton boys" had reached Germantown. The city was in a panic, and there was no time to lose. Franklin first got together a regiment of militia, and then, with three other gentlemen, went out to Germantown to remonstrate with the fanatics. His mission was successful, and the insurrection was quelled; but Franklin himself had gained many enemies by his action. The people were largely in favor of the Paxton rioters; and the governor, now relieved of his immediate fears, made an infamous proclamation setting a price upon Indian scalps. A strong coalition was formed against Franklin; to the enmity of the proprietary party was now added the distrust of the people.

Just at this time the old trouble between the governor and the Assembly broke out more virulently. Despite the decision of the London Council, the governor vetoed an important bill because the proprietary estates were not exempted from taxation. An angry debate arose in the Assembly as to whether they should petition the king to withdraw Pennsylvania from the proprietaries and make it a crown colony. Franklin took an active part in this contest, and threw all the weight of his authority in favor of the petition; but in the election which followed in 1764 the combination of the aristocrats, who sided with the proprietaries, and of the fanatics, who favored the Paxton uprising, was too strong for him, and he was not returned. After a stormy debate, however, the Assembly adopted the petition; and Franklin, despite the bitter personal attacks of John Dickinson, was chosen as agent to carry the request to England.

The petition was not allowed, and Pennsylvania remained in the hands of the proprietaries until it became an independent state. But other questions, far more important than the local difficulties of any one colony, were to occupy Franklin's and the other commissioners' time. Franklin was in England from December, 1764, until March of 1775, and during these ten years was busily engaged in supporting the colonies in their unequal struggle against the British Parliament. He was the accredited representative of Pennsylvania, Georgia, New Jersey, and Massachusetts, and before the government and the people of England stood as the champion of the whole province. Every one knows the nature of the acts which finally created a new empire in the West,—the Stamp Act, the duty on tea, the Boston Port bill. Their very names still stir the patriotic blood of America. The principle at issue was clearly announced in the battle cry, "No taxation without representation." Franklin was a stanch advocate of the American claims, and threw all the weight of his personal influence and of his eloquent pen into the work. But in one respect he seems to have been deceived: during the first years of his mission he held Parliament responsible for all the tyrannical measures against the colonies, and looked upon the king as their natural protector. It was a feeling common among Americans who wished to preserve their allegiance to the empire while protesting against the authority of the laws. Even as late as 1771 he could write these words about George III: "I can scarcely conceive a king of better dispositions, of more exemplary virtues, or more truly desirous of promoting the welfare of his subjects." When at last the bigoted character of that sovereign was fully revealed to him, he despaired utterly of reconciliation with the mother country.

Franklin's labors may well be portrayed in two dramatic incidents: his examination before Parliament in 1766, and the so-called Privy Council outrage in 1774.

After the passage of the Stamp Act, Franklin wrote to a friend: "Depend upon it, my good neighbor, I took every step in my power to prevent the passing of the Stamp Act. Nobody could be more concerned and interested than myself to oppose it sincerely and heartily.... We might as well have hindered the sun's setting. That we could not do. But since it is down, my friend, and it may be long before it rises again, let us make as good a night of it as we can. We can still light candles. Frugality and industry will go a great way towards indemnifying us. Idleness and pride tax with a heavier hand than kings and parliaments. If we can get rid of the former, we may easily bear the latter." But Franklin's philosophical habit of accepting the inevitable,—a habit which for a time brought him the hostility of such strenuous patriots as the Adamses,—did not prevent him from doing all in his power to further the repeal of that act when the matter was again taken up by Parliament. Nor did America lack friends in Parliament itself, and these gentlemen now arranged that Franklin should give testimony before the bar of the House.

In the examination which followed, Franklin showed the fullness of his knowledge and the keenness of his wit better perhaps than in any other act of his life. It is impossible to give at length the replies with which he aided the friends of repeal and baffled its foes; but a few of his answers may indicate the nature of all.

Q. "What was the temper of America towards Great Britain before the year 1763?"

A. "The best in the world. They submitted willingly to the government of the Crown, and paid in their courts obedience to acts of Parliament.... They had not only a respect, but an affection for Great Britain; for its laws, its customs, and manners; and even a fondness for its fashions, that greatly increased the commerce. Natives of Britain were always treated with particular regard; to be an Old England man was, of itself, a character of some respect, and gave a kind of rank among us."

Q. "What is their temper now?"

A. "Oh, very much altered."

Q. "How would the Americans receive a future tax, imposed on the same principle as the Stamp Act?"

A. "Just as they do the Stamp Act; they would not pay it".

Q. "Would the colonists prefer to forego the collection of debts by legal process rather than use stamped paper?"

A. "I can only judge what other people will think and how they will act by what I feel within myself. I have a great many debts due to me in America, and I had rather they should remain unrecoverable by any law than submit to the Stamp Act. They will be debts of honor."

