Franklin’s Lost Comments about His Armonica

Michael Hillegas (1729-1804) was one of Benjamin Franklin’s colleagues in Philadelphia. Son of immigrants from Germany, he became a merchant, then invested in refining both sugar and iron.

In 1775 the Continental Congress appointed Hillegas one of its two treasurers. The other, George Clymer, became a delegate to the Congress the next year, leaving Hillegas as the sole treasurer until 1789. 

Hillegas was an early member of Franklin’s American Philosophical Society, and he had a particular interest in music. Sources say he played the flute and violin, and he ran a shop offering musical instruments, printed music, staff paper, strings, and lessons.

Sometime in the late 1760s Hillegas asked his friend Franklin to send him that new glass instrument, the glassy-chord or armonica. Unfortunately, when it arrived, some of the glass bowls were broken, and in January 1769 Franklin promised to order replacement parts.

By November nothing had arrived, so Hillegas reminded Franklin of his request in a letter that also asked about other things. Franklin wrote back on 17 Mar 1770.

Some of those letters between Franklin and Hillegas no longer survive, but Hillegas and his nineteenth-century descendants made the documents now lost available to scholars.

The earliest publication of Franklin’s 17 Mar 1770 letter was in Mathew Carey’s American Museum, or, Universal Magazine in 1790. The same text appeared in William Temple Franklin’s 1817 set The Private Correspondence of Benjamin Franklin. That transcription contained a single paragraph about what sort of metal plates different European nationalities were using on their roofs. (Ah, the Enlightenment!)

In 1859, however, the Historical Magazine printed a longer text of what it said was the same letter. This transcription appears to have been made from the original since the article is prefaced with this comment:

LETTERS OF FRANKLIN.

The original of the following letters from Benjamin Franklin to Michael Hillegas, Esq., were found among the papers of the late Mr. Henry Kuhl, of this city, a son-in-law of Mr. Hillegas. Mr. Hillegas was an alderman of Philadelphia, and a prominent citizen.

W. D.

The paragraph printed in 1859 but not in 1790 or 1817 reads:

Charles James, who undertook to provide your Glasses, and the only Workman here acquainted with such Matters, was a very negligent, dilatory Man, and put me off from time to time. At length he died suddenly. And those who succeed him in the Shop cannot find the Directions. They were in your Letter which I left with him and I have no Copy. So I think you cannot do better than to go to my House and suit yourself out of the Glasses I left there. If you get one of the proper Size but too sharp, Mr. [Francis] Hopkinson will show you how to grind it down, tho’ it were a Note or two.

Obviously, that paragraph is significant in the history of Franklin’s glassy-chord/armonica. It also shows a less flattering side of the inventor, his annoyance at not receiving his order simply because the skilled artisan he relied on had died. Supply-chain problems!

Now we get into the mysteries of modern editorial practices. The current Papers of Benjamin Franklin project, as digitized at its own website and at the National Archives’ Founders Online, includes only the first paragraph of Franklin’s 17 Mar 1770 letter, quoted from The American Magazine. The paragraph about the late armonica builder is nowhere to be seen.

However, the Franklin Papers cites the Historical Magazine transcription as a source about the making of the armonica, even quoting from the missing second paragraph. At some points the Papers editors deemed the Historical Magazine transcription to be reliable, but they didn’t reprint the entire text.

The Franklin Papers’ truncated quotation of the second paragraph has proved misleading. The original sentences make clear that Franklin’s glassblower “died suddenly” before he could complete the order. The editors’ summary is ambiguous about who died, the artisan or the friend who was supposed to receive the instrument (i.e., Hillegas). William Zeitler at the thorough website glassarmonica.com guessed that the intended recipient died instead of the glassblower.

Now it’s possible that I’ve missed some explanation or supplemental material in the Papers of Benjamin Franklin because I’m relying on the electronic versions rather than the printed volumes. But for the sake of glassy-chord scholars everywhere, I’m making noise about the Historical Magazine transcription.

“A full Display of his truly sublime & extensive Genius”

Francis Hopkinson, designer of the U.S. flag, was another Philadelphia Federalist who disliked Eleazer Oswald’s poetic commentary on how Boston had a parade to celebrate ratifying the new Constitution.

In fact, Hopkinson was still upset at the end of March 1788, more than a month after Oswald’s gibe appeared in his Independent Gazetteer.

Hopkinson’s response took the form of a literary essay purporting to analyze the classical poetic qualities of that newspaper’s “There they went up, up, up” verses. It began:

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE
Extraordinary

On the first of January 1788, it was determined in a certain Seminary of Learning to institute a Professorship of Poetry & the Belle Lettres.

As this was intended to be only an honorary Appointment (the Gratuity being only a Barrel of strong Beer per Quarter to the Professor) it was left to the present Faculty to determine which of their Members should fill the new Chair.

