us (and I believe he is the very first
author that ever told such a thing to his readers) "that the _entire
fabric_ of his speculations might be overset by unforeseen
vicissitudes," and what is far more extraordinary, "that even the
_whole_ consideration might be _varied whilst he was writing those
pages."_ Truly, in my poor judgment, this circumstance formed a very
substantial motive for his not publishing those ill-considered
considerations at all. He ought to have followed the good advice of his
motto: "_Que faire encore dans une telle nuit? Attendre le jour_." He
ought to have waited till he had got a little more daylight on this
subject. Night itself is hardly darker than the fogs of that time.

Finding the _last week in October_ so particularly referred to, and not
perceiving any particular event, relative to the war, which happened on
any of the days in that week, I thought it possible that they were
marked by some astrological superstition, to which the greatest
politicians have been subject. I therefore had recourse to my Rider's
Almanack. There I found, indeed, something that characterized the work,
and that gave directions concerning the sudden political and natural
variations, and for eschewing the maladies that are most prevalent in
that aguish intermittent season, "the last week of October." On that
week the sagacious astrologer, Rider, in his note on the third column of
the calendar side, teaches us to expect "_variable and cold weather";_
but instead of encouraging us to trust ourselves to the haze and mist
and doubtful lights of that changeable week, on the answerable part of
the opposite page he gives us a salutary caution (indeed, it is very
nearly in the words of the author's motto): "_Avoid_," says he, "_being
out late at night and in foggy weather, for a cold now caught may last
the whole winter_."[9] This ingenious author, who disdained the prudence
of the Almanack, walked out in the very fog he complains of, and has led
us to a very unseasonable airing at that time. Whilst this noble writer,
by the vigor of an excellent constitution, formed for the violent
changes he prognosticates, may shake off the importunate rheum and
malignant influenza of this disagreeable week, a whole Parliament may go
on spitting and snivelling, and wheezing and coughing, during a whole
session. All this from listening to variable, hebdomadal politicians,
who run away from their opinions without giving us a month's
warni