The examination was a complete success; not even the Tories could object to it, and to Burke it seemed like the examination of a master by a parcel of schoolboys. A few days later the repeal was carried.

But the relief was only temporary, and Parliament soon returned to its high-handed measures of repression. One day in the midst of the contest Franklin was talking with a friendly member of Parliament and inveighing against the violence of the government towards Boston. The Englishman replied that these measures of repression did not originate in England, and to prove his assertion placed in Franklin's hands a packet of letters written by Hutchinson, governor of Massachusetts, and others to a member of Parliament with the intention of reaching the ears of Lord Grenville. These letters, written by native-born Americans, advised the quartering of troops on Boston, advocated the making of judges and governors dependent on England for their salaries, and were full of such sentiments as that "there must be an abridgment of what are called English liberties." Franklin by permission sent them to Boston, where they naturally raised a furor of indignation. A petition was immediately sent over to have Governor Hutchinson removed from office, but for a while government took no action. After a time the letters got into the London newspapers with the most deplorable result. One Thomas Whately, brother of the gentleman to whom they had been addressed, was accused of purloining the letters and sending them to America. This caused a duel, and a second duel was about to be fought when Franklin published a note in the "Public Advertiser" avowing that the letters had not passed through Mr. Whately's hands, that he himself was responsible for sending them to Boston, and that no blame could be attached to the action as the letters were really of a public nature. The Tories now saw their opportunity to attack Franklin. The petition for removing Hutchinson was taken up by the Committee for Plantation Affairs, and Franklin was summoned to appear before them. Wedderburn, the king's solicitor-general, was there to speak for Hutchinson, and Franklin, having no counsel, had the proceedings delayed for three weeks.

On the appointed day the Council met in a building called the Cockpit, and Franklin appeared before them. The room was furnished with a long table down the middle, at which the lords sat. At one end of the room was a fireplace, and in a recess at one side of the chimney Franklin stood during the whole meeting. His advocates spoke, but without much effect, and the defense of Hutchinson was then taken up by Wedderburn. But instead of arguing the point at issue, Wedderburn made it the occasion for delivering, much to the delight of the Tory lords present, a long and utterly unjustified tirade against Franklin. With thunderous voice and violent beating of his fist on the cushion before him, he denounced Franklin as the "prime mover of this whole contrivance against his majesty's two governors." Although the letters had been given to Franklin for the express purpose of having them conveyed to America, Wedderburn accused him of base treachery; turning to the committee he said: "I hope, my Lords, you will mark and brand the man, for the honor of this country, of Europe, and of mankind. Private correspondence has hitherto been held sacred, in times of the greatest party rage, not only in politics but religion." "He has forfeited all the respect of societies and of men. Into what companies will he hereafter go with an unembarrassed face, or the honest intrepidity of virtue? Men will watch him with a jealous eye; they will hide their papers from him, and lock up their escritoirs. He will henceforth esteem it a libel to be called a man of letters; homo TRIUM litterarum (i.e., fur, thief)!" "But he not only took away the letters from one brother; but kept himself concealed till he nearly occasioned the murder of the other. It is impossible to read his account, expressive of the coolest and most deliberate malice, without horror." "Amidst these tragical events, of one person nearly murdered, of another answerable for the issue, of a worthy governor hurt in his dearest interests, the fate of America in suspense; here is a man, who, with the utmost insensibility of remorse, stands up and avows himself the author of all. I can compare it only to Zanga, in Dr. Young's "Revenge";—

"'Know then 'twas—I; I forged the letter, I disposed the picture; I hated, I despised, and I destroy.'

I ask, my Lords, whether the revengeful temper attributed, by poetic fiction only, to the bloody African is not surpassed by the coolness and apathy of the wily American?"

The picture of Franklin standing unmoved under this torrent of abuse is, I think, the most dramatic incident of his life. It was a victory of glorious endurance; it was the crown of unmerited infamy which was needed to give depth of interest to his successful career. An eyewitness thus described the scene: "Dr. Franklin's face was directed towards me, and I had a full, uninterrupted view of it, and his person, during the whole time in which Mr. Wedderburn spoke. The Doctor was dressed in a full dress suit of spotted Manchester velvet, and stood conspicuously erect without the smallest movement of any part of his body. The muscles of his face had been previously composed, so as to afford a placid, tranquil expression of countenance, and he did not suffer the slightest alteration of it to appear during the continuance of the speech, in which he was so harshly and improperly treated. In short, to quote the words which he employed concerning himself on another occasion, he kept his 'countenance as immovable as if his features had been made of wood.'"

