ptuous in proportion to the rank of his
victims. To such a man even the excitement produced by the general
enquiry into the authorship might be a triumph in itself. Though a
solitary, it might be a high gratification to a morbid spirit of
disdain, to see himself a problem to mankind, to hear perpetual
arguments raised on his identity, and see the puzzled pens of the
pamphleteering word all busy in sketching an ideal likeness which each
fancied to be the original. If we could imagine the shade of Swift or
Shaftesbury, of Scarron or Rabelais, to walk invisibly through the
world playing its bitter and fantastic tricks in the ways of men,
stinging some, astounding others, and startling all, we perhaps would
approach nearest to the feelings which might, now and then, have
indulged the habitual scorn and stimulated the conscious power of
Junius.

It has also been said that Sir Philip Francis was not equal to the
composition of those masterly letters; and it must be acknowledged
that, though he made some very powerful and pointed speeches in the
House of Commons, they wanted the penetration and the polish of
Junius. But there are several letters by Sir Philip Francis in these
volumes, which, though evidently written in the haste and
desultoriness of private correspondence, exhibit conceptions strongly
resembling the sarcastic strength and high-wrought point of Junius.

The Hastings' trial brought Francis full before the public; and we
have a letter from Burke describing one of his speeches on this
subject, which, with his usual good nature, he sent to the orator's
wife. It is dated April 20, 1787.--"My dear madam, I cannot, with all
honest appetite, or clear conscience, sit down to my breakfast, unless
I first give you an account, which will make your family breakfast as
pleasant to you, as I wish all your family meetings to be. I have the
satisfaction of telling you, that, not in my judgment only, but in
that of all who heard him, no man ever acquitted himself, on a day of
great expectation, so well as Mr Francis did yesterday. He was clear,
precise, forcible, and eloquent, in a high degree. No intricate
business was ever better unravelled, and no iniquity ever placed so
effectually to produce its natural horror and disgust. * * * * All who
heard him were delighted, except those whose mortification ought to
give pleasure to every good mind. He was two hours and a half on his
legs, and he never lost attention for a moment."