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MEMOIRS
OF THE REIGN OF
KING GEORGE THE THIRD.

VOL. I.

Houston, pinx.^t

G. Cook, sc.

GEORGE III.

London, Published by Richard Bentley, 1844.

MEMOIRS
OF THE REIGN OF
KING GEORGE THE THIRD.

By HORACE WALPOLE,
YOUNGEST SON OF SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, EARL OF ORFORD.

NOW FIRST PUBLISHED FROM THE ORIGINAL MSS.
EDITED, WITH NOTES,
By Sir DENIS LE MARCHANT, Bart.

VOL. I.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1845.

LONDON:
Printed by S. & J. Bentley, Wilson, and Fley
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.

PREFACE.

The Memoirs of the Reign of King George the Third, by Horace Walpole (Earl of Orford), now for the first time submitted to the Public, are printed from a manuscript copy contained in the box of papers which came into the possession of the late Earl of Waldegrave, under the circumstances stated in the Preface to “The Memoires of the Last Twelve Years of the Reign of George the Second.” This manuscript was placed by Lord Waldegrave in the hands of the late Lord Holland at the same time with “the Memoires” last mentioned, and hopes were long entertained that it would have had the advantage of the editorial care which gave so much additional interest to that work; but from the date of Lord Holland’s return to office, in 1830, the little leisure he could find for literary pursuits was diverted from these volumes by engagements of a more pressing character; and it appeared at his death that he had never even commenced the task which he was of all persons eminently qualified to execute. Under these circumstances Lord Euston (now Duke of Grafton) on whom the property of the manuscript had devolved, as Lord Waldegrave’s executor, became very desirous that the publication should no longer be deferred; and happening to consult me on the subject, my interest was so much excited by a cursory perusal, that I acceded to the request made to me to prepare the Work for the press. In this I was further encouraged by the assurance I received of the zealous co-operation and assistance of the late Mr. John Allen, whose knowledge of the early years of George the Third’s reign was surpassed by none of his contemporaries (excepting, perhaps, Lord Holland), and whose participation in all the studies, and I might almost add identification with the literary pursuits of that nobleman, would have given me many of the advantages I should have derived from himself, had he been still living. I had several conversations with Mr. Allen on the plan to be pursued in editing the Work, and his hints on the characters of the individuals described in it were of essential service to me; but unhappily, before my labours had commenced in earnest, he was taken ill, and in a few days followed his friend and patron to the grave. Few of the associates of his latter days valued him more than myself, or more deeply regretted his loss; and in revising these pages, my mind has often recurred with melancholy yet grateful satisfaction to the many agreeable and most instructive hours I have passed in his and Lord Holland’s society at a house which has acquired an European celebrity as the great point of intellectual and moral reunion among the most distinguished political and literary men of the present century.

These Memoirs comprise the first twelve years of the reign of George the Third, and close the historical works of Horace Walpole. “On their merits,” to use the words of Lord Holland,[1] “it would be improper to enlarge in this place. That they contain much curious and original information, will not be disputed.” In common with the Memoires of George the Second, “they treat of a part of our annals most imperfectly known to us,” with the decided advantage of the period being one marked by events of deeper interest and more congenial in their character and bearings with those which have since engaged, and still occupy our attention. The contests between Whigs and Jacobites may not be undeserving our curiosity; yet they sink into insignificance when compared with the origin and progress of the American discontents, in which may be traced the first indistinct rudiments of the great antagonistic principles and social revolutions of our own time. The Parliamentary struggles, too, in the case of General Warrants, are important, not less on account of the stores of constitutional knowledge they elicited, than from the spirit of free inquiry into the Prerogatives of the Crown on the one hand and the Privileges of the People on the other, which necessarily sprang out of them. Nor is it an uninstructive lesson to observe the efforts made by George the Third to break up the political parties which had embarrassed the reign of his predecessor. These topics are among the most prominent in the History of England during the Eighteenth Century, and they constitute the staple of the present Work. Some of the best debates on the Stamp Act, and on the proceedings against Mr. Wilkes, are here reported with a vivacity and apparent correctness which may be sought in vain elsewhere; and we meet throughout the Work the same abundance of anecdote, and the same graphic description of men and manners, that characterise the Memoires of George the Second. It gives even more copious details of the negotiations between political parties, especially those incidental to the fall of Lord Rockingham’s Administration; the gradual alienation of that nobleman and his friends from the Duke of Grafton; and the other divisions among the Whig party, which ended in the long enjoyment of power by their opponents. The records of these transactions do not, it is true, form the most dignified department of the historian, but political history is necessarily incomplete without them; and here Walpole is on his own ground. Unlike most of the writers who have minutely chronicled their times, he can neither be charged with obtaining mere imperfect or occasional glances into the councils of men in power, nor with suffering himself to be shackled by a sense of official restraint, not to say responsibility. He possessed entirely the secret of affairs, at least as long as Conway remained Minister; and so unreservedly discloses what he knew, that he might not untruly boast, as he does elsewhere, “that the failings of some of his nearest friends are as little concealed as those of other persons.”[2]

