_, said I, _you pay too much for your
whistle_.

When I met with a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable
improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporeal
sensations, and ruining his health in their pursuit, _Mistaken man_,
said I, _you are providing pain for yourself, instead of pleasure; you
give too much for your whistle_.

If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine houses, fine
furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, for which he
contracts debts, and ends his career in a prison, _Alas_! say I, _he
has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle_.

When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married to an ill-natured
brute of a husband, _What a pity_, say I, _that she should pay so much
for a whistle_!

In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries of mankind are
brought upon them by the false estimates they have made of the value
of things, and by their _giving too much for their whistles_.

Yet I ought to have charity for these unhappy people, when I consider,
that, with all this wisdom of which I am boasting, there are certain
things in the world so tempting, for example, the apples of King John,
which happily are not to be bought; for if they were put to sale by
auction, I might very easily be led to ruin myself in the purchase,
and find that I had once more given too much for the _whistle_.

Adieu, my dear friend, and believe me ever yours very sincerely and
with unalterable affection,

B. Franklin.

A LETTER TO SAMUEL MATHER

Passy, May 12, 1784.

Revd Sir,

It is now more than 60 years since I left Boston, but I remember well
both your father and grandfather, having heard them both in the
pulpit, and seen them in their houses. The last time I saw your father
was in the beginning of 1724, when I visited him after my first trip
to Pennsylvania. He received me in his library, and on my taking leave
showed me a shorter way out of the house through a narrow passage,
which was crossed by a beam overhead. We were still talking as I
withdrew, he accompanying me behind, and I turning partly towards him,
when he said hastily, "_Stoop, stoop!_" I did not understand him, till
I felt my head hit against the beam. He was a man that never missed
any occasion of giving instruction, and upon this he said to me, "_You
are young, and have the world before you; stoop as you go through it,
and you will miss many hard thumps_." This advice, thus beat into my
head, has f