salary to the minister, and gratitude to God; can he refuse these? The American is a new man, who acts upon new principles; he must therefore entertain new ideas, and form new opinions. From involuntary idleness, servile dependence, penury, and useless labour, he has passed to toils of a very different nature, rewarded by ample subsistence. This is an American.

Letters from an American Farmer. Letter III.

THE SNOW STORM 1

Great rains at last replenish the springs, the brooks, the swamps, and impregnate the earth. Then a severe frost succeeds which prepares it to receive the voluminous coat of snow which is soon to follow; though it is often preceded by a short interval of smoke and mildness, called the Indian Summer. This is in general the invariable rule: winter is not said properly to begin until these few moderate days and the rising of the waters have announced it to Man. This great mass of liquid once frozen spreads everywhere natural bridges; opens communications impassable before. The man of foresight neglects nothing; he has saved every object which might be damaged or lost; he is ready. The wind, which is a great regulator of the weather, shifts to the northeast; the air becomes bleak and then intensely cold; the light of the sun becomes dimmed as if an eclipse had happened; a general night seems coming on. At last im. perceptible atoms make their appearance; they are few and descend slowly, a sure prognostic of a great snow. Little or no wind is as yet felt. By degrees the number as well as the size of these white particles is increased; they descend in larger flakes; a distant wind is heard; the noise swells and seems to advance; the new element at last appears and overspreads everything. In a little time the heavy clouds seem to approach nearer the earth and discharge a winged flood, driving along towards the southwest, howling at every door, roaring in every chimney, whistling with asperous sound through the naked limbs of the trees; these are the shrill notes which mark the weight of the storm. Still the storm increases as the night approaches, and its great obscurity greatly adds to the solemnity of the scene.

Sometimes the snow is preceded by melted hail which, like a shining varnish, covers and adorns the whole surface of the earth of buildings and trees; a hurtful time for the cattle which it chills and oppresses. Mournful and solitary they retire to what shelter they can get, and, forgetting to eat, they wait with instinctive patience until the storm is over. How amazingly changed is the aspect of Nature! From the dusky hues of the autumnal shades, everything becomes refulgently white; from soft, miry roads, we pass all at once to solid icy bridges. What could an inhabitant of

1 From "Letters from an American Farmer" by St. John de Crevecœur, edited by Henri L. Bourdin, Ralph H. Gabriel. and Stanley T. Williams. By permission of the Yale Press, 1925.

Africa say or think in contemplating this northern phenomenon? Would not it raise in his mind a greater degree of astonishment than his thunderstorms and his vertical suns?

A general alarm is spread through the farm. The master calls all his hands; opens the gates; lets down the bars; calls and counts all his stock as they come along. The oxen, the cows, remembering ancient experience, repair to the place where they were foddered the preceding winter; the colts wild, whilst they could unrestrained bound on the grassy fields, suddenly deprived of that liberty, become tame and docile to the hands which stroke and feed them. The sheep, more encumbered than the rest, slowly creep along, and by their incessant bleating show their instinctive apprehension; they are gen. erally the first which attract our attention and care. The horses are led to their stables; the oxen to their stalls; the rest are confined under their proper sheds and districts. All is safe but no fodder need be given them yet; the stings of hunger are necessary to make them eat cheerfully the dried herbage and forget the green one on which they so lately fed. Heaven be praised, no accident has happened; all is secured from the inclemency of the storm. The farmer's vigilant eye has seen every operation performed; has numbered every head; and as a good master provided for the good welfare of all.

At last he returns home loaded with hail and snow melting on his rough but warm clothes; his face is red with the repeated injury occasioned by the driving wind. His cheerful wife, not less pleased, welcomes him home with a mug of gingered cider; and whilst she helps him to dried and more comfortable clothes, she recounts to him the successful pains she has taken also in collecting all her ducks, geese, and all the rest of her numerous poultry; a province less extensive indeed but not less useful. But no sooner this simple tale is told than the cheerfulness of her mind is clouded by a sudden thought. Her children went to a distant school early in the morning whilst the sun shone, and ere any ideas were formed on this storm. They are not yet returned. What is become of them? Has the master had tenderness enough to tarry awhile and watch over his little flock until the arrival of some relief? Or has he rudely dismissed them in quest of his own safety?