Fortunately, to sustain him in these trials, Franklin had a cheerful home and the society of the best men in England. He was living at the old house on Craven Street, where Mrs. Stevenson did all in her power to make him forget that he was an exile. Indeed, were it not that Mrs. Franklin had an unconquerable dread of crossing the water, it is quite possible that our philosopher might have carried his family to England and lived permanently among his new friends; and in estimating the services of Franklin to America we should never forget to give due credit to his loyal wife who stayed quietly at home, managing his affairs for him in Philadelphia and keeping warm his attachment for his adopted city. Besides the eminent statesmen, such as Pitt and Burke, with whom Franklin's business brought him naturally in contact, he associated much with liberal clergymen,—with Priestley particularly, the discoverer of oxygen, and with the family of the good Bishop of St. Asaph's, at whose house he had almost a second home. To one of the bishop's daughters he sent the inimitable epitaph on the squirrel Mungo which he had given her as a present from America. The influence for good is almost incalculable which Franklin thus exercised by the noble type of American character he displayed to the liberal party in England.

Nor did he ever lose an opportunity to accomplish what he could with the pen. At one time, to lay bare the suicidal policy of the government, he published in a newspaper a satirical squib quite in the vein of Dean Swift, entitled "Rules for reducing a Great Empire to a Small One." The opening sentences were as follows: "An ancient sage valued himself upon this, that, though he could not fiddle, he knew how to make a great city of a little one. The science that I, a modern simpleton, am about to communicate, is the very reverse;" and with this introduction the author proceeds to give a detailed account of the treatment of the colonies by Parliament.

In another paper Franklin reduced certain arguments of the ministry to the absurd. This was a pretended "Edict of the King of Prussia," in which Frederick was supposed to announce the same sovereignty over England, which had been originally settled by Germans, as Parliament now claimed over America. Speaking of these two papers Franklin says, in a letter to his son: "I sent you one of the first, but could not get enough of the second to spare you one, though my clerk went the next morning to the printer's, and wherever they were sold.... I am not suspected as the author, except by one or two friends; and have heard the latter spoken of in the highest terms, as the keenest and severest piece that has appeared here a long time. Lord Mansfield, I hear, said of it, that it was very ABLE and very ARTFUL indeed; and would do mischief by giving here a bad impression of the measures of government; and in the colonies, by encouraging them in their contumacy.... What made it the more noticed here was, that people in reading it were, as the phrase is, taken in, till they had got half through it, and imagined it a real edict, to which mistake I suppose the King of Prussia's character must have contributed. I was down at Lord Le Despencer's, when the post brought that day's papers. Mr. Whitehead was there, too (Paul Whitehead, the author of "Manners"), who runs early through all the papers, and tells the company what he finds remarkable. He had them in another room, and we were chatting in the breakfast parlor, when he came running in to us, out of breath, with the paper in his hand. 'Here!' says he, 'here's news for ye! Here's the King of Prussia, claiming a right to this kingdom!' All stared, and I as much as anybody; and he went on to read it. When he had read two or three paragraphs, a gentleman present said, 'Damn his impudence, I dare say we shall hear by next post, that he is upon his march with one hundred thousand men to back this.' Whitehead, who is very shrewd, soon after began to smoke it, and looking in my face, said, 'I'll be hanged if this is not some of your American jokes upon us.' The reading went on, and ended with abundance of laughing, and a general verdict that it was a fair hit."

After the Privy Council outrage there was very little for Franklin to do. Lord Chatham consulted with him before introducing in Parliament a liberal bill for conciliating the colonies, and Franklin himself was present in the House of Lords when the old statesman, despite the protests of his gout, plead for fairer measures. It may very well be that if these troubles had occurred in Chatham's vigorous days he might have been able to preserve the integrity of the empire. But now he was crippled by the gout and debarred from active life; and in the interesting "Dialogue between Franklin and the Gout" the philosopher might have retorted upon that exacting lady the mischief she had done his people by laming Pitt. Again Franklin had to stand the bitter denunciation of the Tories, while Lord Sandwich held him up as "one of the bitterest and most mischievous enemies this country had ever known;" but he also had the satisfaction of hearing a noble eulogy of his character pronounced by the great Chatham.

Then, after a good deal of secret negotiation with Lord Howe, Franklin reluctantly abandoned the situation and turned homeward. His last day in London was passed with Dr. Priestley, who has left an interesting record of their conversation. He says of Franklin that "the unity of the British empire in all its parts was a favorite idea of his. He used to compare it to a beautiful china vase, which, if ever broken, could never be put together again; and so great an admirer was he of the British constitution that he said he saw no inconvenience from its being extended over a great part of the globe. With these sentiments he left England."



VI

MEMBER OF CONGRESS AND ENVOY TO FRANCE

Franklin reached Philadelphia May 5, 1775; and what a home-coming it was! His wife had died, and he was now to live with his daughter Mrs. Bache. The battle of Lexington had been fought while he was at sea, and the whole country was in a ferment of excitement. It was in regard to this battle, it may be remembered, that he uttered one of his famous witticisms. To a critic who accused the Americans of cowardice for firing from behind stone walls, he replied: "I beg to inquire if those same walls had not two sides to them?"

