William Pitt the younger was born at Hayes in 1759, in the full splendour of his father's famous ministry; in the year that saw Quebec fall before the dying Wolfe; that saw the glorious but inconclusive victory of Minden; that saw Hawke in a November storm crush the French fleet; the year that produced Burns and Wilberforce. None, perhaps, has given us names so honoured and cherished by the human race.

Of his parents it is needless to say anything, except in so far as they influenced his career. His father, William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, was the most striking figure and the most dazzling statesman of his time; while, if one may judge of his speeches by their effect, he may be held the greatest orator that England has ever produced. Lady Chatham was the only sister of two remarkable brothers.

One, George Grenville, the obstinate minister of an obstinate King, did much to involve us in our most disastrous and unnatural war. The other, Richard Earl Temple, welded his family into a disciplined and formidable force, which lasted as a potent factor in politics for at least two generations; and accomplished its persistent object in the third, by obtaining the luckless dukedom of Buckingham for its chief.

With such parents, the younger Pitt was born a politician; his rare qualities of mind were from his earliest childhood directed and trained for parliamentary work. It did not, indeed, at first appear probable that he would survive to realise the designs of his father, who himself had suffered from the gout before leaving Eton.

A feeble constitution hardly promised life, much less vigour; but, fortified by floods of port wine--the prescription of Lord Chatham's favourite physician, Dr. Addington, the father of the Prime Minister--it enabled him to live to be forty-seven, and sustain for near twenty years, almost unaided, the government of the country.

From six to fourteen, however, his health was so indifferent that for more than half that period he was unable to apply himself to study; and, when at the latter age he went as an undergraduate to Cambridge, it stands recorded that he was accompanied by a nurse.

In the autumn of that year (1773) his disorder reached its crisis; he returned home dangerously ill; but, on his recovery, he seems to have secured a share of health sufficient for the purposes of public life, and troubled only by periodic fits of the gout, then the appanage of statesmanship, which he owed less to his original disease than its original remedy.

But this sickly childhood only makes his undoubted precocity the more extraordinary. Delicate health probably confined him to study, as it had confined his father. We know that he bought Hollwood, because he used to go birdwatching there as a child.

Otherwise, his nursery annals point entirely to learning, He was, indeed, one of the rare instances, like John Mill and Macaulay, of infant prodigy maturing into brilliant manhood. From his earliest years his parents' letters abound in allusions to his talents and character. "Eager Mr. William," " the Counsellor." "the Philosopher," are their nicknames for the marvellous child.

In 1766, when he was seven, his tutor writes: " Lady Hester and Mr. Pitt continue to astonish as much as ever; and I see no possibility of diminishing their ardour either by too much business or too much relaxation. When I am alone reading, Mr. Pitt, if it is anything he may attend to, constantly places himself by me, when his steady attention and sage remarks are not only entertaining but useful, as they frequently throw a light upon the subject and strongly impress it on my memory."

At the same age he appears to have displayed the dignity and self-possession that marked him in after life; and a trifling anecdote of his stay at Weymouth in that year records him as having dumbfounded mature observers by these qualities. Another and a later tutor, Bishop Tomline, says, that "although he was little more than fourteen years of age when he went to reside at the University, and had laboured under the disadvantage of frequent illhealth, the knowledge which he then possessed was very considerable; and in particular, his proficiency in the learned languages was probably greater than ever was acquired by any other person in such early youth. In Latin authors he seldom met with difficulty; and it was no uncommon thing for him to read into English six or seven pages of Thucydides, which he had not previously seen, without more than two or three mistakes, and sometimes without even one. It was by Lord Chatham's particular desire that Thucydides was the first Greek book which Mr. Pitt read after he came to college. The only other wish ever expressed by his lordship relative to his son's studies was that I would read Polybius with him."

But his latest and most pregnant study, more important to his career than the "strange rhapsody of Lycophron," or even Polybius, was the great work of Adam Smith. He, almost alone of the statesmen of that day, had mastered and assimilated the Wealth of Nations, before entering public life.