These alarming thoughts are soon communicated to her husband who, starting up in all the glow of paternal anxiety, orders one of his negroes to repair to the schoolhouse with Bonny, the old faithful mare, who, like his wife, by her fecundity has replenished his farm. 'Tis done: she is mounted bare back and hurried through the storm to the schoolhouse, at the door of which each child is impatiently waiting for this paternal assistance. At the sight of honest Tom, the negro, their joy is increased by the pleasure of going home on horseback. One is mounted before and two behind. Rachel, the poor widow's little daughter, with tears in her eyes, sees her playmates, just before her equals, as she thought, now provided with a horse and an attendant,-a sad mortification. This is the first time she ever became sensible of the difference

of her situation. Her distressed mother, not less anxious to fetch her child, prays to heaven that some charitable neighbour may bring her along. She, too, has a cow to take care of; a couple of pigs hitherto tenderly fed at the door; three or four ewes, perhaps, demanding her shelter round some part of her lonely loghouse. Kind heaven hears her prayers. Honest Tom lifts her (Rachel) up and, for want of room, places her on Bonny's neck; there she is upheld by the oldest boy. Thus fixed with difficulty, they turn about and boldly face the driving storm; they all scream and are afraid of falling; at last they clinch together and are hushed. With cheerfulness and instinctive pa. tience, Bonny proceeds along, and, sensible of the valuable cargo, highly lifting her legs, she securely treads along, shaking now and then her ears as the drifted snow penetrates into them.

A joyful meeting ensues. The thoughts of avoided danger increase the pleasure of the family. The milk biscuit, the short-cake, the newly-baked apple-pies are immediately produced, and the sudden joy these presents occasion expels every idea of cold and snow. In this country of hospitality and plenty it would be a wonder indeed if little Rachel had not partaken of the same bounty. She is fed, made to warm herself; she has forgot the reflections she had made at the schoolhouse door; she is happy, and to complete the goodly act, she is sent home on the same vehicle. The unfeigned thanks, the honest blessings of the poor widow, who was just going to set out, amply repays the trouble that has been taken; happy wages of this charitable attention.

The messenger returns. Everything is safe both within and without. At that instant the careful negro, Jack, who has been busily employed in carrying wood to the shed that he may not be at a loss to kindle fire in the morning, comes into his master's room carrying on his hip an enormous backlog without which a fire is supposed to be imperfectly made and to be devoid of heat. All hands rise; the fire is made to blaze; the hearth is cleaned; and all the cheerful family sit around. Rest after SO many laborious operations brings along with it an involuntary silence, even among the children who grow sleepy with their victuals in their hands, as they grow warm. "Lord, hear, how it blows!" says one. "My God, what a storm!" says another. "Mammy, where does all this snow come from?" asks a third. "Last year's storm, think, was nothing to this," observes the wife. "I hope all is fast about the house. How happy it is for us that we had daylight to prepare us for it." The father now and then opens the door to pass judgment, and to contemplate the progress of the storm: "'Tis dark, 'tis dark," he says; "a fence four rods off cannot be distinguished. The locusttrees hard by the door bend under the pressure of the loaded blast. Thank God, all is secured. I'll fodder my poor cattle well in the morning if it please Him I should live to see it." And this pious sentiment serves him as a reward for all his former industry, vigilance, and care. The negroes, friends to the fire, smoke and crack some coarse

jokes; and, well-fed and clad, they contentedly make their brooms and ladles without any further concerns on their minds. Thus the industrious family, all gathered together under one roof, eat their wholesome supper, drink their mugs of cider, and grow imperceptibly less talkative and more thoughtless, as they grow more sleepy. Now and then, when the redoubled fury of the storm rattles in the chimney, they seem to awake. They look at the door again and again, but 'tis the work of omnipotence; it is unavoidable; their neighbours feel it as well as themselves. Finally they go to bed, not to that bed of slavery or sorrow as is the case in Europe with people of their class, but on the substantial collection of honest feathers picked and provided by the industrious wife. There, stretched between flannel sheets and covered with warm blankets made of their own sheep's wool, they enjoy the luxury of sound, undisturbed repose, earned by the fatigues of the preceding day. The Almighty has no crime to punish in this innocent family; why should He permit ominous dreams and terrific visions to disturb the imaginations of these good people:

As soon as day reappears, the American farmer awakes and calls all his hands. While some are busy in kindling the fires, the rest with anxiety repair to the barns and sheds. What a dismal aspect presents itself to their view! The roads, the paths are no longer visible. The drifted snow presents obstacles which must be removed with the shovel. The fences and the trees, bending under the weight of snow which encumbers them, bend in a thousand shapes; but by a lucky blast of wind they are discharged, and they immediately recover their natural situation. The cattle who had hitherto remained immovable, their tails to the wind, appear strangely disfigured by the long accession and adherence of the snow to their bodies. On the sight of the master, suddenly animated, they heavily shake themselves clean, and crowd from all parts in expectation of that fodder which the industry of Man has provided for them. Where their number is extensive, various and often distant are their allotments, which are generally in the vicinity of the stacks of hay. In that case, when the barn-yard work is done, the farmer mounts his horse, followed by his men armed with pitchforks. He counts again the number of each sort, and sees that each receives

a

sufficient quantity. The strong are separated from the weak, oxen with oxen, yearlings with yearlings, and SO on through every class. For cattle, like men, conscious of their superior force will abuse it when unrestrained by any law, and often live on their neighbour's property.

What a care, what an assiduity does this life require! Who on contemplating the great and important field of action performed every year by a large farmer, can refrain from valuing and praising as they ought this useful, this dignified class of men? These are the people who, scattered on the edge of this great continent have made it to flourish; and have without the dangerous assistance of mines, gathered by the sweat of their honest brows and by the help of their ploughs, such a harvest of

commercial emoluments for their country, uncon. taminated either by spoils or rapine. These are the men who in future will replenish this huge continent even to its utmost unknown limits, and render this new found part of the world by far the happiest, the most potent as well as the most populous of any. Happy people! May the poor, the wretched of Europe, animated by our example, invited by our laws, avoid the fetters of their coun try, and come in shoals to partake of our toils as well as of our happiness!

The next operation is to seek for convenient watering places. Holes must be cut through the ice; 'tis done. The veteran, experienced cattle lead the way, tread down the snow, and form a path; the rest soon follow. Two days' experience (teaches) them all the way to this place as well as the station they must occupy in their progress thither; the stoutest marching first and the weakest closing the rear. The succeeding operations with regard to the preservation of the cattle entirely depend on the judgment of the farmer. He knows, according to the weather, when it is best to give them either straw, corn-stalks, or hay. In very hard weather they are more hungry and better able to consume the coarse fodder; corn stocks are reserved for sheep and young cattle; hay is given to all in thaws.

Soon after this great fall of snow the wind shifts to the northwest and blows with great impetuosity; it gathers and drives the loose element. Everything seems to be involved a second time in a general whirlwind of white atoms, not so dangerous indeed as those clouds of sand raised in the deserts of Arabia. This second scourge is rather worse than the first, because it renders parts of the roads seemingly impassable. 'Tis then that with empty sleighs the neighbourhood gather, and by their united efforts open a communication along

the road. If new snow falls new endeavours must be made use of to guard the worst of inconveniences. For, to live, it is necessary to go to market, to mill, to the woods. This is, besides, the season of merriment and mutual visiting. All the labours of the farm are now reduced to those of the barn; to the fetching of fuel and to cleaning their own flax. The fatigues of the preceding summer require now some relaxation. What can be more conducive to it than the great plenty of wholesome food we all have? Cider is to be found in every house. The convenience of travelling invites the whole country to society, pleasure, and visiting. Bees are made, by which a number of people with their sleighs resort to the inviter's house, and there in one day haul him as much wood as will serve him a whole year. Next day 'tis another man's turn; admirable contrivance which promotes good will, kindness, and mutual assistance. By means of these associations often the widows and orphans are relieved.