He received the most honorable welcome home, and on the very morning after his arrival was unanimously chosen one of the Pennsylvania delegates to the Continental Congress about to meet in Philadelphia.

Our philosopher, now seventy years old, had come home to rest, but found himself instead in the very vortex of public affairs. He was a member of the Pennsylvania Committee of Safety and a burgess in the Assembly, but later he gave himself entirely to Congress. Afterwards when in Paris he declared that he used to work twelve hours out of the twenty-four on public business. His part in Congress was one of conciliation between conflicting interests,—a role he was admirably adapted to fill. Very early he proposed, as he had done at Albany, a union of the thirteen colonies, but the times were not yet ripe for such a measure.

Of the great act of this Congress, the Declaration of Independence, Franklin's share was small, as might be inferred from the nature of the man. He did indeed serve with Jefferson and three others on the committee appointed to draft this document, but, as every one knows, the actual writing of the Declaration was the work of Jefferson. Franklin is chiefly remembered for one or two witticisms in connection with the affair. "We must be unanimous," said Hancock, when it came to signing the document, "there must be no pulling different ways; we must all hang together." "Yes," replied Franklin, "we must, indeed, all hang together, or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately."

Over Franklin's manifold occupations we may now pass rapidly, for, though he was connected with almost every prominent transaction of the times, yet he was not a true leader of the revolutionary movement. He was easily the most illustrious man in America, and, since the death of Jonathan Edwards, the most intellectual; but his mind was inquisitive and contemplative rather than aggressive, and rougher hands were now needed at the helm. He acted as postmaster for the colonies, and served on many committees. So, for instance, he went with John Adams and Edward Rutledge to confer with Lord Howe on Staten Island. The embassy, however, came to nothing, as Lord Howe utterly refused to treat with them as envoys of a Congress whose existence he could not acknowledge. It was too late for negotiations. And now we are to see Franklin in a new part.

Of the great leaders of the Revolution each had his peculiar task. There was Samuel Adams in Boston, the herald of division and battle, whose office it was to make clear the mind of the country and to stir up in the people the proper enthusiasm; there was Thomas Jefferson, imbued with French eighteenth-century notions of the rights of man, incapable perhaps of distinguishing between theory and fact, but for that very reason suited to formulate the national Declaration of Independence, a document not rigorously true in philosophy but inimitable as the battle cry of freedom and progress; there was Washington, whose military genius, indomitable will, and noble solidity of character were able to carry the war through to the end; and there was Franklin, too cool-headed ever to have inflamed the hearts of the people with the inspiration of hope and revenge, incapable of uttering political platitudes which could express tersely the national feeling, a lover of peace and without the grim determination of a soldier, but still able in his own way to serve the state more effectually perhaps than any other man except the great Captain himself. It was absolutely necessary, both for actual help in money and arms and for moral support, that the young nation should receive recognition abroad. To win this recognition was just the task of Franklin. Already he was known personally to many of the leading spirits of England and the Continent. The respect and friendship felt for him by Burke, Fox, Lord Shelburne, Lord Rockingham, did much to augment the power of the opposition in England, and on the Continent the high reputation of Franklin as a philosopher and statesman contributed largely to the general confidence in the ultimate success of the rebellion.

The first really important communication from Europe came to Congress through Dr. Dubourg, of Paris, who wrote a long letter to Franklin, addressing him as "My dear Master," and assuring him of the sympathies of France. Congress hereupon appointed Franklin, Silas Deane, and Arthur Lee commissioners to Paris, the two last being already in Europe.

Before departing Franklin got together what money he could, "between three and four thousand pounds," and lent it to Congress; he then sailed with his two grandsons, William Temple Franklin and Benjamin Franklin Bache, reaching Paris December 21, 1776. Considering the dangers and hardships of the voyage this was no light undertaking for a man of his age, and he was in fact physically exhausted when he arrived on the other side.

Franklin came now to reap the fruits of a long and well spent life. His personal fame aided him in a land where philosophers had become the fashion of the day, and as the representative of a people struggling for liberty he was peculiarly dear to the French, who were themselves speculating on such matters and preparing for their own revolution. It is of course easy to exaggerate the influence of sentiment in the case. France was glad to encourage America because the loss of the colonies would weaken the British Empire, and that was natural; but it is, I think, a mistake not to acknowledge the generous sentiments of the people and even of the grandees of the land. Voltaire and Rousseau had not been preaching in vain; the American Declaration of Independence was quite in the drift of French political ideas. But to awaken trust in a people who dwelt in a far-off wilderness and who were commonly esteemed little better than savages, the presence of such a man as Franklin was of incalculable value.

