CHAPTER II

It is with LOVE as with CUCKOLDOM----

But now I am talking of beginning a book, and have long had a thing upon my mind to be imparted to the reader, which, if not imparted now, can never be imparted to him as long as I live (whereas the COMPARISON may be imparted to him any hour in the day) ----I’ll just mention it, and begin in good earnest.

The thing is this.

That of all the several ways of beginning a book which are now in practice throughout the known world, I am confident my own way of doing it is the best ----I’m sure it is the most religious----for I begin with writing the first sentence----and trusting to Almighty God for the second.

’Twould cure an author for ever of the fuss and folly of opening his street-door, and calling in his neighbours and friends, and kinsfolk, with the devil and all his imps, with their hammers and engines, &c., only to observe how one sentence of mine follows another, and how the plan follows the whole.

I wish you saw me half starting out of my chair, with what confidence, as I grasp the elbow of it, I look up----catching the idea, even sometimes before it half way reaches me----

I believe in my conscience I intercept many a thought which heaven intended for another man.

_Pope_ and his Portrait[8.2] are fools to me----no martyr is ever so full of faith or fire ----I wish I could say of good works too----but I have no

Zeal or Anger----or Anger or Zeal----

And till gods and men agree together to call it by the same name----the errantest TARTUFFE, in science--in politics--or in religion, shall never kindle a spark within me, or have a worse word, or a more unkind greeting, than what he will read in the next chapter.

[Footnote 8.2: Vid. _Pope’s_ Portrait.]

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