A solid neoclassicist[i-147] in style. Franklin accepted the canon of imitation as it was imperfectly understood in the eighteenth century. To the extent, however, that the models were conceived of as approximating the _consensus gentium_, fragments illustrating universal reason, there may be little disparity between neoclassic imitation and Aristotle's use of the term in the sense of imitating a higher ethical reality. His own life, Franklin thought, (with the exception of a few "errata") was "fit to be imitated."[i-148] A. H. Smyth notes, perhaps extravagantly, "Nothing but the 'Autobiography' of Benvenuto Cellini, or the 'Confessions' of Rousseau, can enter into competition with it."[i-149] This may suggest a clue to the durable nature of Franklin's life-tale. Cellini, it is true, was tremendously alive to Benvenuto, even as Michel de Montaigne was interested in his own whims, but neither Cellini, nor Montaigne, nor Franklin, could have penned the _Confessions_, the thesis of which is that if Rousseau is not better than other men at least he is different. Cellini, Montaigne, and Franklin, on the other hand, while allowing us to see their fancies and singular biases, tended to emphasize those qualities which they held in common with their age, nation, and even the continuity of mankind. Montaigne, it will be remembered, sought to express _la connaissance de l'homme en général_. With no aspirations to become an original genius, Franklin, both in his prose style and his yearning for perfection, sought the guidance of models, which he conceived as embodying universal reason. Had he been a writer of epics[i-150] he would with Pope have acquired "from ancient rules a just esteem"--when the rules were, in his mind, "according to nature." Likewise Franklin is representative of the Enlightenment in his description of the province of the imagination. It is an axiom that "the belief that the imagination ought to be kept in check by reason, pervades the critical literature of the first half of the eighteenth century."[i-151] Franklin observes that poetasters above all need instruction on how to govern "Fancy [Imagination] with Judgement."[i-152] He implies that imagination is a power lending an air of unreality to a creation, often like "the Effect of some melancholy Humour."[i-153] He feared that the unchecked fancy would vitiate his ideals of simplicity and correctness, and a sober and practical argument.