After a brief interval M. de Chaumont, one of the wealthy Frenchmen of the day, offered Franklin rooms at Passy in his Hotel de Valentinois, and there our philosopher fixed his abode, living in some style, and spending perhaps about thirteen thousand dollars a year. His popularity was immediate and almost unexampled. The great people of France—philosophers, statesmen, titled noblemen, and fine ladies—thought it an honor to receive the famous American; and it is said that so great was his fame among the common people that the shopkeepers would run to their doors to see him pass down the street. Innumerable pictures were drawn and medallions cut of his figure, until, as he wrote, his countenance was made "as well known as that of the moon, so that he durst not do anything that would oblige him to run away, as his phiz would discover him wherever he should venture to show it." Parton quotes this interesting account of the commissioners from the Memoirs of Count Sigur: "Nothing could be more striking than ... the almost rustic apparel, the plain but firm demeanor, the free and direct language, of the envoys, whose antique simplicity of dress and appearance seemed to have introduced within our walls, in the midst of the effeminate and servile refinement of the eighteenth century, some sages contemporary with Plato, or republicans of the age of Cato and of Fabius. This unexpected apparition produced upon us a greater effect in consequence of its novelty, and of its occurring precisely at the period when literature and philosophy had circulated amongst us an unusual desire for reforms, a disposition to encourage innovations, and the seeds of an ardent attachment to liberty."

But life was not all roseate for Franklin; he and the other envoys had plenty of work to do. Among other things an endless number of foreign officers applied to Franklin for commissions in the American army. Some of these applicants—such as Lafayette and Steuben—were heartily welcome, and really aided the cause; but he was beset by innumerable others who would have been merely a burden on the army. For men of this stamp he drew up and actually used more than once a blank recommendation beginning with these ominous words: "The bearer of this, who is going to America, presses me to give him a letter of recommendation, though I know nothing of him, not even his name. This may seem extraordinary, but I assure you it is not uncommon here," etc. He was also kept busy managing the affairs of the small but active navy, which was largely fitted out in France, and which brought most of its prizes into French ports. But of all his labors the most difficult and the most important was the raising of money for Congress. Into the details of this exasperating task we cannot here enter. Congress was not wise, and its necessities were desperate, and, despite the generosity of the French court, he had often to employ extreme measures to borrow money on doubtful security or none at all.

To excite interest in favor of the colonies Franklin wrote several papers, whose practical ideas of political liberty were not without effect in guiding the French people on to their own revolution. Even the wit of "the old fox," as he was called in England, appealed strongly to that nation of esprit. So, for instance, when asked if a certain story of American defeat told by Lord Stormont, the British ambassador, was a truth, he answered: "No, monsieur, it is not a truth; it is only a Stormont." And straightway "a stormont" became the polite word for a lie. Again, when told that Howe had taken Philadelphia he retorted: "I beg your pardon, sir, Philadelphia has taken Howe."

But though Franklin could maintain his philosophic calm, and could even joke in the presence of disaster, yet the strain on his nerves was tremendous. I believe that only once in his life was he betrayed into manifesting a strong emotion. Mr. Austin, a messenger from Boston, is coming with important news. All the American commissioners, together with Beaumarchais, are at Passy waiting his arrival. His chaise is heard in the court, and they go out to meet him. But before he even alights Franklin cries out, "Sir, is Philadelphia taken?" "Yes, sir," says Austin. It seemed then that all was over. Without a word Franklin clasped his hands and turned toward the house. "But, sir," said Austin, "I have greater news than that GENERAL BURGOYNE AND HIS WHOLE ARMY ARE PRISONERS OF WAR!" "The news," as one of the party afterwards declared, "was like a sovereign cordial to the dying." How deep the impression upon Franklin was we may judge from his gratitude to the messenger. Mr. Austin relates that often he "would break from one of those musings in which it was his habit to indulge, and clasping his hands together, exclaim, 'Oh, Mr. Austin, you brought us glorious news!'"

It was indeed glorious news. The result in France was instantaneous and immense. Franklin and his companions had long wished the court to acknowledge publicly the independence of the United States and to make a treaty of commerce with them. The news of Burgoyne's surrender reached Paris on the 4th of December, 1777; the desired treaty was actually signed on the 6th of February following. Dr. Bancroft, who was present when both parties signed the document, tells us that Franklin on that occasion wore the old suit of Manchester velvet which he had worn on the day of his outrage in the Privy Council, and which had been long laid aside. It was apparently a bit of quaint and secret revenge in which the philosopher indulged himself. But when Dr. Bancroft intimated to Franklin his suspicions in the matter, the philosopher only smiled, and said nothing.

