præcognita as these: first he shewed the excellence of man above other creatures, who was able to declare the sense of his mind by arbitrary signs; then he harangued upon the origin of speech; after that he told of the wonderful invention of writing, and inquired into the author of that art which taught us to paint sounds; when he had given us the various opinions of the learned on this point, and distributed writing into its several kinds, and laid down definitions of them all, at last he came to speak of epistolary writing, and distinguished epistles into familiar, private, public, recommendatory, credential, and what not: thence he descended to "speak of the superscription, subscription, &c. and some lectures were finished before he came to the first verse of St. Paul's epistle. The auditors, being halfstarved and tired with expectation, dropped away, one by one, so that the professor had scarce any hearer to attend the college or lectures which he had promised on that part of scripture.

The rules which Horace has given in his Art of Poetry would instruct many a preacher and professor of theology, if they would but attend to them. He informs us that a wise author, such as Homer, who writes a poem of the Trojan war, would not begin a long and far-distant story of Jupiter, in the form of a swan, impregnating Leda with a double egg from one part whereof Helen was hatched, who was married to Menelaus, a Greek general, and then stolen from him by Paris, son of Priam, king of Troy; which awakened the resentment of the Greeks against the Trojans:

Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo.

But the writer, says he, makes all proper haste to the event of things, and does not drag on slowly, perpetually turning aside from his point, and catching at every incident to prolong his story, as though he wanted matter to furnish out his tale;

Semper ad eventum festinat.

Though I must confess I cannot think Homer has always followed this rule in either of his two famous epic poems; but Horace does not hear what I say. There is also another rule near akin to the former.

As a writer or speaker should not wander from his subject to fetch in foreign matter from afar, so neither should he amass together and drag in all that can be said, even on his appointed theme of discourse; but he should consider what is his chief design, what is the end he hath in view, and then to make every part of his discourse subserve that design. If he keep his great end always in his eye, he will pass hastily over those parts or appendages of his subject which have no evident connection with his design; or he will entirely omit them, and hasten continually toward his intended mark, employing his time, his study, and labour, chiefly on the part of his subject which is most necessary to attain his present and proper end.

This might be illustrated by a multitude of examples, but an author who should heap them together on such an occasion might be in danger of becoming himself an example of the impertinence he is cautioning others to avoid.

After you have finished any discourse which you design for the public, it would be always best, if other circumstances would permit, to let it sleep some time before you expose it to the world, that so you may have opportunity to review it with the indifference of a stranger, and to make the whole of it pass under a new and just examination: for no man can judge so justly of his own work, while the pleasure of his invention and performance is fresh, and has engaged his self-love too much on the side of what he has newly finished.

If an author would send a discourse into the world which should be most universally approved, he should

consult persons of very different genius, sentiment, and party, and endeavour to learn their opinions of it in the world it will certainly meet with all these. Set it therefore to view amongst several of your ac quaintance first, who may survey the argument on all sides, and one may happen to suggest a correction which is entirely neglected by others; and be sure to yield yourself to the dictates of true criticism and just censure wheresoever you meet with them, nor let a fondness for what you have written blind your eyes against the discovery of your own mistakes.

When an author desires a friend to revise his work, it is too frequent a practice to disallow almost every correction which a judicious friend shall make. He apologizes for this word, and the other expression; he vindicates this sentence, and gives his reasons for another paragraph, and scarcely ever submits to correction; and thus utterly discourages the freedom that a true friend would take in pointing out our mistakes. Such writers, who are so full of them. selves, may go on to admire their own incorrect performances, and expose their works and their follies to the world without pity.*

Horace, in his Art of Poetry, talks admirably well on this subject:

Quintilio si quid recitares, Corrige, sodes,
Hoc, aiebat, et hoc: melius te posse negares,
Bis terque expertum frustra; delere jubebat,
Et malè tornatos incudi reddere versus.

Si defendere delictum, quàm vertere, malles
Nullum ultrà verbum, aut operam insumebat in-

anem,

Quin sine rivali teque et tua solus amares.

* To cut off such chicanery, it may perhaps be the most expedient for a person consulted on such an oecasion, to note down in a distinct paper, with proper references, the advised alterations, referring it to the author to make such use of them as he, on due deliberation, shall think fit.

Let good Quintilius all your lines revise,
And he will freely say, Mend this, and this.
Sir, I have often tried, and tried again,
I'm sure I can't do better; 'tis in vain.

Then blot out ev'ry word, or try once more,
And file these ill-turn'd verses o'er and o'er.
But if you seem in love with your own thought,
More eager to defend than mend your fault,
He says no more, but lets the fop go on,
And rival-free admire his lovely own.

Creech.

If you have not the advantage of friends to survey your writings, then read them over yourself, and all the way consider what will be the sentence and judgment of all the various characters of mankind upon them think what one of your own party would say, or what would be the sense of an adversary: imagine what a curious or a malicious man, what a captions or an envious critic, what a vulgar or a learned reader would object, either to the matter, the manner, or the style; and be sure and think with yourself what you yourself could say against your own writing, if you were of a different opinion or a stranger to the writer: and by these means you will obtain some hints whereby to correct and improve your own work, and to guard it better against the censures of the public, as well as to render it more useful to that part of mankind for whom you chiefly design it.

CHAP. VIII.

Of Writing and Reading Controversies.

SECTION I.

Of Writing Controversies.

WHEN a person of good sense writes on any controverted subject, he will generally bring the strongest arguments that are usually to be found for the support of his opinion; and when that is done, he will represent the most powerful objections against it in a fair and candid manner, giving them their full force; and at st will put in such an answer to those objections as he thinks will dissipate and dissolve the force of them and herein the reader will generally find a full view of the controversy, together with the main strength of argument on both sides.

When a good writer has set forth his own opinion at large, and vindicated it with its fairest and strongest proofs, he shall be attacked by some pen on the other side of the question; and if his opponent be a wise and sensible writer, he will shew the best reasons why the former opinions cannot be true; that is, he will draw out the objections against them in their fullest array, in order to destroy what he supposes a mistaken opinion; and here we may reasonably suppose that an opponent will draw up his objections against the supposed error in a brighter light, and with stronger evidence than the first writer did, who propounded his opinion, which was contrary to those objections.

If, in the third place, the first writer answers his opponent with care and diligence, and maintains his own point against the objections which were raised in the best manner; the roader may then