The Faculty, having conven’d for the Purpose, it was moved & agreed to that the Candidates should compose probationary Odes to be exhibited on Monday the 18th of February, & that this new Professorship should be awarded to the Author of the most approved Performance.

On the Day of Decision it appeared that none of the Professors except Dr. D——— had enter’d the Lists, & that he had only two of the Tutors for his Competitors. So that there were but three probationary Odes produced on this Occasion. These being read & considered, the Ballots were when, & Dr. D———’s Performance was declared the most worthy, by a very decided Majority. And on the Day following his admirable Ode was given to the impatient Public.

The Doctor had chosen for his Subject the grand Procession made at Boston on the Adoption & Ratification of the proposed federal Constitution by the State of Massachusetts. This judicious Choice gave the Doctor Room for a full Display of his truly sublime & extensive Genius, & he has exerted himself accordingly; as will fully appear by exhibiting the Ode itself verbatim & literatim.

Strophe
“There they went up, up, up,
And there they went down, down, downy,
There they went backwards & forwards
And poop for Boston Towny. . . .”

After the full eight lines of verse came a detailed English and Latin philological analysis that filled more than two pages of the American Literature journal in 1930. Because that was where Hopkinson’s parodic essay first saw print. If he intended it for a general audience in 1788, no newspaper or magazine editor agreed to publish it.

Hopkinson’s “Dr. D———” appears to refer to James Davidson, professor of the Greek and Latin languages at the University of the State of Pennsylvania. Perhaps Davidson was an Anti-Federalist—but he left no evidence of such views. Perhaps Hopkinson was tweaking his alma mater for some reason.

Or maybe Hopkinson didn’t mean to lampoon Prof. Davidson at all, but was simply amused at the idea that a classical scholar penning the silly “down, down, downy” verses. Again, for all the effort Hopkinson put into this response on behalf of the Federalist cause, it reached a very limited audience.

“COME muster, my lads, your mechanical tools”

In the Second Continental Congress, Francis Hopkinson (1737–1791, shown here in a painting by Robert Edge Pine) of Pennsylvania was the artistic one.

He designed the stars-and-stripes flag for the new U.S. of A. He also designed some Continental currency, the Board of Admiralty seal, and a proposal for the Great Seal of the U.S., though that final image was ultimately sketched by Charles Thomson.

Hopkinson played and composed music, including what he said was the first secular song issued by a person born in the American colonies, “My Days Have Been so Wondrous Free” (1759). He wrote satirical verse, such as “The Battle of the Kegs” (1778).

It’s no surprise, then, that Hopkinson contributed to the debate over whether to ratify the U.S. Constitution with a song.

Pennsylvania ratified the Constitution on 10 Dec 1787, so Hopkinson didn’t need to win over his fellow citizens to the document. Rather, he aimed to convince the people of other states.

On 29 December, Hopkinson published an essay in the Pennsylvania Packet using the extended metaphor of the roof of “a certain mansion house” with thirteen rafters that “skillful architects” had determined needed a new roof lest the whole thing fall down.

He followed that up in the Pennsylvania Gazette with the words for a song originally titled “The Raising: A New Song for Federal Mechanics”:

COME muster, my lads, your mechanical tools,
Your saws and your axes, your hammers and rules;
Bring your mallets and planes, your level and line,
And plenty of pins of American pine:
  For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
  Our government firm, and our citizens free.

COME, up with the plates, lay them firm on the wall,
Like the people at large, they’re the ground work of all;
Examine them well, and see that they’re sound,
Let no rotten parts in our building be found:
  For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
  A government firm, and our citizens free.

NOW hand up the girders; lay each in his place,
Between them the joists, must divide all the space;
Like assemblymen, these should lie level along,
Like girders, our senate prove loyal and strong:
  For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
  A government firm, over citizens free.

THE rafters now frame—your king-posts and braces,
And drive your pins home, to keep all in their places;
Let wisdom and strength in the fabric combine,
And your pins be all made of American pine:
  For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
  A government firm, over citizens free.

“King-posts”! Doesn’t that smack of monarchism? But no.

OUR king-posts are judges—how upright they stand,
Supporting the braces, the laws of the land;
The laws of the land, which divide right from wrong,
And strengthen the weak, by weak’ning the strong:
  For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
  Laws equal and just, for a people that’s free.

UP! Up with the rafters—each frame is a state;
How nobly they rise! their span, too, how great!
From the north to the south, o’er the whole they extend,
And rest on the walls, whilst the walls they defend:
  For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be
  Combined in strength, yet as citizens free.

And so on until verse nine:

HUZZA! my brave boys, our work is complete,
The world shall admire Columbia’s fair seat;
Its strength against tempest and time shall be proof,
And thousands shall come to dwell under our ROOF.
  Whilst we drain the deep bowl, our toast still shall be
  Our government firm, and our citizens free.

This song was performed in Philadelphia’s parade on 4 July 1788, as reported in detail in both the Pennsylvania Gazette and Pennsylvania Packet. The author of that report was none other than Francis Hopkinson.