I have little to add concerning my own share in these Memoirs. They are printed exactly as the Author left them, except that it has been thought right to suppress a few passages of an indecent tendency; and following the example of Lord Holland, “two or three passages affecting the private characters of private persons, and in no ways connected with any political event, or illustrative of any great public character, have been omitted.”[3]

The notes that occur without any distinguishing mark were left by the Author. It will be perceived that they seldom extend beyond a brief statement of the rank or relationship of the individuals noticed in the text. All the other notes are mine.

In compliance with a wish generally expressed after the publication of the “Memoires of the Last Twelve Years of the Reign of George the Second,” for additional information respecting many of the characters described in that work, I have enlarged on the meagre notices left by Walpole, and endeavoured to correct his errors—taking, as my model, the annotations of Lord Dover and Mr. Wright on the Author’s correspondence. My references to those popular works will be found to have been frequent, and I can venture to add my testimony to their impartiality and correctness.[4] I may have unconsciously borrowed from them, where we are treating of the same individuals; but I have endeavoured, as much as possible, to steer an independent course, and the subject is sufficiently wide to admit of it. I have also carefully consulted all the contemporary authorities within my reach, and, in more than one instance, have received valuable communications from persons who either lived near the times described by Walpole, or were actually acquainted with him. My sole object, however, has been to contribute to the information of readers hitherto little conversant with the events and characters of the period under our notice. More detailed criticism on particular transactions, and some biographical sketches, too long for insertion in the notes, will be given in the Appendix to the Fourth Volume; but I have no pretensions to encroach on the province of the historian—especially since the publication of the last volume of Lord Mahon’s History of George the Third, and the recent article on Lord Chatham in the Edinburgh Review, both of which have appeared since this Work went to the press.

It was at first expected that this Work would be comprised in three volumes, but a more careful examination of the manuscript having proved a fourth to be indispensable, it is thought best not to delay the publication of the two volumes already printed, and to reserve the two concluding volumes until early in the Spring.

I have to acknowledge much kindness from various friends in the prosecution of my inquiries. Sir Edward Colebrooke, in particular, has favoured me with the loan of the manuscript autobiography of his grandfather, Sir George Colebrooke, M. P., Chairman of the East India Company, an active politician, who lived on confidential terms with the Duke of Newcastle, Lord Rockingham, and Mr. Charles Townshend; and I am indebted to Sir George Larpent for the perusal of the papers of his father, when Secretary to Lord Hertford, during the embassy of the latter at Paris.

Denis Le Marchant.

7, Harley Street,
December 4, 1844.

CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.

ERRATA.

VOL. I.

Page 42, line 3 from bottom, omit the sentence beginning “His Lordship’s mother.”

” 60, line 14 from bottom, for by the aversion read by aversion.

” 352, line 3 from bottom, for the illustrious line of the family read the last line of the illustrious family.

” 311, line 3 from bottom, for deshonorer jamais read deshonorer à jamais.

VOL. II.

Page 89, line 2 from bottom, for Minister at Tunis, &c., in 1802, read Minister at Turin. He died in 1801.

” 316, line 3 from bottom, for l. read lbs.

” 399, line 3 from bottom, for Burton Veyncourt read Burton Pynsent.

*_** The names Dowdeswell and Mackenzie have been printed in the text as Walpole wrote them, Dowdswell and Mackinsy.

MEMOIRS
OF THE REIGN OF
KING GEORGE THE THIRD.

CHAPTER I.

