these papers, it is not from any fear of giving offence to Sir William Draper. Your remarks upon a signature, adopted merely for distinction, are unworthy of notice; but when you tell me I have submitted to be called a liar and a coward, I must ask you in my turn, whether you seriously think it any way incumbent upon me to take notice of the silly invectives of every simpleton, who writes in a newspaper; and what opinion you would have conceived of my discretion, if I had suffered myself to be the dupe of so shallow an artifice? Your appeal to the sword, though consistent enough with your late profession, will neither prove your innocence nor clear you from suspicion. Your complaints with regard to the Manilla ransom were, for a considerable time, a distress to government. You were appointed (greatly out of your turn) to the command of a regiment, and during that administration we heard no more of Sir William Draper. The facts, of which I speak, may indeed be variously accounted for, but they are too notorious to be denied; and I think you might have learnt at the university, that a false conclusion is an error in argument, not a breach of veracity. Your solicitations, I doubt not, were renewed under another administration. Admitting the fact, I fear an indifferent person would only infer from it, that experience had made you acquainted with the benefits of complaining. Remember, Sir, that you have yourself confessed, that, considering the critical situation of this country, the ministry are in the right to temporise with Spain. This confession reduces you to an unfortunate dilemma. By renewing your solicitations, you must either mean to force your country into a war at a most unseasonable juncture; or, having no view or expectation of that kind, that you look for nothing but a private compensation to yourself. As to me, it is by no means necessary that I should be exposed to the resentment of the worst and the most powerful men in this country*, though I may be indifferent about * See Private Letters, No. 41. in which he continues to entertain some apprehensions concerning the effects of a discovery of his person. EDIT. yours. Though you would fight, there are others who would assassinate. But after all, Sir, where is the injury? You assure me, that my logic is puerile and tinsel; that it carries not the least weight or conviction; that my premises are false and my conclusions absurd. If this be a just description of me, how is it possible for such a writer to disturb your peace of mind, or to injure a character so well established as yours? Take care, Sir William, how you indulge this unruly temper, lest the world should suspect that conscience has some share in your resentments. You have more to fear from the treachery of your own passions, than from any malevolence of mine. I believe, Sir, you will never know me. A considerable time must certainly elapse before we are personally acquainted. You need not, however, regret the delay, or suffer an apprehension that any length of time can restore you to the Christian meekness of your temper, and disappoint your present indignation. If I understand your character, there is in your own breast a repository, in which your resentments may be safely laid up for future occasions, and preserved without the hazard of diminution. The Odia in longum jaciens, quæ reconderet, auctaque promeret, I thought had only belonged to the worst character of antiquity. The text is in Tacitus; you know best where to look for the commentary. JUNIUS. *SIR, LETTER XXVI. A WORD AT PARTING TO JUNIUS. 7 October, 1769. As you have not favoured me with either of the explanations demanded of you, I can have nothing more to say to you upon my own account. Your mercy to me, or tenderness for yourself, has been very great. The public will judge * Measures and not men is the common cant of affected moderation;-a base, counterfeit language, fabricated by knaves, and made current among fools. Such gentle censure is not fitted to the present, degenerate state of society. What does it avail to expose the absurd contrivance, or pernicious tendency of your motives. If your excess of modesty forbids you to produce either the proofs or yourself, I will excuse it. Take courage; I have not the temper of Tiberius, any more than the rank or power. You, indeed, are a tyrant of another sort, and upon your political bed of torture can excruciate any subject, from a first minister down to such a grub or butterfly as myself; like another detested tyrant of antiquity, can make the wretched sufferer fit the bed, if the bed will not fit the sufferer, by disjointing or tearing the trembling limbs until they are stretched to its extremity. But courage, constancy, and patience, under torments, have sometimes caused the most hardened monsters to relent, and forgive the object of their cruelty. You, Sir, are determined to try all that human nature can endure, until she expires: else, was it possible that you could be the author