wash out, or even palliate, this foul blot in your character. I have not time, at present, to dissect your letter so minutely as I could wish; but I will be bold enough to say, that it is (as to reason and argument) the most extraordinary piece of florid impotence that was ever imposed upon the eyes and ears of the too credulous and deluded mob. It accuses the Duke of Bedford of high treason. Upon what foundation? You tell us," that the Duke's pecuniary character makes it more than probable, that he could not have made such sacrifices at the peace, without some private compensations; that his conduct carried with it an interior evidence, beyond all the legal proofs of a court of justice."

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 increased the jointure of the afflicted lady, his widow. Is this avarice? Is this doing good by stealth? It is upon record.

Florid impotence, &c.] Sir William errs as much in imputing florid impotence to the writing of JUNIUS, as in praising it for Attic wit.

Eight thousand pounds a year.] Eight thousand pounds a year, out of at least forty thousand, was no very liberal allowance to an only son. Sir William is not lucky in the mentioning of this fact.

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 fire has existed. You at first brand 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 journey impeded, and even the asylum of an altar

Let us admit that an ambassador may love money, &c.] In the following Letter, the reader will find JUNIUS taking advantage very skilfully of this concession.

To blind us with the smoke, &c.] To make a simile or metaphor happy, there must always be truth, or at least natural propriety, in the facts which you assume for the illustrative part of your figure. But, as the presence of smoke is always a proof of the existence of fire somewhere; this figure of Sir William Draper's is, therefore, absolute nonsense.

Must his house be besieged, &c.] This period, and indeed the whole subsequent train of the paragraph, are even ridiculously improper.

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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. be they submitted. But I hope also, that some To that 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: ifthe 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 effected, because new parchment bonds may possibly supersede the old? To say the truth, wher ever such practices prevail, they are equally criminal to, and destructive of our freedom.

The rest of your declamation is scarce worth considering, except 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.

You produce two pictures, &c.] This period is abundantly happy; easier, but scarcely less forcible, than the writing of JUNIUS himself.

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, quarrelled, cried, kissed, and been friends again; as the objects of desire, the ministerial rattles, have been put into their hands. But such proceedings are very unworthy of the gravity and dignity of a great nation. We do not want men of abilities; but we have wanted steadiness; we want unanimity; your Letter, JUNIUS, will not contribute thereto. You may one day expire by a flame of your own kindling. But it is my humble opinion, that lenity and moderation, pardon and oblivion, will disappoint the efforts of all the seditious in the land, and extingish their wide-spreading fires. I have lived with this sentiment; with this I shall die.

WILLIAM DRAPER.

Have pouted, quarrelled, cried, &c.] This is a ludicrous description of the conduct of the ministers; and there is a want of propriety in introducing it where it stands. But it is faithful, and even prettily picturesque.

* Sir William gives us a pleasant account of men who, in his opinion, at least, are the best qualified to govern an empire. Expire by a flame of your own kindling.] The common fate of those who are the first leaders in all great political revolutions.

Lenity and moderation, &c.] The ill-humour of the city of London; the case of Wilkes and the Middlesex election; the rising discontents of America; are, what Sir William here alludes to.

LETTER XXVII.

TO THE PRINTER OF THE PUBLIC ADVERTISER.

IN this Letter, JUNIUS makes a lively and eloquent reply to whatever seemed much to deserve notice, in the last epistle from Sir William Draper.

He endeavours to throw ridicule on those passages of that epistle, in which Sir William complained of his own wrongs. He strives to render his opponent's aid suspicious to the Duke of Bedford. Himself he dexterously exculpates from the charge of wanton and barbarous cruelty against the Duke; a charge which, as it should seem, Sir William Draper had not been the only person to urge, since the publication of the invective in which that nobleman was so furiously attacked. With menaces, in which it were hard to say, whether the majesty of genius or the blustering of vanity predominate, he strives to make the Duke and his friends shrink under the terror of new abuse. Where his reasonings had seemed the least invincible, he successfully address all the force and artifice of persuasion of which he was master, there to produce unshaken belief. Even where Sir William Draper's opinions might seem almost to coincide with his own, he yet contrives to cover them with ridicule and contempt.

This Letter seems to be somewhat carelessly written. And yet, the reasoning and the rhetoric are, in one or two of the paragraphs, very elaborately wrought.

SIR,

.13. October, 1769.

IF Sir William Draper's bed be a bed of

torture, he has made it for himself. I shall never in

He has made it for himself.] This expression seems sufficiently clear and forcible in its meaning. But, it is the pert language of a chamber-maid; and, therefore, does not fall happily from the pen of JUNIUS.

I shall never interrupt his repose.] This expression, connected as it is, with the former member of the period in which it stands,