A graceful story has been told in which Pitt is made to declare his indebtedness himself. Dundas asked Adam Smith to dinner, but the philosopher did not arrive till all were seated. When he entered the whole company rose to their feet, and Pitt gaily exclaimed, "We will stand till you are seated, for we are all your scholars."

The elder Pitt, who seems to have written many of his letters in a sort of classical nightmare, was, it may be gathered from this very pedantry, no great scholar. It was to his training, however, that Pitt owed, not merely the power to translate at sight, which so astonished his tutor, but that fluency of majestic diction and command of correct expression, which afterwards distinguished him as an orator. His father would make ~he boy of an evening read freely into English the passage which he had construed with his tutor in the morning. So much did this grow into a habit that, when in later years an ancient writer was quoted, Pitt always rendered the sense of the sentence into flowing English, as if for his own use, before he seemed to enter into it. It was to these lessons that he always attributed his ready copiousness of language.

What was scarcely less valuable, Lord Chatham, (who, we are told, made a point of giving daily instruction, and readings from the Bible to his children), encouraged his son to talk to him without reserve on every subject; so that the boy, who seems to have returned the boundless affection with which his father regarded him, was in close and constant communication with one of the first minds of the age. How strictly political was the bias that his mind thus obtained, we see from a tragedy, "Laurentino, King of Chersonese," still extant, composed by William at the age of thirteen; in which there is no trace of love, but which has for its plot a struggle between a faithful minister and an unscrupulous conspirator about a regency.

The details of the childhood of great men are apt to be petty and cloying. Hero-worsbip, extended to the bib and the porringer, is more likely to repel than attract. But, in the case of Pitt, those details are doubly important; for they form the key to his career, which without them would be inexplicable. They alone explain that political precocity and that long parliamentary ascendancy, which still puzzle posterity.

For he, went into the House of Commons as an heir enters his home; he breathed in it his native atmosphere, he had, indeed, breathed no other; in the nursery, in the schoolroom, at the university, he lived in its temperature; it had been, so to speak, made over to him as a bequest by its unquestioned master. Throughout his life, from the cradle to the grave, he may be said to have known no wider existence.

The objects and amusements, that other men seek in a thousand ways, were for him all concentrated there. It was his mistress, his stud, his dice-box, his game-preserve; it was his ambition, his library, his creed. For it, and it alone, had the consummate Chatham trained him from his birth. No young Hannibal was ever more solemnly devoted to his country than Pitt to Parliament. And the austerity of his political consecration lends additional interest to the records of his childhood ; for they furnish almost the only gleams of ease and nature that play on his life.

He was destined, at one bound, to attain that supreme but isolated position, the first necessity of which is selfcontrol; and, behind the imperious mask of power, he all but concealed the softer emotions of his earlier years. Grief for the loss of his sister and her husband are the only instances of human weakness that break the stern impressiveness of his life, up to that last year when fate pressed pitilessly on the dying man. From the time that he went to Cambridge, as a boy of fourteen with his tutor and his nurse, he seems, with one short interval, to have left youth and gaiety behind.

All this does not amount to much; but it must be remembered that the life of Pitt has yet to be written. That by Richards Green, who wrote under the name of Gifford, need scarcely be mentioned. That by Tomline has been severely judged, more perhaps with reference to what it might have been than to what it is; for there are worse books. But the shores of biographical enterprise are strewn with the wrecks of the private secretaries of that period. There is Tomline; there is Trotter; there is even Stapleton; and there is Bourrienne. The Life by Lord Stanhope remains a standard book; it was written by one born under the shadow of Pitt, and reared in the traditions of hereditary reverence for his name.

But it is no disparagement to those delightful volumes to say that there remains a dormant mass of material, that was not then, even if it is now, accessible, Which must throw a new light on this period. There are the papers of Grenville, and Harrowby, and Canning; of Liverpool, and Lonsdale, and Mulgrave; more especially the collections of Buckingham and of Tomline, which, it may be presumed, have been rather tapped than drained.