Several weeks later the new treaty was to receive formal recognition, and the American commissioners were to be presented to Louis XVI in their public capacity. Franklin intended to wear the regular court costume at the presentation, but was balked of his desire. The costume did not come in time; and when the perruquier brought his wig it refused to sit on the Doctor's head. Franklin suggested that the wig might be too small. "Monsieur, it is impossible," cried the perruquier, and then, dashing the wig to the floor, exclaimed, "No, Monsieur!—it is not the wig which is too small; it is your head which is too large." At any rate the wig could not be worn, and Franklin appeared in his own gray hair, dressed in black velvet, with white silk stockings, spectacles on nose, and no sword at his side. The king received the envoys courteously, saying: "Gentlemen, I wish the Congress to be assured of my friendship. I beg leave also to observe that I am exceedingly satisfied in particular with your own conduct during your residence in my kingdom;" and with these words walked out of the apartment. Immediately Lord Stormont, the British ambassador, left Paris; and a few days later M. Gerard, the first minister of France to this country, sailed for America.

Franklin had met the king; he had now to meet a greater and more famous man than Louis,—the only man living whose fame was equal to his own. Voltaire, eighty-four years old, feeble in body but with intellect unconquered, had just come to Paris after his long exile to hear the plaudits of his countrymen, and to die. The American envoys asked permission to wait upon the great man, and were received by Voltaire lying on his couch. He quoted a few lines from Thomson's "Ode to Liberty," and then began to talk with Franklin in English; but his niece, not understanding that language, begged them to speak in French. Whereupon Voltaire replied: "I beg your pardon. I have for a moment yielded to the vanity of showing that I can speak in the language of a Franklin." When Dr. Franklin presented his grandson, the old philosopher pronounced over his head only these words: "God and Liberty!" All who were present shed tears.

John Adams tells the story of a more public meeting between the two men at the Academy of Sciences: "Voltaire and Franklin were both present, and there presently arose a general cry that M. Voltaire and M. Franklin should be introduced to each other. This was done, and they bowed and spoke to each other. This was no satisfaction; there must be something more. Neither of our philosophers seemed to divine what was wished or expected. They, however, took each other by the hand; but this was not enough. The clamor continued until the exclamation came out, 'Il faut s'embrasser a la Francaise!'[2] The two aged actors upon this great theatre of philosophy and frivolity then embraced each other by hugging one another in their arms and kissing each other's cheeks, and then the tumult subsided. And the cry immediately spread throughout the kingdom, and I suppose over all Europe, 'Qu'il etait charmant de voir embrasser Solon et Sophocle!'"[3]

[2] They must embrace like Frenchmen.

[3] How charming it was to see Solon and Sophocles embrace.

The mention of John Adams recalls us to the most disagreeable part of Franklin's experience. During all his sojourn in France he was subject to continual and annoying interference from his colleagues. Before his arrival in Paris, Silas Deane had entered for Congress into semi-commercial relations with the French government through the eccentric and industrious Beaumarchais. Franklin was content to leave these affairs to him, and did not at the time even know their real nature. But with Arthur Lee it was different. Of all characters in American history Lee is almost the hardest to endure. He was patriotic, and in a way honest, but meddlesome, suspicious, vain, and quarrelsome to an incredible degree. He immediately made up his mind that Deane was peculating, and never ceased writing accusatory letters until Congress recalled the unfortunate envoy. All this time he was also acting toward Franklin in a manner which can only be described as insane. He fumed at Franklin's easy way of conducting business; his vanity suffered indescribable tortures at every mark of respect paid to his distinguished colleague; he suspected him of treason and every other crime; and with his partisans (whose names we need not here mention) he wrote voluble letters of incrimination to Congress. When Silas Deane was recalled, John Adams was sent over to take his place, and for a while Franklin received support from his new colleague,—for Adams, with all his faults, was at least single-hearted in his patriotism. But their characters were too widely different for them to work easily together in harness. Adams's vanity was almost as great as Arthur Lee's. The homage paid to Franklin drove him almost into a frenzy of rage, both because he thought himself overlooked and because such homage savored of aristocracy. In Franklin's catalogue of the virtues there were two which he could not claim to have attained,—chastity and orderliness; and these two weaknesses now rose to exact their penalty. Adams could not believe that a man who had been lax with women could be honest in anything else; Adams was the spirit of petty orderliness, and Franklin's easy ways seemed to him the destruction of all business. At last Congress came to the rescue, and for once acted sensibly: Lee and Adams were recalled, and Franklin was left as sole plenipotentiary in Paris.

With other Americans Franklin's relationship was of a pleasanter sort. To the American navy and privateers Franklin was the American government; and, though he was often annoyed by the unreasonable conduct of importunate captains, yet he also shared in the glory of their deeds. John Paul Jones was one of the many forced to endure Arthur Lee's impertinences, and had it not been for Franklin's aid and friendship our navy would have lost the honor of that name. At one time Paul Jones was in Paris with no ship to command, and though he tried every channel to obtain a vessel from the French court, was always put off. At last, as he was reading a French translation of Poor Richard's Almanac, his eye was struck by this sentence: "If you would have your business done, go; if not, send." Without delay he went himself to Versailles, and obtained an order to purchase an old ship of forty guns. This good vessel he christened Le Bon Homme Richard, which is French for Poor Richard, and the story of how she beat the Serapis need not here be retold.

