served that, though I had the advantage of my antag onist in correct spelling and pointing (which I owed to the printing-house), I fell far short in elegance of expression, in method, and in perspicuity, of which he convinced me by several instances. I saw the justice of his remarks, and thence grew more attentive to the manner in writing, and determined to endeavor at improvement.

seen any

About this time I met with an odd volume of the Spectator. It was the third. I had never before of them. I bought it, read it over and over, and was much delighted with it. I thought the writing excellent, and wished, if possible, to imitate it. With this view I took some of the papers, and making short hints of the sentiment in each sentence, laid them by a few days, and then, without looking at the book, tried to complete the papers again, by expressing each hinted sentiment at length, and as fully as it had been expressed before, in any suitable words that should come to hand. Then I compared my Spectator with the original, discovered some of my faults, and corrected them. But I found I wanted a stock of words, or a readiness in recollecting and using them, which I thought I should have acquired before that time if I had gone on making verses; since the continual occasion for words of the same import, but of different length, to suit the measure, or of different sound for the rhyme, would have laid me under a constant necessity of searching for variety, and also have tended to fix that variety in my mind, and make me master of

1 The Spectator was a weekly journal published in London and devoted not to news, but to comments on manners and morals. It sometimes also had short tales. The best English writing of the day, by Addison, Steele, and others, was found in The Spectator and similar periodicals.

it. Therefore I took some of the tales and turned them into verse; and, after a time, when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, turned them back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best order, before I began to form the full sentences and complete the paper. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By comparing my work afterwards with the original, I discovered many faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying that, in certain particulars of small import, I had been lucky enough to improve the method or the language, and this encouraged me to think I might possibly in time come to be a tolerable English writer, of which I was extremely ambitious. My time for these exercises and for reading was at night, after work, or before it began in the morning, or on Sundays, when I contrived to be in the printing-house alone, evading as much as I could the common attendance on public worship which my father used to exact of me when I was under his care, and which indeed I still thought a duty, though I could not, as it seemed to me, afford time to practice it.

When about sixteen years of age I happened to meet with a book, written by one Tryon, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined to go into it. My brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, but boarded himself and his apprentices in another family. My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an inconveniency, and I was frequently chid for my singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner of preparing some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes or rice, making hasty pudding, and a few others, and

TYP.

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then proposed to my brother that if he would give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board, I would board myself. He instantly agreed to it and I presently found that I could save half what he paid me. This was an additional fund for buying books. But I had another advantage in it. My brother and the rest going from the printing-house to their meals, I remained there alone, and dispatching presently my light repast, which often was no more than a biscuit or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins or a tart from the pastry-cook's, and a glass of water, had the rest of the time till their return for study, in which I made the greater progress, from that greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension which usually attend temperance in eating and drinking.

And now it was that, being on some occasion made ashamed of my ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed in learning when at school, I took Cocker's book of Arithmetic, and went through the whole by myself with great ease. I also read Seller's and Shermy's books of Navigation, and became acquainted with the little geometry they contain; but never proceeded far in that science. And I read about this time Locke On Human Understanding, and the Art of Thinking, by Messrs. du Port Royal.1

While I was intent on improving my language, I met with an English Grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), at the end of which there were two little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and logic, the latter finishing with a specimen of a dispute in the Socratic

1 Early in the seventeenth century a company of learned and religious men were associated at the abbey of Port Royal near Versailles in France. Here they studied and worshipped and gave out to the world many valuable books.

method; and soon after I procured Xenophon's Mem-
orable Things of Socrates, wherein there are many
instances of the same method. I was charmed with
it, adopted it, dropped my abrupt contradiction and
positive argumentation, and put on the humble inquirer
and doubter. And being then, from reading Shaftes-
bury and Collins, become a real doubter in many points
of our religious doctrine, I found this method safest
for myself and very embarrassing to those against
whom I used it; therefore I took a delight in it, prac-
ticed it continually, and grew very artful and expert
in drawing people, even of superior knowledge, into
concessions, the consequences of which they did not
foresee, entangling them in difficulties out of which
they could not extricate themselves, and so obtaining
victories that neither myself nor my cause always de-
served. I continued this method some few years, but
gradually left it, retaining only the habit of expressing
myself in terms of modest diffidence; never using,
when I advanced anything that may possibly be dis-
puted, the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any oth
ers that give the air of positiveness to an opinion; but
rather say, I conceive or apprehend a thing to be so
and
so; it
appears to me, or I should think it so or
so, for such and such reasons; or I imagine it to be
so; or it is so if I am not mistaken. This habit, I
believe, has been of great advantage to me when I
have had occasion to inculcate my opinions, and per-
suade men into measures that I have been from time
to time engaged in promoting; and as the chief ends
of conversation are to inform or to be informed, to
please or to persuade, I wish well-meaning, sensible
men would not lessen their power of doing good by
a positive, assuming manner, that seldom fails to dis-

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gust, tends to create opposition, and to defeat every one of those purposes for which speech was given to us, to wit, giving or receiving information or pleasure. For if you would inform, a positive and dogmatical inanner in advancing your sentiments may provoke contradiction and prevent a candid attention. If you wish information and improvement from the knowledge of others, and yet at the same time express yourself as firmly fixed in your present opinions, modest, sensible men who do not love disputation will probably leave you undisturbed in the possession of your error. And by such a manner you can seldom hope to recommend yourself in pleasing your hearers, or to persuade those whose concurrence you desire. Pope says, judiciously:

"Men should be taught as if you taught them not,

And things unknown propos'd as things forgot;

farther recommending to us

“To speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence.”

And he might have coupled with this line that which he has coupled with another, I think less properly, "For want of modesty is want of sense."

If you ask, Why less properly? I must repeat the lines,

"Immodest words admit of no defense,
For want of modesty is want of sense.

Now, is not want of sense (where a man is so unfortunate as to want it) some apology for his want of modesty? and would not the lines stand more justly thus ? "Immodest words admit but this defense,

That want of modesty is want of sense.

This, however, I should submit to better judgments. My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print s