o nature, and he can not go wrong in his conclusions. There is
a passage in Letter 53 on this very point. Junius is speaking of the
Rev. Mr. Horne, and says: "He repeatedly affirms, or intimates, at
least, that he knows the author of these Letters. With what color of
truth, then, can he pretend 'that I am nowhere to be encountered but in
a newspaper?' I shall leave him to his suspicions. It is not necessary
that I should confide in the honor and discretion of a man who always
seems to hate me with as much rancor as if I had formerly been his
friend. But he asserts that he has traced me through a variety of
signatures. To make the discovery of any importance to his purpose, he
should have proved either that the fictitious character of Junius has
not been consistently supported, or that the author has maintained
different principles under different signatures. I can not recall to my
memory the numberless trifles I have written; _but I rely on the
consciousness of my own_ INTEGRITY, and defy him to fix any colorable
charge of _inconsistency_ upon me."

* * * * *

Now, what have I shown? It is that the character of Thomas Paine, as
found in his writings (not in what people say about him), is the very
same character, with all its shades and coloring, which is found in the
LETTERS OF JUNIUS. This is shown by the best and strongest evidence
under the sun, _internal_ evidence. I have purposely avoided all
external evidence, from the mere fact of its worthlessness, inasmuch as
it is that kind of evidence which itself needs proof. If, for example,
Thomas Paine had said to some one: "I wrote Junius," it would be no
evidence to me, and would weigh just the same as if he had said: "I did
not write Junius." It is external evidence, and may be a lie, for lying
is common to mankind. It is that kind of evidence which needs proof. But
nature never makes two great characters alike, nor at the same time. She
is prodigal of varieties. And if two characters seem alike, it is
because of their insignificance; the orbit of their life is so small it
can not be measured. But when a Paine, or a Parker, or a Luther, or a
Jesus, is let loose on earth, they each describe an orbit so large and
peculiar there is no mistaking it for any thing else the world ever
exhibits among men. And in their earthly pilgrimage, however seemingly
erratic in their course, nature holds them true to her purposes, and
holds up no lie therei