The same surmise may be entertained by those who have read what has been published from the archives of Rose and of Malmesbury. There is also the State Paper Office; which, especially in the Foreign Department, seems destined to elucidate much of Pitt's policy. Lord Stanhope gathered and garnered with unwearied sympathy and acuteness. But the materials which he utilised, appear, on examination, to be scanty enough, compared to those, which, it would seem, must necessarily be in existence, even if the papers of George III which have so mysteriously vanished, should never again see day.

Pitt was admitted at Pembroke Hall on the 26th of April 1773, when he was not yet fourteen. By the kindness of the Rev. C. E. Searle, D.D., Master of Pembroke College, it is possible to print here the letter with which Chatham introduced his boy to the authorities. It is addressed to Mr. Joseph Turner, then Senior Tutor of the College and Senior Wrangler in 1767:

BURTON PYNSENT, October 3, 1773

SIR--Apprehensions of gout, about this Season, forbid my undertaking a journey to Cambridge with my Son. I regret this more particularly, as it deprives me of an occasion of being introduced to your Personal Acquaintance, and that of the Gentlemen of your Society; a loss, I shall much wish to repair, at some other time. Mr. Wilson, whose admirable Instruction and affectionate Care have brought my Son, early, to receive such further advantages, as he cannot fail to find, under your eye, will present Him to you.

He is of a tender age, and of a health, not yet firm enough to be indulged, to the full, in the strong desire he has to acquire useful knowledge. An ingenuous mind and docility of temper will, I know, render him conformable to your Discipline, in all points. Too young for the irregularities of a man, I trust, he will not, on the other band, prove troublesome by the Puerile sallies of a Boy. Such as he is, I am happy to place him at Pembroke; and I need not say, how much of his Parents' Hearts goes along with him.

I am, with great esteem and regard, Sir, your most faithful and most obedient humble Servant,

CHATHAM

At University

At the University, Pitt led the austere life of a student; never missing hall or chapel or lecture, save when illness hindered. He took his degree, by privilege, at the age of seventeen, but continued to reside at Cambridge for nearly four years afterwards, seeing rather more of his contemporaries, and with habits somewhat less ascetic, than heretofore. He had always allowed himself the relaxation of a trip to London to hear his father speak.

"His first speech lasted above an hour, and the second half an hour; surely the two finest speeches that were ever made before, unless by himself," writes the enthusiastic son; and in his nineteenth year it was his fate to support the old statesman to the last scene in the House of Lords. Two months later he was bearing his part as chief mourner in the gorgeous procession that followed in the heraldic epithet, for once not misapplied "the noble and puissant William Pitt, Earl of Chatham," to that grave in Westminster Abbey, which, in less than thirty years, was, in still darker days, to open for himself.

His father's disregard of money, as complete as his own, left him with an income of from £ 250 to £ 300 a year; nor was this immediately available. His uncle, Lord Temple, advanced the sum necessary to purchase him a set of rooms at Lincoln's Inn. He began to keep his terms early in 1779; and, although continuing his residence at Cambridge, to sip with prudence the cup of London amusements. His share of these mainly consisted in attendance at parliamentary debates; where he became acquainted with Fox, already a star of the first magnitude. Nor did he shrink from a visit to the opera or an occasional rout. He was called to the bar in June, 1780.

His residence at Cambridge began at this time to have an object not less solid than study; for he came to be considered in the light of a possible candidate for the representation of the University in Parliament. The eagerness with which he embraced this opportunity, bespoke the mind set steadfastly in this direction by every influence and predisposition of youth.

The dissolution came in September 1780, when he stood for the University, and was left at the bottom of the poll. But immediately afterwards, the young Duke of Rutland, who had been warmly interested in Pitt's success, applied to Sir James Lowther for a seat for his friend. Lowther, afterwards Lord Lonsdale, exercised in the North of England a sway which we can now hardly measure or imagine.

In 1782 he had offered to build and equip at his own expense a vessel of war with seventy guns. Boswell and Wilberforce have borne almost trembling testimony to the splendour of his court, which exhibited extreme hospitality, tempered by extreme awe, and which northern politicians haunted like a northern St. James'.

