the premises as well as the conclusion are absolutely false. Many applications have been made to the ministry on the subject of the Manilla ransom since the time of my being colonel of that regiment. As I have for some years quitted London, I was obliged to have recourse to the honourable Colonel Monson and Sir Samuel Cornish*, to negotiate for me; in the last autumn, I personally delivered a memorial to the Earl of Shelburne at his seat in Wiltshire. As you have told us of your importance, that you are a person of rank and fortune, and above a common bribet, you may in all probability be not unknown to his lordship, who can satisfy you of the truth of what I say. But I shall now take the liberty, Sir, to seize you rbattery, and turn it against yourself. If your puerile and tinsel logic could carry the least weight or conviction with it, how must you stand affected by the inevitable conclusion, as you are pleased to term it? According to JuNIUS, silence is guilt. In many of the public papers, you have been called in the most direct and offensive terms a liar and a coward. When did you reply to these foul accusations? You have been quite silent; quite chop-fallen: therefore, because you was silent, the nation has a right to pronounce you to be both a liar and a coward from your own argument: but, Sir, I will give you fairer play; will afford you an opportunity to wipe off the first appellation; by desiring the proofs of your charge against me. Produce them! To wipe off the last, produce yourself. People cannot bear any longer your Lion's skin, and the despicable imposture of the old Roman name which you have affected. For the future assume the name of some modern bravo and dark assassin: let your appellation have some affinity to your practice. But if I must perish, JUNIUS, let me perish in the face of day; be for once a generous and open enemy. I allow that gothic appeals to cold iron are no better proofs of a man's honesty

• These gentlemen accompanied Sir William as brother officers in his expedition against the Philippines. EDIT.

† See Miscellaneous Letters of the Author, NO. LIV. EDIT.

Was Brutus an ancient bravo and dark assassin? or does Sir W. D. think it criminal to stab a tyrant to the heart?

and veracity than hot iron and burning ploughshares are of female chastity: but a soldier's honour is as delicate as a woman's; it must not be suspected; you have dared to throw more than a suspicion upon mine: you cannot but know the consequences, which even the meekness of Christianity would pardon me for, after the injury you have done me.

WILLIAM DRAPER.

LETTER XXV.

Hæret lateri lethalis arundo.

TO SIR WILLIAM DRAPER, KNIGHT OF THE BATH.

SIR,

25 September, 1769. AFTER so long an interval, I did not expect to see the debate revived between us. My answer to your last letter shall be short; for I write to you with reluctance, and I hope we shall now conclude our correspondence for ever.

Had you been originally and without provocation attacked by an anonymous writer, you would have some right to demand his name. But in this cause you are a volunteer. You engaged in it with the unpremeditated gallantry of a soldier. You were content to set your name in opposition to a man, who would probably continue in concealment. You understood the terms upon which we were to correspond, and gave at least a tacit assent to them. After voluntarily attacking me under the character of JUNIUS, what possible right have you to know me under any other? Will you forgive me if I insinuate to you, that you foresaw some honour in the apparent spirit of coming forward in person, and that you were not quite indifferent to the display of your literary qualifications?

You cannot but know that the republication of my letters was no more than a catchpenny contrivance of a printer, in which it was impossible I should be concerned, and for which I am no way answerable. At the same time I wish you to understand, that if I do not take the trouble of reprinting 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 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.

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 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

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