Letters of Junius/Letter XXV
LETTER XXV.
Hæret lateri lethalis arundo.
TO SIR WILLIAM DRAPER, K. B.
SIR,
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 catch-penny 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 on me to take notice of the silly invectives of every simpleton who writes in a news-paper; 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 learned 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 temporize 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 jacens, quae 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.