Benjamin Franklin did not like being apprenticed to his older brother. “I fancy his harsh and tyrannical treatment of me,” Franklin later speculated, had the affect of “impressing me with that aversion to arbitrary power that has stuck to me through my whole life.” That was a bit unfair to poor James, whose newspaper in Boston, The New-England Courant, was the first feisty and independent publication in the colonies and taught young Benjamin how to be cheeky about establishment authority.
Franklin knew that his brother would never knowingly print his pieces. So one night he invented a pseudonym, disguised his handwriting, and slipped an essay under the printing house door. His brother’s friends who gathered the next day lauded the anonymous submission, and Franklin had the “exquisite pleasure” of listening as they decided to feature it on the front page of the next issue.
Silence Dogood was a slightly prudish widowed woman from a rural area, created by a spunky unmarried Boston teenager who had never spent a night outside of the city. Despite the uneven quality of the essays, Franklin’s ability to speak convincingly as a woman was remarkable, and it showed his appreciation for the female mind.
By creating Mrs. Dogood, Franklin invented what became the quintessential genre of American folk humor: the wry and self-deprecating homespun character whose feigned innocence and naïveté is disarming but whose wicked little insights poke through the pretensions of the elite and the follies of everyday life.
The echoes of Joseph Addison are apparent from the outset of the Silence Dogood essays. In Addison’s first Spectator essay, he wrote: “I have observed, that a reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure ’till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor…” Franklin likewise began his first Dogood essay by justifying an autobiographical introduction from his fictional narrator.
SILENCE DOGOOD # 1, THE NEW-ENGLAND COURANT, APRIL 2, 1722
Sir,
It may not be improper in the first place to inform your readers, that I intend once a fortnight to present them, by the help of this paper, with a short epistle, which I presume will add somewhat to their entertainment.
And since it is observed, that the generality of people, now a days, are unwilling either to commend or dispraise what they read, until they are in some measure informed who or what the author of it is, whether he be poor or rich, old or young, a scholar or a leather apron man, &c. And give their opinion of the performance, according to the knowledge which they have of the author’s circumstances, it may not be amiss to begin with a short account of my past life and present condition, that the reader may not be at a loss to judge whether or no my lucubrations are worth his reading.
At the time of my birth, my parents were on ship-board in their way from London to n. England. My entrance into this troublesome world was attended with the death of my father, a misfortune, which though I was not then capable of knowing, I shall never be able to forget; for as he, poor man, stood upon the deck rejoicing at my birth, a merciless wave entered the ship, and in one moment carried him beyond reprieve. Thus, was the first day which I saw, the last that was seen by my father; and thus was my disconsolate mother at once made both a parent and a widow.
When we arrived at Boston (which was not long after) I was put to nurse in a country place, at a small distance from the town, where I went to school, and past my infancy and childhood in vanity and idleness, until I was bound out as an apprentice, that I might no longer be a charge to my indigent mother, who was put to hard shifts for a living.
My master was a country minister, a pious good-natured young man, and a bachelor: he labored with all his might to instill virtuous and godly principles into my tender soul, well knowing that it was the most suitable time to make deep and lasting impressions on the mind, while it was yet untainted with vice, free and unbiased. He endeavored that I might be instructed in all that knowledge and learning which is necessary for our sex, and denied me no accomplishment that could possibly be attained in a country place; such as all sorts of needle-work, writing, arithmetic, &c. And observing that I took a more than ordinary delight in reading ingenious books, he gave me the free use of his library, which though it was but small, yet it was well chose, to inform the understanding rightly, and enable the mind to frame great and noble ideas.
Before I had lived quite two years with this reverend gentleman, my indulgent mother departed this life, leaving me as it were by my self, having no relation on earth within my knowledge.
I will not abuse your patience with a tedious recital of all the frivolous accidents of my life, that happened from this time until I arrived to years of discretion, only inform you that I lived a cheerful country life, spending my leisure time either in some innocent diversion with the neighboring females, or in some shady retirement, with the best of company, books. Thus I past away the time with a mixture of profit and pleasure, having no affliction but what was imaginary, and created in my own fancy; as nothing is more common with us women, than to be grieving for nothing, when we have nothing else to grieve for.
As I would not engross too much of your paper at once, I will defer the remainder of my story until my next letter; in the meantime desiring your readers to exercise their patience, and bear with my humors now and then, because I shall trouble them but seldom. I am not insensible of the impossibility of pleasing all, but I would not willingly displease any; and for those who will take offence where none is intended, they are beneath the notice of Your Humble Servant,