One of the chief secrets indeed of his power lay in his parliamentary influence, the extent of which was exactly defined in the deferential nickname of the Premier's Cat-o'-Nine-Tails. To one of his nine boroughs he now nominated Pitt; who accordingly in January 1781 took his seat in the House of Commons as member for Appleby. Exactly three years later, he was to enter it as Prime Minister, and hold that post with unexampled power for eighteen years.

At the time that Pitt stepped into public life, the administration of Lord North was in its agony. Its thinspun life was only preserved by the exertions of the King, The good-humoured cynicism of the minister had long ago given way to the most dismal apprehension; he was more and more determined to retire. But he had to deal with a stern taskmaster.

Madness of King George III

The character of George III is one which it is not easy to understand, if we take the common and erroneous view that human nature is consistent and coherent. The fact is, that congruity is the exception; and that time and circumstance and opportunity paint with heedless hands and garish colours on the canvass of a man's life; so that the result is less frequently a finished picture than a palette of squeezed tints. George III, who "gloried in the name of Briton," who obtained his initial popularity by being an Englishman born, and who, indeed, never travelled farther than York, was the German prince of his day. No petty elector or margrave, not the ruler of Hesse, who sold his people by the thousand as material of war, held more absolutely the view of property, as applied to his dominions or subjects.

He saw in the American war, not vanished possibilities in the guidance of a new world, but the expropriation of an outlying estate, the loss of which diminished his consequence. He fought for it, therefore, as doggedly as a Lord of Ravenswood for his remaining acres. As to his ministers, he regarded them as the more weapons of a warfare waged on behalf of autocracy. So long as they served him blindly, he lavished caresses on them; from the moment that they showed independence, he discarded them like old coats, and old coats which had become repulsive to him.

It is probable that he never liked Bute, and that Bute's direct influence over him has been greatly exaggerated. But, while North was the complaisant grand vizier, nothing was too good for him. The Cinque-ports and the Garter, money, terms of endearment, were all freely given.

At the time, however, of Pitt's entry into Parliament, the Minister was flinching under the terrific punishment of the Opposition and the severity of continual disaster; it was clear that he could not long endure; and the affectionate monarch was cooling down to freezing point. From the time of his resignation to his death, Lord North remained a stranger to George III.

It is doubtful whether the King ever regarded Pitt otherwise than as an indispensable officer, of whom, with his "damned long obstinate face," he stood painfully in awe. For Pitt, alive and in power, the sole bulwark against Fox and the deluge, he was willing to do anything to pay his bills or to double the peerage; but for the dead Pitt's debts he had not a farthing to spare; and he ungraciously ignored, and even denied, his former promise to contribute £ 30,000 for that object. At one time he found in Addington the servant that be required; and he wrote to him in terms scarcely less fond, than those which James employed to Villiers, or Maria Theresa to Kaunitz.

He adjured the minister to take horse exercise; he waited patiently with his family at Addington's house till Addington should come; the favourite was even admitted to share the royal mutton and turnips. No sooner, however, had Addington, appalled by the reduction of his majority to the not inadequate figure of thirty-seven, hurried from the field of battle, than his intimacy with the King ceased also. The Robinsons and the Roses lasted perhaps longer, for they were perennially useful; nor did Eldon ever give the King the chance, save for a few months, of proving that his affections survived office.

It is strange that any sovereign should display so thorough a contempt for the loyal service he received; it is stranger still in one whose popularity rested on his English qualities; on his warm heart, and affectionate disposition. Again, his habits were not less domestic than those of Mr. Perceval; but his home was a bell upon earth. What he cared for in his family relations was to maintain the same power over his children that Frederick William I exercised over Frederick the Great. As a consequence, they escaped from his roof as soon, and returned to it as rarely, as possible.

This is not a pleasant portrait; but there are better features in it. To his sense of duty, mistaken as we may deem it, he was honestly faithful; he was frugal, pious, and chaste; though the dullness of his court made virtue itself odious, and his parsimony did not prevent constant and unbounded demands on Parliament for the debts of the Civil List.