Motives for writing these Memoirs.—Their assistance to History.—Causes of contradictory Opinions in the Writer.—Career of George II.—Auspicious circumstances under which George III. ascended the Throne.—Firmness of the Administration.—Our Glory and Fortune in War.—Precipitate Peace.—Communication to the Prince of Wales of the death of George II.—Mr. Pitt and the Princess Amalie.—Anecdotes of the Accession of the new King.—His conduct to the Duke of Cumberland.—The first Council.—George the Second’s Will.—Anecdotes.—The King’s Speech to his Council.—Mr. Pitt and Lord Bute.—Duke of Newcastle.—Duke of Devonshire.—The King’s Mother.—Earl of Bute.—Views of other Ministers.—Union of Pitt and Newcastle.—City Politics.—Inscription on Blackfriars Bridge.—Jacobites at St. James’s.

Whoever has taken the trouble of reading my Memoirs, which relate the transactions during the last ten years of King George the Second, will have seen, that I had taken a resolution of interfering no more in public affairs. It was no ambition, or spirit of faction, that engaged me in them again. Inconstancy, or weariness of retirement, were as little the motives of my return to action. I am going to set forth the true causes; and if I am obliged to make more frequent mention of myself than I should wish to do, it will be from the necessity I am under of unfolding the secret springs of many events in which I was unwillingly a considerable actor. It is to gratify no vanity that I relate them: my portion was not brilliant. And though my counsels might have been more serviceable to my country and to my friends, if they had been more followed, they were calculated to produce neither glory nor profit to myself, and were much oftener neglected than listened to. Nor should they be remembered here, if many miscarriages had not accrued from the neglect of them, as was felt and confessed by those to whom they had been suggested.

How far I have been in the right or in the wrong, I leave to the judgment of posterity, who shall be impartially informed; and who may draw some benefit from the knowledge of what I have seen; though few persons, I believe, profit much from history. Times seldom resemble one another enough to be very applicable; and if they do, the characters of the actors are very different. They, too, who read history most, are seldom performers in the political drama. Yet they who have performed any part in it, are at least able to give the best account of it, though still an imperfect one. No man is acquainted with the whole plot; as no man knows all the secret springs of the actions of others. His passions and prejudices warp his judgment, and cast a mist before the most penetrating sagacity. Yet, partial as the narratives of the actors must be, they will certainly approach nearer to truth than those of spectators, who, beholding nothing but events, pretend to account for them from causes which they can but suppose, and which frequently never existed. It is this assistance to history which I now offer, and by which I may explain some passages, which might otherwise never be cleared up.

I have a new reason for repeating here, what I have said in former pages, that these are memoirs, not history. The inequality, and perhaps even the contradictory opinions which may appear in them from being written at different periods, forbid this work to aim at the regular march of history. As I knew men more, I may have altered my sentiments of them;—they themselves may have changed. If I had any personal causes for changing my opinion, I have told them fairly, that the fault may be imputed to my passions, rather than to those I speak of. The actions of the persons must determine whether they altered, or I was prejudiced. But, though this dissonance may cast unequal colours on my work, I choose to leave it as I wrote it, having at each period spoken truth as it appeared to me. I might have made it more uniform by correction; but the natural colouring would have been lost; and I should rather have composed than written a history. As it stands an original sketch, it is at least a picture of my own mind and opinions. That sketch may be valuable to a few, who study human nature even in a single character.

But I will make no farther apology for a work which I am sensible has many faults; which I again declare I do not give as a history; and to which, if it has not merits sufficient to atone for its blemishes, I desire no quarter may be given. Remember, reader, I offer you no more than the memoirs of men who had many faults, written by a man who had many himself; and who writes to inform you, not to engross your admiration. Had he given you a perfect history, and a flattering picture of himself, his work would have been a romance, and he an impostor. He lived with a contempt of hypocrisy; and writes as he lived.

George the Second, contradicting the silly presages drawn from parallels, which had furnished opposition with names of unfortunate Princes, who were the second of their name, as Edward, Richard, Charles, and James, terminated his career with glory both to himself and his people. He died, crowned with years and honours, and respected from success; which with the multitude is the same as being beloved. He left a successor in the vigour of youth, ready to take the reins, and a ministry universally applauded, united, and unembarrassed by opponents.

No British monarch had ascended the throne with so many advantages as George the Third. Being the first of his line born in England, the prejudice against his family as foreigners ceased in his person—Hanover was no longer the native soil of our Princes; consequently, attachment to the Electorate was not likely to govern our councils, as it had done in the last two reigns. This circumstance, too, of his birth, shifted the unpopularity of foreign extraction from the House of Brunswick to the Stuarts. In the flower and bloom of youth, George had a handsome, open, and honest countenance; and with the favour that attends the outward accomplishments of his age, he had none of the vices that fall under the censure of those who are past enjoying them themselves.

