Was every day of my life to be as busy a day as this–and to take up– Truce. I will not finish that sentence till I have made an observation upon the strange state of affairs between the reader and myself, just as things stand at present–an observation never applicable before to any one biographical writer since the creation of the world, but to myself–and I believe, will never hold good to any other, until its final destruction– and therefore, for the very novelty of it alone, it must be worth your worships attending to. I am this month one whole year older than I was this time twelve-month; and having got, as you perceive, almost into the middle of my third volume (According to the preceding Editions.)–and no farther than to my first day’s life–‘tis demonstrative that I have three hundred and sixty-four days more life to write just now, than when I first set out; so that instead of advancing, as a common writer, in my work with what I have been doing at it–on the contrary, I am just thrown so many volumes back–was every day of my life to be as busy a day as this–And why not?–and the transactions and opinions of it to take up as much description–And for what reason should they be cut short? as at this rate I should just live 364 times faster than I should write–It must follow, an’ please your worships, that the more I write, the more I shall have to write–and consequently, the more your worships read, the more your worships will have to read. Will this be good for your worships eyes?