to make so gross, so unpardonable a Mistake. All or
any of these must certainly have convinced him that Sir _W. T._ knew
no more of the publishing of the Memoirs than his ungenerous Adversary
Monsieur _de Cros_.

Well, but to pursue him in his Reveries; _I should publish_, says our
mortal Foe to Vanity, p. 9. _juster and more solid Memoirs than Sir_
W. T. _has done, if I had any Inclinations to appear in Print_; and
yet to see what a strange Spirit of Contradiction possesses some
people, he adds in the very next Lines that follow, _Not that I have
the Presumption to imagine my self more capable of performing such an
Undertaking than He is_. In the first place he proclaims it to all
Mankind, that he is fitter to write just and solid things than Sir
_W. T._ and secondly, before the Words are well out of his Mouth, he
would not be guilty of so much presumption as to think himself better
qualified for such an Undertaking than Sir _W. T._ If there be any
meaning in this sensless inconsistent passage, it amounts only to
this, _viz._ That 'tis possible for a Man to write more justly and
solidly than another (as for instance Monsieur _de Cros_ (if you'll
take his own Word for it) can write more justly and solidly than Sir
_W. T._) and yet after all, with these two Qualifications, is not
capable of writing better than he that has neither of them. Writing
_justly_ and _solidly_ are none of Monsieur _de Cros_'s Talents; and
therefore he was resolved to be revenged upon them.

What follows is extremely surprizing. _Whenever I put Pen to Paper_,
says Monsieur _de Cros_, p. 9. _I will write without Complaisance,
without Flattery, without Passion_: 'Tis strange he did not add
_without Sence and Meaning_. No doubt but Monsieur _de Cros_ will
write without Complaisance let him begin when he will; so far we
readily believe him: But that he will ever be persuaded to renounce
two of the dearest Qualities about him, Flattery and Passion, is
somewhat hard to digest. 'Tis true he promises fine things all along,
but is still so unkind to himself as to give us but very small hopes
that he'll remember to be as good as his Word. And 'tis very natural
for the censorious World not to regard what a Man promises, especially
if he does not regard them himself. In this small inconsiderable
Letter, as short as it is, he has taken care to exercise both his
Flattery and his Passion; and if it was impossible for him to write
four Sheets without calling t