When Benjamin Franklin died 221 years ago this month, the entire Western world mourned, yet his gravestone reads (in full), “Benjamin and Deborah Franklin 1790.” That seems impossibly austere, as his epitaph could have included “... Founding Father, signer of the Declaration of Independence, eldest signer of the U.S. Constitution, statesman, diplomat, political theorist, scientist, inventor, America’s first postmaster, innovator of the lending library, visionary of the fire department, printer, writer, publisher, satirist ...” It’s so seriously hard to know where to stop, that the unadorned inscription begins to make sense. The man, after all, speaks for himself.
That Franklin was a polymath (a person of wide-ranging knowledge or learning) is indisputable. Beyond his scientific and literary intellect, he was also remarkably astute in matters of society and politics, and his knack for diplomacy was unparalleled. In the Colonies and abroad, Franklin was a standout personality. Noted for his engaging native wit, he was as comfortable in a working-class Philadelphia tavern as he was in a European statehouse. Of course we can never know the whole of Franklin’s words and thoughts, but we do have a fairly nice slice of “the language of Franklin” (including his acclaimed autobiography), thanks to the miracle of the printed word, the promotion of which was one of his most cherished causes.
Consistent with his polymathic tendencies, Franklin wrote essays, letters, articles and verse, all from the varied vantage points of inventor, critic, social commentator, advice columnist, humorist, civic activist ... you name it, he could be it.
When his printer brother James refused to print his letters in the Boston paper New-England Courant, 16-year-old apprentice Ben submitted an amusing piece under the pseudonym Silence Dogood.
It was so well-received that 13 more letters from the widow Dogood soon followed. The series was abruptly ended when James angrily discovered the true authorship.
Lucky for us, the young Ben Franklin fled the restraints of his brother and took refuge in Philadelphia, where his contributions to American English would flourish. In his 20s, he adopted his most famous pseudonym with the publication of “Poor Richard’s Almanack,” a best-selling Colonial annual supposedly written by Richard Saunders. As “Poor Richard,” Franklin had immense fun with words, creating puzzles, household hints and nuggets of wisdom.
Befitting April (when “our date with the IRS” has a tendency to evoke thoughts of fiscal responsibility), I leave you with the following excerpts from “The Way to Wealth,” a 1758 essay compiled by Franklin as a collection of advice from Poor Richard. Now, these may sound too trite or old-fashioned to be of current value — and yet, it just may be that the most costly financial advice we can get today does not appreciably improve on the timeless common sense of a certain Mr. Saunders:
“Laziness travels so slowly that poverty soon overtakes him.” “There will be sleeping enough in the grave.” “Get what you can, and what you get, hold.” “He that lives upon hope will die fasting.” “Plough deep while sluggards sleep, and you shall have corn to sell and to keep.” “A fat kitchen makes a lean will.” “If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting.” “Beware of little expenses: a small leak will sink a great ship.” “He that goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing.” “Creditors have better memories than debtors.”
And finally, if you think your taxes are too high: “We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly.”
Edmeston resident Christine A. Lindberg, senior U.S. lexicographer for Oxford University Press, is the principal content editor of Oxford’s American English dictionaries and thesauruses. Opinions expressed by Lindberg in this column are done so independently, and do not necessarily reflect the policies and practices of Oxford University Press. Have a question or comment relating to the English language? E-mail: languagewithlindberg@gmail.com. Selected submissions will be answered here periodically.
Let's Look At The Language
The language of Benjamin Franklin, in whatever name he used
- Let's Look At The Language
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'We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne'
By Christine A. Lindberg A song that "owns" a particular day of the year is rare.
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Here comes Santa Claus ... where'd he get that snazzy red suit?
Years ago, I had a book of letters written to Santa Claus, and I remember that, among all the messages of "bring me this," "bring me that," and "I'll leave you a plate of cookies," one little boy had written, "Dear Santa, Where did you get your snazzy red suit?" I wouldn't be surprised if the author of that question grew up to be either a reporter or a fashion consultant, but in any event, I hope he got an answer to his question.
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Where do I plug in these Electric Prunes?
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The sometimes-cryptic language of company names
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What will my dream-doctor say about this orgledream in my head?
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'Don't miss it, don't even be late' The Great New York State Fair is here
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Like gods on the heptagram, so are the days of our week
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'Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?' just not the same
When the Baltimore Orioles' third baseman took the field on May 30, 1982, not even Nostradamus could have foreseen that one of the most celebrated streaks in baseball was beginning at that very moment. The player was Cal Ripken Jr., whose 2,131st consecutive game on Sept. 6, 1995, surpassed Lou Gehrig's "unsurpassable" record.
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A frabjous Fourth of July to everyone!
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I wonder if ancient Romans ever put sanctions on that two-faced Janus
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June is bustin' out all over!
When "Carousel," the second stage musical by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, opened on Broadway on April 19, 1945, the audience left the theater in buoyant spirits.
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Go ahead and have a rat on a stick, but please don't call it a lollipop
I recent read that this Tuesday is National Escargot Day. I was unable to find any compelling evidence that this is an official national day for any nation in particular, but it does seem that throughout the U.K. and North America, French restaurants have happily adopted the day as a time to celebrate their garlicky little mollusks.
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Onomatopoeic power of wheatgrass souffle
“The formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named” is the New Oxford American Dictionary’s definition of “onomatopoeia” (Ah-Nuh-mah-tuh-PEE-uh).
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There's nothing like a good spoonerism to tickle a bunny phone
The English economist Sir Roy Forbes Harrod (1900"1978) once said that, compared to all the scholars he had known at Oxford and Cambridge, the Reverend William Archibald Spooner (1844"1930) was the most exceptional in "scholarship, devotion to duty, and wisdom." There is no reason to question Harrod's assessment, but that's not exactly the imprint by which Spooner is best remembered.
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'We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne'
