There came out, not long after my pamphlet, another piece that _was to have_ made much noise. It was called “A Defence of the Minority in the House of Commons on the Question relating to General Warrants;” and had no meaner an author than Charles Townshend. His prodigious parts must not be judged of by this, or indeed by any of his few writings. He never was an author in proportion to his abilities. His thoughts flowed in too rapidly to give him time to digest them; nor was he ever enough in earnest about anything to consider it deliberately. This piece had poor success; and was confuted by some able retainer, if not by some able member of the Administration. Townshend was hurt by this miscarriage; and as he was, though so superior to rivals, infinitely jealous, he could not avoid conceiving a little spleen against me, though posterity may take my word, ay, and my vanity’s word, that I never felt myself so little as the moment he opened his mouth. I do not know whether they would own it with equal frankness, but many men greatly excelling me in talents, ought to have shrunk, too, into themselves, and felt their own futility when Charles Townshend was present. Yet such alloy did he bear about him to those marvellous parts, that children and women had more discretion and fewer weaknesses. Being hurt at the success of my Counter-Address, he wrote these very words to Mr. Conway: “The touches and re-touches on your character are fine; some strokes nobly free; but in general not what I expected. So Charles Yorke and others of our friends think.” Then, speaking of his own pamphlet, he added, “Mr. Pitt says it has had prodigious effect, and turned many. Grenville says it is serious, of great weight, and very hostile.” At that very instant Mr. Conway and I happened to know that Mr. Pitt declared he would not read it; and having afterwards read it, said he found it very inaccurate. There was the same want of truth in affirming that Grenville called it _very hostile_. Townshend was afraid his friends should perceive how far it was from being offensive.[6] It must not be supposed that I would pass off these trifling anecdotes of myself and others for a history of England. But they contain that most useful part of all history, a picture of human minds. They shew how little men are, though riding at what is called _the Top of the World_. These and the following scenes were what filled me with disgust, and made me quit that splendid theatre of pitiful passions; not from having been too good for my company, but ashamed of being one of such _Dramatis Personæ_: and so far more inexcusable than the rest, that neither ambition nor interest had led me behind the curtain--perhaps if they had, I should have remained there still.