There are croakers in every country, always boding its ruin. Such a one
there lived in Philadelphia; a person of note, an elderly man, with
a wise look and a very grave manner of speaking; his name was Samuel
Mickle. This gentleman, a stranger to me, stopped me one day at my
door, and asked me if I was the young man, who had lately opened a new
printing-house? Being answered in the affirmative, he said he was sorry
for me, because it was an expensive undertaking, and the expense would
be lost; for Philadelphia was a sinking place, the people already half
bankrupts, or near being so; all the appearances of the contrary, such
as new buildings and the rise of rents, being to his certain knowledge
fallacious; for they were in fact among the things that would ruin us.
Then he gave me such a detail of misfortunes now existing, or that were
soon to exist, that he left me half melancholy. Had I known him before
I engaged in this business, probably I never should have done it. This
person continued to live in this decaying place, and to declaim in the
same strain, refusing for many years to buy a house there, because all
was going to destruction; and at last I had the pleasure of seeing him
give him five times as much for one, as he might have bought it for when
he first began croaking.

* * * * *

From a Letter to Peter Collinson.

=_14._= FRANKLIN'S ELECTRICAL KITE.

As frequent mention is made in public papers from Europe of the success
of the Philadelphia experiment for drawing the electric fire from
clouds, by means of pointed rods of iron erected on high, buildings,
&c., it may be agreeable to the curious to be informed that the same