His talents, like his morals, were not of an attractive kind, but they must not be underrated. He was the ablest political strategist of his day. He had to struggle against men of genius, supported by popular enthusiasm, on the one hand; and an impracticable aristocracy, inured to supreme power, on the other. He had, during his reign, to deal with the elder Pitt and the younger Fox, when they were the idols of the nation; with the haughty alliance of Grenville and Grey; with the intolerable obstinacy of Grenville's father; with the close oligarchy of Whig nobles that had encircled and enchained the throne; and with the turbulent democracy of Wilkes.

He defeated or outwitted them all. Pitt impatiently betrayed the truth, after an interview with the King, then just recovering from a fit of insanity.

"Never," said the statesman, "has he so baffled me."

By a certain persistent astuteness; by the dexterous utilising of political rivalries; by cajoling some men and betraying others; by a resolute adroitness that turned disaster and even disease into instruments of his aim, the King realised his darling object, of converting the dogeship to which he had succeeded, into a real and to some extent a personal monarchy. At any rate, he indefinitely enlarged its boundaries.

It is necessary to dwell on the character of the sovereign, who played so prominent a part before and after our story. Little, however, need here be said of North; for within fourteen months he had ceased to be minister; and, with the exception of his obscure share in the Coalition government, had retired from prominent public life. But his reputation is below his real merits, though it owes something to the majestic eulogy of Gibbon.

In the art of gaining affection, and in debating power, he was second only to Fox. He was courageous and resourceful, cool in adversity, of an unruffled temper; he held, moreover, the first place in the State for twelve years, and left office, with all the unlimited opportunities of wealth that were then offered by war loans, even a poorer man than he entered it. His cynical and easy wit, indeed, covered a higher character than many with greater pretensions; and his good nature, facile to a fault, which made him lend himself to reprehensible acts, and to a policy of which at last he clearly saw the folly and the wickedness, is the main reproach that history has to urge against him; though that is heavy enough. He had apparently formed himself on Walpole; with the unlucky difference that, while Walpole had to deal with a Caroline of Anspach, North found his master in George III.

It was of course inevitable that Pitt should attach himself to the Opposition; more especially, as that part of it, which had constituted the personal following of his father, still held together under the leadership of Shelburne.

A month after taking his seat he had made his maiden speech (February 26, 1781), and had been hailed by the first men in Parliament, with the ready generosity of genius, as henceforth worthy to rank with them. He spoke on behalf of Burke's Bill for economical reform, unexpectedly, being led upon by the House; and his first speech was, what, perhaps, no other first speech ever was, an effective reply in debate.

Fox and North and Burke vied in congratulation. "He is not a chip of the old block," said the latter; "it is the old block itself." He spoke again in May on a question of the control of public expenditure with not less success; and for the third and last time in the session, on a motion of Fox's for peace, with America.

His speeches, therefore, in his first session were devoted to peace and retrenchment, and his main effort in the next to parliamentary reform; the, three causes nearest and most congenial to him; the beacons of his earlier, and the will-o'-the-wisps of his later career.

We catch glimpses of him now as a lad about town, leading something of a fashionable life during the season, though dutifully going the western circuit as soon as Parliament rose. A club had been formed at Goostree's of a score of young men who had entered Parliament together at the election of 1780, an idea, which was destined to be revived exactly a century afterwards.

Here he supped every night, not, we may be sure, with out port wine; here he gambled; until he became sensible of the insidious fascination of the gaming table, and turned his back on it for ever. The example of Fox had been perhaps sufficient.

We read of Pitt, in 1780, as going to three parties of an evening; two of them masked balls, one, given by a lady of apparently not unspotted reputation, and concluding his evening at the Pantheon.

A more remarkable evening was that on which he met Gibbon. The great man, lord of all he surveyed, was holding forth, snuff-box in hand, amid deferential acquiescence; when a deep, clear voice was heard impugning his conclusions. All turned round in amazement and saw that it belonged to a tall, thin, awkward youth who had hitherto sate silent. Between Pitt, for it was he, and Gibbon, an animated and brilliant argument arose; in which the junior had so much the best of it that the historian took his hat and retired. Nor would he return.