After two or three falls of snow the weather becomes serene though cold. New communications are opened over lakes and rivers and through forests hitherto impassable. The ox rests from his summer labour, and the horse amply fed now does all the work. His celerity is strengthened by the steel shoes with which his hoofs are armed; he is fit to draw on the snow as well as on the ice. Immense is the value of this season: logs for future buildings are easily drawn to the saw-mills; readypiled stones are with equal ease brought to the intended spot; grain is conveyed to the different landings on our small rivers, from whence in the spring small vessels carry it to the sea-port towns, from which again larger ones convey it away to the different marts of the world. The constancy of this serenely cold weather is one of the greatest blessings which seldom fails us.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

117. The Autobiography is in two parts. The first, which brings the narrative down to 1731, was written during a visit to the Bishop of St. Asaph in 1771; the second, which continues the narrative to 1757, was written, after much urging by his friends at Passy, France, in 1788. Neither part was printed during its author's lifetime. The strange adventures of the two manuscripts before they finally passed into the possession of the United States Government are fully told in McMaster's Benjamin Franklin in the American Men of Letters Series. In 1791 the earlier part was issued in Paris in a French translation. The first appearance of any part of the Autobiography in English print was a translation into English of this earliest edition in 1792. The first publication of the original English was in Temple Franklin's edition of Franklin's Works in 1817. For this edition the editor garbled and emended and reworded the original text without scholarship or conscience. Again the manuscripts disappeared, to be discovered in 1840 and to be turned over to John Bigelow, the American ambassador, in 1867. Bigelow's edition, published shortly afterwards, was the first edition to appear as Franklin wrote it.

once

118. a. 32. Grub Street, a street in London much frequented by needy writers who eagerly turned their pens to any writing that would yield them enough to keep them from starvation.

b. 41. The Spectator appeared daily from March 1, to December 6, 1712. It was resuscitated again for a short time in 1714. The first republication of the Spectator in book form was in seven volumes. When Franklin chanced upon the stray third volume shortly after 1718, it was decidedly one of the new books of the day. 'It is not unlikely that another copy could not be found in the Province of Massachusetts Bay. '-McMaster.

119. b. 42. The Earl of Shaftesbury (1671-1713) and Anthony Collins (1676-1729) were prominent English freethinkers, or deists, who, while denying

revelation and the authority of the church, still held to the general doctrines concerning the Deity and the fundamentals of faith.

120. b. 12. The first newspaper to appear in America was Publick Occurrances, Boston, 1690. The fact that the general court suppressed it after its first issue terming it a pamphlet which had come out contrary to law, undoubtedly explains why Franklin disregarded it. The Boston News-Letter was first published April 24, 1704. The Boston Gazette, which Franklin, who relied wholly on his memory for dates and facts while composing his Autobiography, evidently forgot, appeared in 1719. The New England Courant, 1721, was therefore the fourth newspaper to appear in America. 121. a. . I discovered it, I made it known.

22. I fancy his harsh and tyrannical treatment of me might be a means of impressing me with that aversion to arbitrary power that has stuck to me through my whole life. '-Franklin's note.

122. a. 33. Kill, the Dutch name for channel or for any long body of water. Here undoubtedly it refers to the Kill von Kull at the northern end of Staten Island.

58. All of these books first appeared during Franklin's youth or young manhood. Robinson Crusoe appeared in 1719, and 1720; Moll Flanders, 1722; and Richardson's Pamela, the first English novel,

126. In 1738 I first published my Almanac, under the name of Richard Saunders; it was continued by me about twenty-five years, commonly called Poor Richard's Almanac. I endeavored to make it both entertaining and useful; and it accordingly came to be in such demand, that I reaped considerable profit from it, vending annually near ten thousand. And observing that it was generally read, scarce any neighborhood in the province being without it, I considered it as a proper vehicle for conveying instruction among the common people, who bought scarcely any other books; therefore filled all the