Lynda Contemplates on Ben Franklin's Privy

This photo of me was taken at the escavation site of Ben Franklin's privy at his home in Philadelphia.  I wanted to sit and think in the same spot as one of America's great thinkers.

1st National Bank of the United States

The 2nd National Bank

The Individualist, the hypocrite, and the Sublime

I really enjoyed reading Johnson’s The Early American Republic, and I wish I could find its British equivalent. Larisa and I both felt the argument about the 2nd American Bank poignant because we had just visited the bank in Philadelphia. In fact, reading the book while in Philadelphia was especially meaningful, since so much happening during the early Republic happened in that city. I’ve already noted several texts I want to explore in his “Suggested Readings,” and his summary of Tocqueville was very helpful for those who have not yet had a chance to read his work. Tocqueville’s explanation of Individualism really caused me to think about the term in context with Henry Tufts. Individualism, according to Tocqueville’s French meaning of the word (and, Johnson notes Tocqueville helped introduced the term into the American language), “meant pure selfishness: an individualist was a sociopath who took what he wanted and cared nothing for other people” (162).


I feel that Tocqueville’s “Individualism” perfectly describes Henry Tufts’ personality: A thief, a jail breaker, a bigamist, a rogue, a quack doctor, a wizard, a liar, a confidence man, a child predator, in short: an individualist. He never appeared to care for anyone unless he/she could, in some way, benefit him. For the life of me, I cannot see what is so appealing about this man that women will jump right into bed with him (assuming what he says is true, and I am assuming it is NOT). He feels this connection with Abigail because she was there when “I was deserted by every other person” (328). That’s rich. Then later, when he leaves Lydia for a young girl, he gets mad because she is like him, loose with her affections. He goes so far as to preach to her in the end, “I began a grating lecture on the score of her perfidy, more especially to a man, who had relinquished house and home for her sake” (352). Let's add hypocrite to that list.

I did think this 3rd section was better than the middle. I could see plot development, story progression, and I could somewhat envision the characters in this section. The section where he was offered $70 for his story really intrigued me and spoke to the value a man could receive from a life of crime—especially if it is an exciting life of crime. – It is all about profit—not so much about moral lessons. And I was fascinated by the flashmen and the flash speak—very interesting (I did recognize clout for hanky).

In the end, I felt that S. Burroughs did a better job of eliciting sympathy from the reader, most notably in the prison basement scene. Tufts had this opportunity, perhaps even more so, considering the cold weather and his lack of shoes (losing his toenails--ugh!). And he did elicit some sympathy, but I felt Burroughs really used the language better. Tufts, on the other hand, excelled at sensationalism—to the max. And I even saw a short section of the Sublime:

Here, being a little out of ken, I stood and contemplated the surrounding scenery. The majesty and solemnity of the landscape inspired me with a kind of awe, whilst various distant objects assumed a disconsolate air, in perfect unison with the gravity of my feelings. I viewed the encircling waters, fatal bar, alas! to my happiness; surveyed the face of the country, beheld the harbor of Boston, and saw the lands lying at rest, as it seemed, beyond the ocean. The prospect before me excited ideas, by no means consolatory; yet would have been undoubtedly delightful, I imagine, to an uninterested spectator. (313)

 The sublime has the power to heighten our senses and fill us with a sense of awe. Tufts, who is in prison at this time, had ceased to resisting authority, ceased attempting to escape. He became docile to authority. But upon espying the sublimity of the harbor and the schools of eels, his spirit invigorated, and he attempts another escape. While this escape is unsuccessful, he does succeed in the next attempt. I thought this interesting.

New Hampshire Trail

Exeter Town Hall

Second Section--A "Tuft" Read

I found the second section of Tuft's narrative extremely tough to read. I think I'll have to agree with Courtney that I like Stephen Burroughs better. While the first section of Tufts was exciting and funny--and as stated in class, his message was overt, I found that a lot of his escapades were very similar: I stole a horse, I sold said horse for $30, I got caught, I burned the jail, then I ran home to Lee. I think perhaps the big issue for me is that I have a hard time seeing a plot development or even character development. We do not get anything about his wife or even his friends--just him--he is the focus. He never stays put anywhere long enough for us to get a picture of the other people in the narrative.  Burroughs' book did; I could see plot development there.  I became invested in the narrative.  Tufts' book reads like a series of incidents that, as a piece of sensational fiction, meant to titillate the senses (i.e., cloven hooves, wizardry, eating human remains, lewd women, escaping naked from prison--all this is guaranteed sensational pleasure.) In thinking about this, I wondered about the audience. From my readings about sensational fiction, the genre appeals to the lower classes. These people probably worked 12 plus hours a day and had little time to read. So, perhaps reading his text in short bits would provide the same satisfaction that our modern 30-minute television episode would provide. Reading it in long stretches was frustrating for me, however. Again, the lack of a strong plot thing.