Through all these difficulties in France, as before in England, Franklin found consolation and amusement in the intellectual society of a great capital. And what a society this was! The very list of names of Franklin's friends is an inspiration. With the scientists of the day he continued to discuss philosophic questions; and with the great ladies of society he could find relaxation from his graver cares. Chess still absorbed more of his time than his conscience approved, and there are several well known stories of him in connection with that game. Once when playing with the old Duchess of Bourbon, the lady happened to put her king into prize, and the Doctor took it. "Ah," says she, "we do not take kings so." "We do in America," said the Doctor; and this pleasant joke he seems to have repeated several times in different forms. To Madame Brillon, a wealthy and amiable lady of the neighborhood, he wrote a number of those clever sketches which might well find a place in the "Spectator,"—such as The Ephemera, The Petition of the Left Hand, The Whistle, The Dialogue between Franklin and the Gout, and others almost as well known.

One of his best friends was Madame Helvetius, widow of the celebrated philosopher, and it was to her he wrote his famous dream ending with the words, "Let us avenge ourselves." We must at least find space for Mrs. Adams's curious account of that lady: "She entered the room with a careless, jaunty air; upon seeing ladies who were strangers to her, she bawled out, 'Ah! mon Dieu, where is Franklin? Why did you not tell me there were ladies here?' You must suppose her speaking all this in French. 'How I look!' said she, taking hold of a chemise made of tiffany, which she had on over a blue lute-string, and which looked as much upon the decay as her beauty, for she was once a handsome woman; her hair was frizzled; over it she had a small straw hat, with a dirty gauze half-handkerchief round it, and a bit of dirtier gauze than ever my maid wore was bowed on behind. She had a black gauze scarf thrown over her shoulders. She ran out of the room; when she returned, the Doctor entered at one door, she at the other; upon which she ran forward to him, caught him by the hand, 'Helas! Franklin;' then gave him a double kiss, one upon each cheek, and another upon his forehead. When we went into the room to dine, she was placed between the Doctor and Mr. Adams. She carried the chief of the conversation at dinner, frequently locking her hand into the Doctor's, and sometimes spreading her arms upon the backs of both the gentlemen's chairs, then throwing her arm carelessly upon the Doctor's neck."

Another house to which Franklin was welcome was that of the Countess d'Houdetot celebrated for her part in the life of Rousseau. It was at her chateau that Franklin had to undergo the ordeal of such a glorification as must have tried his philosophic nerves to the uttermost. The chronicler of the occasion declares that "the venerable sage, with his gray hair flowing down upon his shoulders, his staff in hand, the spectacles of wisdom on his nose, was the perfect picture of true philosophy and virtue." But the "sage" must have found his virtue a burden on that day. He was escorted through the grounds; wine was poured out freely; music was played, and the company in turn celebrated the guest in stanzas which were none the less fulsome because they were true. The ceremony closed with the planting of a Virginia locust by the Doctor.

The surrender of Burgoyne in 1777 had brought about the treaty with France; the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, four years later, was the beginning of peace and the cause of the treaty with England. What effect the news of Cornwallis's defeat had in England; how Lord North, the Prime Minister, received the message "as he would have taken a ball in his breast," walking wildly up and down the room, tossing his arms, and crying out, "Oh God! it is all over! it is all over!"—all this is known to everybody.

The diplomacy which now passed between the belligerent parties is a most complicated chapter of history. Franklin, Jay, and Adams were appointed by Congress to treat with England concerning peace, with instructions to consult the French government in every measure. The first difficulty was one of form. England was ready to sign a treaty of peace and acknowledge the independence of the colonies; but the envoy sent to Paris for this purpose was empowered to treat only with commissioners of the "colonies or plantations," and Jay and Adams felt incensed that the United States did not receive recognition by name. Franklin regarded the matter as a mere formality and was eager to push on the proceedings; but his colleagues were obdurate, and after some delay England made the required recognition. Three important points had then to be settled: 1. Whether the Americans should be allowed to fish on the New Foundland banks; 2. Whether the western boundary should extend to the Mississippi River; 3. Whether the United States government should reimburse the losses of the Tories.