"That young gentleman," he said, "is, I doubt not, extremely ingenious and agreeable, but I must acknowledge that his style of conversation is not exactly what I am accustomed to, so you must positively excuse me."

It is almost a relief after this to find him in 1781 "waging war with increasing success on pheasants and partridges." He did not even disdain the practical jokes of an undergraduate.

"We found one morning," says Wilberforce, "the fruits of Pitt's earlier rising in the careful sowing of the garden beds with the fragments of a dress hat in which Ryder had overnight come down from the opera."

In truth, no man was less of a prig. He was so loftily placed in early youth that he was compelled to a certain austerity of demeanour in order to maintain respect; and he had indeed something of the lofty shyness of Peel. But, at this unconstrained moment of his life, he was, says one who knew all that was most brilliant in English society for half a century, "the wittiest man I ever knew."

At the end of Pitt's first session, Fox had declared him to be already one of the first men in Parliament. He was to know no flagging in his onward course; his genius was not to want the opportunity for which genius so often pines; the accumulating calamities of his country demanded the best efforts of the noblest ambition.

The session had ended on the 18th of July 1781. On the 19th of October Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown. The news reached London, late in November; and shattered even the imperturbable ease of North. He took it as he would have taken a bullet in his breast. He opened his arms, exclaiming wildly, as he paced up and down the room, "O God, it is all over!"

All was indeed over, as regards the Ministry and their policy. British dominion in the revolted colonies, and the administration which had so long asserted it, existed from that moment only in name. The catastrophe was followed by minor disasters: the retreat of Kempenfeldt, the loss of Minorca, and of many of our West Indian possessions -- though these were forgotten in the dazzling victory of Rodney.

But the long struggle was over; and had ended in the humiliation of Great Britain. It was the lowest point that she had ever touched. "The sun of England's glory," said Pitt, "is set."

Twenty years before, it had seemed at its meridian, and in the course of another generation it shone again with renewed lustre; but now it was totally eclipsed.

Before the end of March, even the King was convinced that he must part with North, and submit to peace and the Whigs. During the fierce contests which raged in Parliament between the surrender of Yorktown and the fall of the Ministry, Pitt bore so conspicuous a part, as to justify the declaration which he made just before the latter event, that he had no idea of forming part of any now administration:

"But were my doing so more within my reach, I feel myself bound to declare that I never would accept a subordinate situation." The position that was offered him by Rockingham, who succeeded North, was subordinate, but not undignified. The Vice-Treasurership of Ireland was indeed little more than a sinecure; but it had been held by Pitt's own father, and in point of emolument was one of the prizes of the political world; yet he refused it without hesitation.

That he was wise, there can be no doubt. He retained his freedom, and used that freedom well. The new Government had not been formed six weeks, before Pitt brought forward a motion for parliamentary reform. It took, indeed, a shape, to which, for constitutional changes of gravity, objection has sometimes been raised; for he brought forward no specific plan, but moved "for the institution of an inquiry composed of such men as the House should in their wisdom select as the most proper and the best qualified for investigating this subject, and making a report to the House of the best means of carrying into execution a moderate and substantial reform of the representation of the people."

The speech he delivered on this occasion, much applauded at the time, is worth reading even now and in the condensed, denuded report that has reached us. It is remarkable for its vigorous declamation against the power of the Crown, which Fox and Burke could hardly have exceeded in their speeches on the same subject when Pitt was minister in 1781. He allowed that, under the Rockingham Government, "the injurious, corrupt, and baneful influence of the Crown "had ceased to exist. But it was the duty of Parliament to provide for the future, and to take care that this secret and dark system should never be revived to contaminate the fair and honourable fabric of our Government. At all times, this pernicious influence had been pointed to as the fertile source of all our miseries, and it had been truly said of it that it had grown with our growth and strengthened with our strength. Unhappily, however, for this country it had not decayed with our decay, nor diminished with our decrease. And it had supported North's ministry for a length of years against all the consequences of a mischievous system and a desolated empire.

The irony of political destiny, and the astuteness of George III, could receive no better demonstration than the fact that in less than two years Pitt was defending the prerogative of the monarch against the assaults of North, and of those whom he now described as "a set of men who were the friends of constitutional freedom."