The moment of his accession was fortunate beyond example. The extinction of parties had not waited for, but preceded the dawn of his reign. Thus it was not a race of factions running to offer themselves, as is common, to a new Prince, bidding for his favour, and ready each to be disgusted, if their antagonists were received with more grace; but a natural devolution of duty from all men to the uncontroverted heir of the Crown, who had no occasion to court the love of his subjects, nor could fear interrupting established harmony, but by making any change in a system so well compacted. The administration was firm, in good harmony with one another, and headed by the most successful genius that ever presided over our councils. Conquest had crowned our arms with wonderful circumstances of glory and fortune; and the young King seemed to have the option of extending our victories and acquisitions, or of giving peace to the world, by finding himself in a situation so favourable, that neither his ambition nor moderation could have been equitably reprehended. The designs and offences of France would have justified a fuller measure of revenge; moderation could want no excuse.

A passionate, domineering woman, and a Favourite, without talents, soon drew a cloud over this shining prospect.

Without anticipating events too hastily, let it suffice to say, that the measure of war was pushed, without even a desire that it should be successful; and that, although successful, it was unnaturally checked by a peace, too precipitate, too indigested, and too shameful, to merit the coldest eulogy of moderation.

The first moment of the new reign afforded a symptom of the Prince’s character; of that cool dissimulation in which he had been so well initiated by his mother, and which comprehended almost the whole of what she had taught him. Princess Amalie, as soon as she was certain of her father’s death, sent an account of it to the Prince of Wales; but he had already been apprised of it. He was riding, and received a note from a German valet-de-chambre, attendant on the late King, with a private mark agreed upon between them, which certified him of the event. Without surprise or emotion, without dropping a word that indicated what had happened, he said his horse was lame, and turned back to Kew. At dismounting he said to the groom, “I have said this horse is lame; I forbid you to say the contrary.”

Mr. Pitt was the first who arrived at Kensington, and went to Princess Amalie for her orders. She told him nobody could give him better counsel than his own. He asked if he ought not to go to the Prince? she replied, she could not advise him; but thought it would be right. He went. I mention these little circumstances, because they show from Mr. Pitt’s uncertainty, that he was possessed with none of the confidence and ardour of a man who thinks himself a favourite.

From Kew the new King went directly to Carleton House, which belonged to the Princess Dowager; ordering his servants and the Privy Council to wait for him at Saville House, then his own residence; and adjoining to Leicester House, where the Princess usually lived. The Duke of Cumberland went to Leicester House, and waited two hours; but was sent for, as soon as the King knew it, to Carleton House, where he determined to stay, and avoid the parade and acclamation of passing through the streets: at the same time dismissing the guards, and ordering them to attend the body of his grandfather.

To the Duke of Cumberland he marked great kindness, and told him it had not been common in their family to live well together; but he was determined to live well with all his family. And he carried this attention so far, as to take notice to the Duke after council, that his friend Mr. Fox looked in great health. And again, when the Privy Council had made their address to his Majesty by the mouth of the Archbishop, it not being thought decent that the compliment on the death of his father should be uttered by the Duke, the King remarked it, and expressed an apprehension that they had put a slight upon his uncle. Nor would he suffer the name of his brother, the Duke of York, to be mentioned in the public prayers, because it must have taken place of that of the Duke of Cumberland.

At that first council the King spoke to nobody in particular but his former governor, Lord Waldegrave. His speech to them he made with dignity and propriety. In whatever related to his predecessor, he behaved with singular attention and decency, refusing at first to give the word to the guard; and then only renewing what the late King had given. He sent to Princess Amalie to know where her father’s will was deposited. She said, one copy had been entrusted to her eight or nine years before; but thinking the King had forgotten it, she had lately put him in mind of it. He had replied, “Did not she know, that when a new will was made, it cancelled all preceding?” No curiosity, no eagerness, no haste was expressed by the new King on that head; nor the smallest impediment thrown in the way of his grandfather’s intentions. A Gentleman[5] of the Bedchamber was immediately dismissed, who refused to sit up with the body, as is usual. Wilmot[6] and Ranby,[7] the late King’s physician and surgeon, acquainted the King with two requests of their master, which were punctually complied with. They were, that his body might be embalmed as soon as possible, and a double quantity of perfumes used; and that the side of the late Queen’s coffin, left loose on purpose, might be taken away, and his body laid close to hers.