Adams, who as a Bostonian understood the importance of the first measure, insisted stubbornly that England should cede this point, and finally won the day. That the United States were not confined to a strip of land along the seacoast was chiefly due to Jay. And here a new complication came in. Jay had from the first suspected that France was playing a double game, and convincing evidence of duplicity now fell into his hands. To obtain concessions for herself, France was secretly encouraging England to refuse the American claims on the New Foundland fishing banks and on the territory lying between the Alleghanies and the Mississippi. Jay thereupon insisted that the American envoys should treat secretly with England without consulting the French court, and Adams sided with him. Franklin was at first much averse to this mode of procedure, both because Congress had distinctly commanded them to act in concert with Versailles, and because he could not believe in the treachery of his French friends. When, however, Jay laid the matter clearly before him he gave up the point, and the negotiations proceeded. England acknowledged the American right to the western territory, but was more obstinate in regard to the Tory indemnification. Franklin was willing to grant this if England in return would cede Canada to the American union, and for a time the question was debated in this form. Finally a compromise was adopted, Congress promising to recommend to the state legislatures "to restore the estates, rights, and properties of real British subjects,"—which was of course a concession in words only, as Congress had no authority to enforce such a recommendation. The preliminary treaty between England and America was signed November 30, 1782, and Franklin had at once to appease the wrath of the French government which felt it had been duped. With consummate skill he accomplished this task, and all the vexing questions at issue were settled by the signing, on September 3, 1783, of separate definitive treaties between the three hostile powers.

Franklin's great work was done. He had before this urged Congress to release him from his heavy duties, and at last—in 1785, after he had assisted in making treaties with the other powers of Europe—his resignation was accepted, and he was free to return home. Thomas Jefferson came over to Paris as plenipotentiary in his stead. When asked if he replaced Dr. Franklin, Jefferson used to reply: "I succeed. No one can replace him."

Franklin returned to Philadelphia laden with years and honors; yet still his country could not let him repose. For three successive years he was elected President of Pennsylvania; but the labors entailed were not severe, and the old man found time for amusement and quiet study. We have a beautiful picture of his life at home with his daughter and her family in one of his letters of the time: "The companions of my youth are indeed almost all departed; but I find an agreeable society among their children and grandchildren. I have public business enough to preserve me from ennui, and private amusement besides in conversation, books, my garden, and cribbage. Considering our well-furnished, plentiful market as the best of gardens, I am turning mine, in the midst of which my house stands, into grass plots and gravel walks, with trees and flowering shrubs. Cards we sometimes play here in long winter evenings; but it is as they play at chess,—not for money, but for honor, or the pleasure of beating one another. This will not be quite a novelty to you, as you may remember we played together in that manner during the winter at Passy. I have indeed now and then a little compunction in reflecting that I spend time so idly. But another reflection comes to relieve me, whispering: 'You know that the soul is immortal. Why, then, should you be such a niggard of a little time, when you have a whole eternity before you?' So, being easily convinced, and, like other reasonable creatures, satisfied with a small reason when it is in favor of doing what I have a mind to, I shuffle the cards again, and begin another game." Yet the old man could not but feel lonely at times in the new society growing up about him. He says pathetically in another letter: "I seem to have intruded myself into the company of posterity, when I ought to have been abed and asleep."

In 1787 the constitutional convention met in Philadelphia, and it was a fitting thing that the statesman and philosopher should live to aid in framing laws by which his country is still governed. He was now too weak to stand long, so that his speeches on various questions had to be read out by a friend. His work in the convention was altogether subordinate to that of Madison and one or two other leading spirits; but his part in reconciling various factious elements in the convention was of the greatest importance. When at last the deadlock came between the smaller and the larger States on the question of representation in the legislature, it was Franklin who saved the day by a suggestion which led to the famous compromise, making the Senate represent the individual States, while the lower house is proportioned to population. Washington presided over the assembly; and we are told that while "the last members were signing, Dr. Franklin, looking towards the president's chair, at the back of which a rising sun happened to be painted, observed to a few members near him that painters had found it difficult to distinguish in their art a rising from a setting sun. 'I have,' said he, 'often and often in the course of the session and the vicissitudes of my hopes and fears as to its issue looked at that behind the president without being able to tell whether it was rising or setting; but now at length I have the happiness to know that it is a rising, and not a setting sun.'"

It was, however, the setting sun for Franklin. The few years that remained to him were peaceful and noble; but his old maladies increased on him, until at the last he was confined to his bed. Yet through it all he showed the same untiring energy. He wrote against the study of the classics, against the abuse of the liberty of the press, and from his very deathbed sent out a stinging letter against slavery. The end was come: at eleven o'clock at night, April 17, 1790, he passed away. Philadelphia knew that she had lost her most distinguished citizen, and he was followed to the grave by a procession including all that was honorable in the city.

In closing this brief Life of a great and good man we cannot do better than quote the words sent to him by America's greatest citizen: "If to be venerated for benevolence, if to be admired for talent, if to be esteemed for patriotism, if to be beloved for philanthropy, can gratify the human mind, you must have the pleasing consolation to know that you have not lived in vain. And I flatter myself that it will not be ranked among the least grateful occurrences of your life to be assured that so long as I retain my memory you will be recollected with respect, veneration, and affection by your sincere friend." To receive such praise from Washington is sufficient answer to all the petty cavils that have been raised against the memory of Benjamin Franklin.

THE END