I NOW began to feel life tedious, and wished to store myself with friends, with whom I might grow old in the interchange of benevolence. I had obferved that popularity was most easily gained by an open table, and therefore hired a French Cook, furnished my fideboard with great magnificence, filled my cellar with wines of pompous appellations, bought every thing that was dear before it was good, and invited all thofe who were moft famous for judging of a dinner. In three weeks my Cook gave me warning, and, upon enquiry, told me that Lord Queafy, who dined with me the day before, had fent him an offer of double wages. My pride prevailed, I raised his wages, and invited his Lordfhip to another feaft. I love plain meat, and was therefore foon weary of spreading a table of which I could not partake. I found that my guests when they went away, criticised their entertainment, and cenfured my profufion; my Cook thought himself neceffary, and took upon him the direction of the houfe; and I could not rid myself of flatterers, or break from flavery, but by shutting up my house, and declaring my resolution to live in lodgings. AFTER AFTER all this, tell me, dear Idler, what I muft do next; I have health, I have money, and hope that I have understanding; yet, with all these, I have never yet been able to pass a fingle day which I did not wish at an end before fun-fet. Tell me, dear Idler, what I fhall do. I am Your humble Servant, TIM. RANGER, N° 65. Saturday, July 14. HE Sequel of Clarendon's Hiftory, at last happily published, is an acceffion to EnLiterature equally agreeable to the adrers of elegance and the lovers of truth; any doubtful facts may now be ascertained, d many queftions, after long debate, may e determined by decifive authority. He that ecords tranfactions in which himself was engaged, has not only an opportunity of knowing innumerable particulars which escape fpectators, but has his natural powers ex alted alted by that ardour which always rises at the remembrance of our own importance, and by which every man is enabled to relate his own actions better than another's. THE difficulties thro' which this work has ftruggled into light, and the delays with which our hopes have been long mocked, naturally lead the mind to the confideration of the common fate of pofthumous compofitions. HE who sees himself surrounded by admirers, and whofe vanity is hourly feafted with all the luxuries of ftudied praife, is eafily perfuaded that his influence will be extended beyond his life; that they who cringe in his prefence will reverence his memory, and that those who are proud to be numbered among his friends, will endeavour to vindicate his choice by zeal for his reputation. WITH hopes like thefe, to the Executors of Swift was committed the History of the last years of Queen Anne, and to thofe of Pope the Works which remained unprinted in his closet. The performances of Pope were burnt by those whom he had perhaps selected from all all mankind as moft likely to publifh them; and the History had likewise perished, had not a ftraggling transcript fallen into bufy hands. THE Papers left in the closet of Peiresc fupplied his heirs with a whole winter's fuel, and many of the labours of the learned Bishop Lloyd were confumed in the kitchen of his. defcendants. SOME Works, indeed, have escaped total deftruction, but yet have had reason to lament the fate of Orphans exposed to the frauds of unfaithful Guardians. How Hale would have borne the mutilations which his Pleas of the Crown have fuffered from the Editor, they who know his character will easily conceive. * THE original Copy of Burnet's History, tho' promised to fome public Library, has been never given; and who then can prove the fidelity of the publication, when the authenticity of Clarendon's Hiftory, tho' printed. with the fanction of one of the first Univerfities of the World, had not an unexpected * It would be proper to repofite, in fome publick Place, the Manufcript of Clarendon, which has not ef caped all fufpicion of unfaithful publication. manu manuscript been happily discovered, would, with the help of factious credulity, have been brought into queftion by the two lowest of all human beings, a Scribbler for a Party, and a Commiffioner of Excife? VANITY is often no less mifchievous than negligence or dishonefty. He that poffeffes a valuable Manuscript, hopes to raise its esteem by concealment, and delights in the distinction which he imagines himself to obtain by keeping the key of a treasure which he neither uses nor imparts. From him it falls to fome other owner, lefs vain but more negligent, who confiders it as useless lumber, and rids himself of the incumbrance. YET there are some works which the Authors must confign unpublished to posterity, however uncertain be the event, however hopeless be the truft He that writes the hiftory of his own times, if he adheres steadily to truth, will write that which his own times will not eafily endure. He must be content to repofite his book till all private pasfions fhall cease, and love and hatred give way to curiofity. BUT |