A parable from Ben Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac on clinging to promises well-known to be false.
“[T]here are among us great numbers of honest artificers and labouring people, who,
fed with a vain hope of growing suddenly rich,
neglect their business, almost to the ruining of themselves and families,
and voluntarily endure abundance of fatigue in a fruitless search after imaginary hidden treasure.
They wander through the woods and bushes by day to discover the marks and signs;
and at midnight they repair to the hopeful spots with spades and pickaxes;
full of expectation, they labour violently,
trembling at the same time in every joint,
through fear of certain malicious demons who are said to haunt and guard such places.
At length a mighty hole is dug and perhaps several cart-loads of earth thrown out;
but, alas!
No keg or iron pot is found.
No seaman’s chest crammed with Spanish pistoles or weighty pieces of eight!
They conclude that,
through some mistake in the procedure,
some rash word spoken,
or some rule of art neglected,
the guardian spirit had power to sink it deeper into the earth
and convey it out of their reach.
Yet when a man is once infatuated
he is so far from being discouraged by ill success
that he is rather animated to double his industry,
and will try again and again in a hundred different places,
in hopes at last of meeting with some lucky hit
that shall at once sufficiently reward him for all his expenses of time and labour…
Men, otherwise of very good sense,
have been drawn into this practice
through an overweening desire of sudden wealth,
and an easy credulity of what they so earnestly wished might be true.”
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I’ll see you tomorrow.
— Brenda
Banner photo by Marc Nozell.
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