In his first council the King named his brother the Duke of York, and Lord Bute,[8] of the Cabinet. As no notice was taken of Lord Huntingdon, it indicated an uncertainty, whether he, who had been Master of the Horse to the King when Prince, or Lord Gower, who had held that office under the late King, should fill the post. To the Speaker of the House of Commons the King said, it should not be his fault if that assembly did not go upon business earlier in the day than they had done of late: a flattering speech to an old man attached to old forms.

The King’s speech to his council afforded matter of remark, and gave early specimen of who was to be the confidential minister, and what measures were to be pursued: for it was drawn by Lord Bute, and communicated to none of the King’s servants. It talked of a bloody and expensive war, and of obtaining an honourable and lasting peace. Thus was it delivered; but Mr. Pitt went to Lord Bute that evening, and after an altercation of three hours, prevailed that in the printed copy the words should be changed to an expensive but just and necessary war; and that after the words honourable peace should be inserted, in concert with our allies. Lord Mansfield and others counselled these palliatives too; but it was two o’clock of the following afternoon before the King would yield to the alteration. Whether, that the private Junto could not digest the correction, or whether to give an idea of his Majesty’s firmness, I know not: but great pains were taken to imprint an idea of the latter, as characteristic of the new reign; and it was sedulously whispered by the creatures of the Favourite and the mother, that it was the plan to retain all the late King’s ministers, but that his Majesty would not be governed by them, as his grandfather had been. In confirmation of part of this advertisement, the King told the Duke of Newcastle and Mr. Pitt, that he knew their attachment to the Crown, and should expect theirs, and the assistance of all honest men.

Mr. Pitt was too quicksighted not to perceive what would be the complexion of the new reign. His favourite war was already struck at. He himself had for some time been on the coldest terms with Lord Bute; for possession of power, and reversion of power, could not fail to make two natures so haughty, incompatible. It was said, and I believe with truth, that an outset so unpromising to his darling measures, made Mr. Pitt propose to the Duke of Newcastle a firm union against the Favourite; but the Duke loved intrigues and new allies too well to embrace it. And from that refusal has been dated Mr. Pitt’s animosity to Newcastle; though the part the latter took more openly and more hostilely against him afterwards was sufficient cause for that resentment. Whether these two men, so powerful in parliament and in the nation, could have balanced the headlong affection that attends every new young Prince, is uncertain,—I think they could. A war so triumphant had captivated the whole country. The Favourite was unknown, ungracious, and a Scot: his connexion with the Princess, an object of scandal. He had no declared party; and what he had, was insignificant. Nor would he probably have dared to stem such a body of force as would have appeared against him. At least the union of Pitt and Newcastle would have checked the torrent, which soon carried everything in favour of Prerogative. Newcastle’s time-serving undermined Mr. Pitt, was destructive to himself, threw away all the advantages of the war, and brought the country to the brink of ruin.

Yet this veteran, so busy, so selfish, and still so fond of power, for a few days acted the part he ought to have adopted in earnest. He waited on the King, pleaded his age, and begged to be excused from entering on a new reign. The King told him he could not part with him. Fortified with this gracious and comfortable command, he next consulted his friends. It was not their interest to point out to him the ridicule of thinking to rule in the Cabinet of a third George, almost a boy. Four days more determined the Duke to take a new court-lease of folly.[9]

The Duke of Devonshire,[10] though greatly younger, might not have been without difficulties too, if he had pleased to remember them. He had been ill-treated in the late reign by the Prince and the Princess Dowager, hated the Favourite, and had declared he would quit, whenever the new reign should commence; but he thought better of it.

The Princess, whose ambition yielded to none, was desirous to figure in the new era, and demanded to be declared Princess-Mother. Precedents were searched for in vain; and she missed even this shadow of compensation for the loss of the appellation of Queen—a loss which she showed a little afterwards she could not digest.

The Earl of Bute seemed to act with more moderation. His credit was manifest; but he allotted himself no ministerial office, contenting himself for the present with the post of Groom of the Stole, which he had filled under the Prince, and for which room was prepared, by removing the Earl of Rochford[11] with a large pension. Lord Bute’s agents gave out, that he would upon no account interfere or break with Mr. Pitt. The latter, however, did not trust to these vague assurances, but endeavoured to maintain the preceding system: talked to the King of the Duke of Newcastle as first minister, and as wishing him to continue so; and said he had never chosen any other channel for his addresses or demands to the late King—an intimation that he would make none through Lord Bute. For himself, he had meddled with nothing but the war, and he wished his Majesty to give some mark that he approved the measures of the late reign.

