At the time of an election in Antrim, he addressed twelve letters to the independent electors, under the appellation of “The Freeholder,” to gain their votes for a constitutional candidate--Wilson; and these letters are known to have contributed to the raising of that wild clamour, which carried Wilson’s election by an enthusiastic blast of momentary madness. The style of The Freeholder is strongly impregnated with the essence of Junius. A great deal of evidence is adduced in continuation by Chalmers, which seems to bear him out in his conjectures; and it may be briefly recapitulated, that, firstly, the letters of Junius appear to have been written by an Irishman; secondly, that they are the work of an inexperienced or juvenile pen; and if Boyd wrote them, it must have been when he was between his twenty-third and twenty-fifth years; thirdly, they were published by one “who delighted to fish in troubled waters,” a propensity which Boyd frequently gratified; fourthly, the author was a constant attendant on both houses of parliament; fifthly, compared with The Freeholder, Boyd’s acknowledged work, there is a wonderful sameness in all the faults and excellences of the two. Boyd took a particular interest in Junius, and talked as if he knew the author, but that he never would be generally known: his wife often suspected him to be the writer. He never disclaimed the imputation, or claimed the honour. The public, says Mr. Chalmers, has an interest in exposing this mystery; and the relatives of those respectable persons who were said to be the writers have also an interest, if it is known where the application could be made, in placing the seditious pen of Junius in the proper hands. Almon, a bookseller, imagined that he had clearly detected Boyd as the author. In 1769, at a meeting of the booksellers and printers, H. S. Woodfall read a letter from Junius, because it contained a passage relating to the business of the meeting. Almon saw the handwriting of the manuscript, without disclosing his thoughts to the meeting; but the next time he saw Boyd at his shop, in Piccadilly, Almon said, “I have seen a part of one of Junius’s Letters in manuscript, which I believe is your handwriting.” Boyd instantly changed colour, and, after a short pause, replied, “The similitude of handwriting is not a conclusive fact.” Now, Boyd was by nature confident, and by habit a man of the world, a sort of character not apt to blush. From this time Almon used to say that he suspected Junius was a broken-down gentleman without a penny in his pocket.