Silence Dogood Essay No. 7 - Drunkenness & Boston Nightlife

In this essay, in which Teen Ben Franklin trolls his brother, Silence Dogood recounts a dream — a clever literary device Franklin borrowed from writers like Joseph Addison — in which she visits the Temple of Theology and witnesses a strange procession of the vices that plague Boston society. Chief among them is drunkenness, which Franklin satirizes with particular energy. The dream format gave young Ben a clever shield: he could lampoon Boston's prominent citizens and clergy without directly naming them. It's an early example of the kind of creative, coded criticism that would define his writing throughout his life and mark him as a genuinely gifted satirist.

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:02

There, welcome to the Spectral Summit. And today we're going to continue in our series of the Silence Do Good essays. This one is number seven. And if you're not familiar, these were actually essays that a 16-year-old Ben Franklin used to troll his brother who would not print any of his own writings. So he created Silence Do Good as a middle-aged widow who would comment on New England society and they got printed and they were a hit. In this satirical critique, it is on the state of poetry in New England. Franklin, writing as do good, mocks the lack of poetic genius and argues that authors are discouraged by a lack of proper appreciation and criticism. So sit back and enjoy. June 25th, 1722. To the author of the New England Current, it has been a complaint of many ingenious foreigners who have traveled among us that good poetry is not to be expected in New England. I am apt to fancy, and the reason is not because our countrymen are altogether void of poetical genius, nor yet because we have not yet those advantages of education which other countries have, but purely because we do not afford the praise and encouragement which is merited. When anything extraordinary of this kind is produced among us, upon which consideration I have determined what I meet with a good piece of New England poetry to give a suitable incronium, and thereby endeavour to discover the world some of its beauties in order to encourage the author to go on and bless the world with more and more excellent productions. There has lately appeared among us a most excellent piece of poetry entitled An Elegy Upon the Much Lamented Death of Mrs. Mackenball Kittill, wife of Mr. John Kittill of Salem. It may justly be said in its praise without flattery to the author that it is the most extraordinary piece that is ever wrote in New England. The language is so soft and easy. The expression is moving and pathetic, and above all, the verse and numbers as charming and natural as that that is almost beyond comprehension. An example. I find no English author, ancient or modern, whose elegies may be compared to this in respect to the elegance of style, of smoothness, of rhyme, and for the affecting part. I will leave your readers to judge if they ever read any lines that would sooner make them draw their breath, and sigh, if not shed tears, to these following another poem. Some little time before she yielded up her breath, she said, I ne'er shall hear one more sermon moor on earth. She kissed her husband some little time before she expired, then leaned her head on the pillow, just out of breath and tired. But the threefold appellation in the first line, a wife, daughter, and sister, must not be passed unobserved. That line in the celebrated Watts Gaston, the just, the generous, and the young is nothing comparable to it. The latter only mentions three qualifications of one the person who was deceased, which therefore could raise grief and compassion but for one, whereas the former our most excellent poet gives his reader the sort of idea of death of three persons a wife, a daughter, and a sister. Which is three times as great a loss as the death of one, and consequently must raise three times as much grief and compassion in the reader. I should try to be very much strained for the room if I should attempt to discover even half the excellencies of this eulogy, which are obvious to me. Yet I cannot admit one observation, which is that the author has, to his honour, invented a new species of poetry, which wants a name, and was never before known. His muse scorns to be confined to the old measures of limits, and observed the dull rules of crickets. Norapian gives her rules to fly, nor Purcell notes to sing. Now, 'tis a pity that such an excellent piece should not be dignified with a particular name, and seen it cannot justify to be called epic sapphire, lyric, or punderic, nor any other name yet invented. I presume it may, in honor of remembrance of the dead, be called catalytic, and this much in the praise of the Calitic poetry. It is certain that these eulogies are of their own growth and soil seldom produces any other sort of poetry, are by far the greatest part wretchedly dull and ridiculous. Now, since it is imagined by many that all poets are honest, well meaning fellows, who do their best, and that if they had but some instructions on how to govern fancy with judgment, they would make indifferent good eulogies. I shall here subjuge a receipt for the purpose which was left to me as a legacy, among other valuable rarities, by my reverend husband, as it follows. A receipt to make a New England funeral eulogy. For the title of the eulogy of these you may have enough ready to make for your hands, but if you should choose to make it yourself, you must be sure not to admit the words Atithis Suite, which will beautify it exceedingly. For the subject of the eulogy, take some of your neighbours who have lately departed in this life. It is no great matter for what age the party died, but it will be best if he went away suddenly, being killed and drowned or in a force of death. Having to choose the person, take all his virtues, excellencies, and if they have not enough, you may borrow some to make up the sufficient quantity. To those, at his last words dying expressions, if they are to be had, mix all those together and be sure you strain them well. Then season them all with a handful or two of melancholy expressions, such as dreadful, deadly, cruel, cold death, unhappy fate, weeping of melancholy expressions such as dreadful, dearly, cruel death, unhappy fate, weeping eyes. Have mixed all these ingredients well and put them into your empty scroll, as some young Harvard, but in the case that you have ne'er one at hand, you may use your own. There let them ferment in the space of a fortnight, and then by that time they will be incorporated into the body, which take out, and having prepared a sufficient quantity of doable rhymes, such as power, flour, culverse, shiver, grieve, leave us, tell you, excel you, expedition, physicians, fatigue him, intrigue him, you must spread all upon the paper, and if you can procure a scrap of Latin to put at the end, it will garnish it mightily, and then having a fixtual name at the bottom with the monstrous compenti, you will have an excellent eulogy. This receipt will serve when a female is the subject of your eulogy, provided you borrow a greater quantity of virtues. Excellence. Thank you, sir. Your faithful servant, silence do good. P. I shall make no other answer to Hippocrates' criticism of my last letter than this. Mitamot Peppera Mix Fala Matrium. Thank you for listening to the Spectral Summit. If you'd like more information on our educational podcast, you can go to our website www.spectral-summit.com, where you can get information on our subscriptions that start at just$10 a month and include worksheets, activity sheets, and quizzes. Have a great day, and remember, history has a lot to teach us if we're willing to listen.