He was clever; and no ordinary judge of cleverness in others. He sought out those who possessed it, and aimed to draw around and secure such as might be employed for his own special uses. Accession to office in the Board of Trade about 1755, after a popular speech or two, kept him for five years afterwards silent. An Irish sinecure kept him equally tongue-tied after his return from office in that country above thirty years more. Though mute, he contrived to retain fame as an orator. Unknown to the press, he obtained the character of a first-rate writer even so far as to be considered "Junius"—no one could tell precisely why,—yet comparison with that writer he deemed injurious to his own powers. He claimed to be a statesman, but did nothing and attempted nothing common to the character. In private life, none more freely discussed public affairs. In the Senate he said nothing. None more narrowly watched there the conduct of public men, their sentiments, speeches, and modes of speaking, yet never gave the country the benefit of his opinions on the momentous proceedings of one American and two French wars—not even the small contribution of a set speech once or twice in a session. He saw a former friend of whom he had hoped to make a tool, ascend equally by his tongue and his pen, step by step, and day by day, to unrivalled celebrity throughout Europe, yet never once attempted a struggle for former eminence as a speaker, or attempted to do anything as a writer. He appeared to live upon the past, yet is said to have kept a lively eye upon the future. Office—after
