wild-fire. But, if it hold up, I have already hired an author to write something against Dr. Bentley, which, I am sure, will turn to account[1].
At length we agreed upon this expedient; that when a customer comes for one of these, and desires in confidence to know the author; he will tell him very privately, as a friend, naming whichever of the wits shall happen to be that week in vogue; and if Durfey's last play should be in course, I would as lieve, he may be the person as Congreve. This I mention, because I am wonderfully well acquainted with the present relish of courteous readers; and have often observed, with singular pleasure, that a fly, driven from a honey-pot, will immediately with very good appetite alight, and finish his meal on an excrement.
I have one word to say upon the subject of profound writers, who are grown very numerous of late; and I know very well, the judicious world is resolved to list me in that number. I conceive therefore, as to the business of being profound, that it is with writers, as with wells; a person with good eyes may see to the bottom of the deepest, provided any water be there; and often, when there is nothing in the world at the bottom, beside dryness and dirt, though it be but a yard and half under ground, it shall pass however for wondrous deep, upon no wiser a reason, than because it is wondrous dark.
I am now trying an experiment very frequent among modern authors; which is to write upon
- ↑ When Dr. Prideaux brought the copy of his connexion of the Old and New Testament to the bookseller, he told him, it was a dry subject, and the printing could not safely be ventured unless he could enliven it with a little humour.
