Courteous READER,

This is the ninth Year of my Endeavours to serve thee in the Capacity of a Calendar-Writer. The Encouragement I have met with must be ascrib'd, in a great Measure, to your Charity, excited by the open honest Declaration I made of my Poverty at my first Appearance. This my Brother Philomaths could, without being Conjurers, discover; and Poor Richard's Success, has produced ye a Poor Will, and a Poor Robin; and no doubt Poor John, &c. will follow, and we shall all be in Name what some Folks say we are already in Fact, A Parcel of poor Almanack Makers. During the Course of these nine Years, what Buffetings have I not sustained! The Fraternity have been all in Arms. Honest Titan, deceas'd, was rais'd, and made to abuse his old Friend. Both Authors and Printers were angry. Hard Names, and many, were bestow'd on me. They deny'd me to be the Author of my own Works; declar'd there never was any such Person; asserted that I was dead 60 Years ago; prognosticated my Death to happen within a Twelvemonth: with many other malicious Inconsistences, the Effects of blind Passion, Envy at my Success; and a vain Hope of depriving me (dear Reader) of thy wonted Countenance and Favour. -- Who knows him? they cry: Where does he live?--- But what is that to them? If I delight in a private Life, have they