of that most inhuman letter to the Duke of Bedford? I have read it with astonishment and horror. Where, Sir, where were the feelings of your own heart, when you could upbraid a most affectionate father with the loss of his only and most amiable son? Read over again those cruel lines of yours, and let them wring your very soul! Cannot political questions be discussed without descending to the most odious personalties? Must you go wantonly out of your way to torment declining age, because the Duke of Bedford may have quarrelled with those whose cause and politics you espouse? For shame! for shame! As you have spoke daggers to him, you may justly dread the use of them against your own breast, did a want of courage, or of noble sentiments, stimulate him to such mean revenge. He is above tendency of measures, if the man who advises or executes, shall be suffered not only to escape with impunity, but even to preserve his power, and insult us with the favour of his Sovereign! I would recommend to the reader the whole of Mr. Pope's letter to Doctor Arbuthnot, dated 26 July, 1734, from which the following is an extract. "To reform and not to chastise I am afraid is impossible; and that the best precepts, as well as the best laws, would prove of small use, if there were no examples to enforce them. To attack vices in the abstract, without touching persons, may be safe fighting indeed, but it is fighting with shadows. My greatest comfort and encouragement to proceed, has been to see that those whe have no shame, and no fear of any thing else, have appeared touched by my satires." it; he is brave. Do you fancy that your own base arts have My academical education, Sir, bids me tell you that it is necessary to establish the truth of your first proposition, before you presume to draw inferences from it. First prove the avarice, before you make the rash, hasty, and most wicked conclusion. This father, JUNIUS, whom you call avaricious, allowed that son eight thousand pounds a year. Upon his most unfortunate death, which your usual good-nature took care to remind him of, he greatly encreased the jointure of the afflicted lady, his widow. Is this avarice? Is this doing -good by stealth? It is upon record. If exact order, method, and true economy as a master of a family; if splendor and just magnificence, without wild waste and thoughtless extravagance, may constitute the character of an avaricious man, the Duke is guilty. But for a moment let us admit that an ambassador may love money too much; what proof do you give that he has taken any to betray his country? Is it hearsay; or the evidence of letters, or ocular; or the evidence of those concerned in this black affair? Produce your authorities to the public. It is a most impudent kind of sorcery to attempt to blind us with the smoke, without convincing us that the fire has existed. You first brand VOL. I. X him with a vice that he is free from, to render him odious and suspected. Suspicion is the foul weapon with which you make all your chief attacks; with that you stab. But shall one of the first subjects of the realm be ruined in his fame; shall even his life be in constant danger, from a charge built upon such sandy foundations? Must his house be besieged by lawless ruffians, his journies impeded, and even the asylum of an altar be insecure, from assertions so base and false? Potent as he is, the Duke is amenable to justice; if guilty, punishable. The parliament is the high and solemn tribunal for matters of such great moment. To that be they submitted. But I hope also that some notice will be taken of, and some punishment inflicted upon, false accusers, especially upon such, JUNIUS, who are wilfully false. In any truth I will agree even with JUNIUS; will agree with him that it is highly unbecoming the dignity of Peers to tamper with boroughs. Aristocracy is as fatal as democracy. Our constitution admits of neither. It loves a King, Lords, and Commons really chosen by the unbought suffrages of a free people. But if corruption only shifts hands; if the wealthy commoner gives the bribe, instead of the potent Peer, is the state better served by this exchange? Is the real emancipation of the borough affected, because new parchment bonds may possibly supersede the old? To say the truth, wherever such practices prevail, they are equally criminal to and destructive of our freedom. The rest of your declamation is scarce worth considering, excepting for the elegance of the language. Like Hamlet in the play, you produce two pictures: you tell us, that one is not like the Duke of Bedford; then you bring a most hideous caricatura, and tell us of the resemblance; but multum abludit imago. All your long tedious accounts of the ministerial quarrels, and the intrigues of the cabinet, are reducible to a few short lines; and to convince you, sir, that I do not mean to flatter any minister, either past or present, these are my thoughts: they seem to have acted like lovers, or children; have pouted, |