I also feel that Tufts narrative had a lot in common with Stephen Burroughs. They both participated in counterfeiting, horse thieving, bee-hive stealing, clothes stealing, jail burning. At one point, I started making notes in places that I speculated about the SB influence.

Lastly, I could not help but note that Tufts kept returning home to Lee (And frequently I wondered why he just didn't stay put). And in thinking about the Revolutionary time period, I wondered what the novel had to say about freedom and home. If we think about it, freedom and democratic law cannot co-exits. It is a paradox of sorts. Americans can not do as they please with total freedom. Once Tuft steals, he loses his freedom and is confined in jail. And Americans are not free to steal food as they please, they must work. In fact, I think Tufts worked harder getting out of jail than he would have worked if he lived an honest life. Anyway, back to my argument. Tufts narrative did show me what life in 18th century America was like. It was under martial law and the government was, in fact, mob-ruled. Citizens had to take the law into their own hands. Going 150 miles to retrieve a horse, etc. (Yet that sounded like it was perhaps a whopper to me, but nonetheless . . .), the fact remains that if a man wants his horse back, he has to leave his farm and go find Tufts; because chances are, Tufts is the one who stole it.

And by the way, I think that the men searching for Tufts (like Johnson)  should have just set up a post in Lee; if they were patient, it was pretty much a give that as soon as Tufts broke jail, he was going home. Predictable enough to warrant some attention, yes?

2nd By the way: Rachel and Leah?  Really??

Is it Truth or is it Memorex?

If fable and romance have long amused the world and attracted its notice, why shall not plain truth and real fact, though clad in plebian habiliments, elicit subordinate attention? One property of truth is, whether it illustrate virtue or depict vice, to afford matter from which some inference may be drawn or moral extracted, conducted to the use and benefit of mankind. A virtuous action is for the imitation of others, a vicious one for this avoidance; the former should serve as an example, the latter as a warning [. . . . ] the vicious, affords, also, instruction, by showing the effects of vice and immortality (Tufts vii).

In the above quote, Tufts contributes his opinions to the never-ending debate, “What is literature?” Without a doubt Tufts understands the pre-requisite elements that make good fiction by first establishing himself as hero—an “infamous” hero nonetheless, within the first paragraph of the “Preface.” Then cinches the reader’s curiosity by revealing that there is an air of “mystery lurk[ing] under the procedure.” He argues that “if fable and romance have long amused the world and attracted its notice, why shall not plain truth and real fact.” Indeed, this argument could as easily appear in Terry Eagleton’s book on literary theory. In this simple argument, Tufts simultaneously argues that his narrative contains as much excitement as “fable and romance,” and, when one reads his narrative, one wonders how much is fable and romance. But he addresses that argument as well. Since he is old, he explains, and his memory tends to fail him, he found it necessary to, “permit [him] to say,” insert material facts in areas of “less moment.” In more “important concerns” of his life, he argues, his narrative exhibits more copious details. Despite Tufts claims to veracity in the more “important concerns,” one cannot resist comparing Tufts’ narrative with Stephen Burroughs’: He burns down the jailhouse, uses the phrase “Sweets of Liberty,” complains about leg irons, is accused on crimes he did not commit (stealing Oxen yoke), escapes to Canada, etc. Moreover, Tufts addresses with explicit frankness the moral application typically required in eighteenth and early nineteenth century reading material. He states that he “trust it may be useful, in some measure, as a caveat to others, to shun such pursuits” as have made his life “truly miserable.”

For such reasons, I find Tufts' Preface interesting.  It is almost like he "protests too much"; whereas Stephen Burroughs' narrative is more subversive.  Burroughs' makes the same arguments, but they are blended within the narrative.