Yet in truth the anomaly, as is often the case in politics, was more apparent than real. What he denounced were the crawling race of the Welbore Ellises and the Jack Robinsons, the suspected shadow of Bute and the pervading flavour of Jenkinson, the detailed bribes of Martin, the mingled cajolery and intimidation of Henry Fox. What he defended in 1784 were the rights of the constituencies, betrayed by the formation of the Coalition, against a close and corrupt Parliament, in a struggle where the King had intervened for once as the agent of the people. It was the general election of 1784 that ratified the King's action and cleared Pitt of responsibility : had it turned differently, he might have ranked with- Strafford and with Lauderdale.

Pitt, in his first Reform speech, analysed the various kinds of boroughs, which were either representative shams or, worse still, were open to foreign bidders.

Among these purchasers he named the Nabob of Arcot, who "had no less than seven or eight. members in this House." Finally, he cited his father, "one of whom every member in the House could speak with more freedom than himself. That person was not apt to indulge vague and chimerical speculations, inconsistent with practice and expediency. He knew that it was the opinion of this person that without recurring to first principles in this respect, and establishing a more solid and equal representation of the people, by which the proper constitutional connection should be revived, this nation, with the best capacities for grandeur and happiness of any on the face of the earth, must be confounded with the mass of those whose liberties were lost in the corruption of the people."

In spite of a speech which was evidently forcible and eloquent, and of the support of Fox "in his very first form," and of Sheridan, then his under secretary, "much above anything he has yet done in the House," the motion was lost by twenty votes. The Government spoke indeed with a divided voice of the subject. The Duke of Richmond, Master-General of the Ordnance and a leading member of the Cabinet, was in favour of annual parliaments and manhood suffrage. Lord John Cavendish was "diffident " of the effect of any such reform, though he voted on this occasion for Pitt.

Lord Rockingham gave forth a troubled and ambiguous note, rent as he was between regard for Fox and the dominant influence of Burke, who was vehemently hostile. A few days later, this feeling found overmastering expression when Alderman Sawbridge, Pitt's seconder on this occasion, brought forward a motion for shortening Parliaments, and Burke broke forth in one of his impetuous invectives against Pitt and all who should attempt to touch the sacred fabric of the constitution.

While Pitt in refusing office had retained the positive advantage of independence, he had also gained the negative benefit of not forming part of a Government as divided against itself as its members had formerly been from the Government of Lord North. Under a stormier star was no administration ever born. Furious jealousies broke out during the process of formation.

Thurlow, North's chancellor, remained in office, to the open mortification of Loughborough, as an abiding source of suspicion and intrigue. Another legacy of North's, the Lord Advocate Dundas, though less prominent, was not less justly regarded with mistrust as a powerful and unscrupulous politician, whose only connection with the Whigs was the memory of bitter altercation and unsparing conflict; who with a happy instinct sometimes inclined to Shelburne, the proximate Prime Minister, sometimes to the young statesman so soon to follow him and to absorb all the powers of the State.

Shelburne himself formed another element of disturbance. Not merely did Fox, his colleague in the Secretaryship of State, cherish an hereditary hatred for him, but he had aroused great jealousy by having been at first entrusted with the task of forming the government. The King dexterously fomented these causes of discord among his enemies, and flatly refused even to see Rockingham; so that all the communications between him and his Prime Minister during the construction of the administration were carried on through the ominous medium of Shelburne, and Shelburne alone. All these germs of mistrust were quickened when Shelburne secured peerages and places for his friends from the King; paid the Chancellor compliments, "which very much scandalised all good men," as Fox writes; and intrigued successfully with Dundas.

It is, therefore, not matter for surprise that, within a month of their assuming office, Shelburne and Fox, the two Secretaries of State, had each their separate plenipotentiary at Paris negotiating for peace. Such a condition of affairs had little of comfort or permanency: the Government, ruined by intrigue and under virtuous but incapable guidance, could not in any case have continued to exist -- the influenza that carried off Lord Rockingham only accelerated the end of an impossible state of things.

II: Shelburne and the Coalition