The other ministers were not less attentive to their own views. The Duke of Bedford[12] insisted on returning to the Government of Ireland, and that Lord Gower[13] should remain Master of the Horse; but the latter point was accommodated by the removal of Sir Thomas Robinson (with a pension) from the Great Wardrobe, which was bestowed on Lord Gower; and Lord Huntingdon continued in the post he had enjoyed under the Prince. Mr. Mackenzie, the Favourite’s brother, was destined to be Master of the Robes, but was forced to give way to the Duke of Newcastle, who obtained it for Mr. Brudenel;[14] for though bent on making his court, his Grace as often marred his own policy as promoted it.

Yet this seeming union of Pitt and Newcastle, on which the influence of the former in some measure depended, disgusted the City. They said, that Mr. Pitt had temporized with Newcastle before from necessity, but now it was matter of election. Yet by the intervention of Mr. Pitt’s agents, the City of London recommended to the King to be advised by his grandfather’s ministers; and they even hinted at the loss the King of Prussia would suffer by the death of his uncle. Their attachment to their idol did not stop there. The first stone of the new bridge at Blackfriars was laid by the Lord Mayor a few days after the King’s accession, and on it was engraved so bombast an inscription in honour of Mr. Pitt, and drawn up in such bad Latin, that it furnished ample matter of ridicule to his enemies.

The Favourite, though traversed in his views by the power of these two predominant men, had not patience to be wholly a cypher, but gave many lesser and indirect marks of his designs. A separate standard was to be erected. Lord George Sackville had leave to pay his duty to the King, and was well received; which gave such offence to Mr. Pitt, that Lord George was privately instructed to discontinue his attendance. Lady Mary Stuart,[15] daughter of the Favourite, and Lady Susan Stuart,[16] daughter of the Earl of Galloway, a notorious and intemperate Jacobite, were named of the Bedchamber to the Lady Augusta, the King’s eldest sister; and Sir Henry Erskine[17] was restored to his rank, and gratified with an old regiment. The Earl of Litchfield, Sir Walter Bagot, and the principal Jacobites, went to Court, which George Selwyn, a celebrated wit, accounted for, from the number of Stuarts that were now at St. James’s.

CHAPTER II.

Countenance shown to Tories.—Effect of Tory Politics on the Nation.—Plan to carry the Prerogative to an unusual height.—Unpopularity and Seclusion of the Princess of Wales.—Difficulty of access to the King.—Manœuvres of his Mother.—Character of Lord Bute, and his Schemes to conciliate the King.—Archbishop Secker.—Character of George III.—Intended Duel between the Earl of Albemarle and General Townshend.—Cause of the Quarrel.—The King’s Speech.—Pitt and Beckford.—Increase of the Court Establishment.—The Dukes of Richmond and Grafton.—Interview between Lord Bute and the Duke of Richmond.—Advice to the latter by the Duke of Cumberland.—The King’s Revenue.—The Princess Dowager’s Passion for Money.—The Earl of Lichfield.—Viscount Middleton.—Partiality to the Tories.—Inconsistency of the Duke of Newcastle.—Irish Disputes.—The King of Prussia’s Victory over Marshal Daun.—Mauduit’s Pamphlet on the German War.—Ways and Means for the ensuing Year.

The countenance shown to the Tories, and to their citadel, the University of Oxford, was at first supposed by those who stood at distance from the penetralia, the measure of Mr. Pitt, as consonant to his known desire of uniting, that was, breaking all parties. But the Tories, who were qualified for nothing above a secret, could not keep even that. They came to Court, it is true; but they came with all their old prejudices. They abjured their ancient master, but retained their principles; and seemed to have exchanged nothing but their badge, the White Rose for the White Horse. Prerogative became a fashionable word; and the language of the times was altered, before the Favourite dared to make any variation in the Ministry.

These steps did not pass unnoticed: nor was the nation without jealousy, even in the first dawn of the reign. Papers were stuck up at the Royal Exchange and in Westminster-hall, with these words, no Petticoat Government, no Scotch Favourite. An intemperance which proceeded so far afterwards, that, as the King passed in his chair to visit his mother in an evening, the mob asked him if he was going to suck? The Princess herself was obliged to discontinue frequenting the theatres, so gross and insulting were the apostrophes with which she was saluted from the galleries.

The views of the Court were so fully manifested afterwards, that no doubt can be entertained but a plan had been early formed of carrying the prerogative to very unusual heights. The Princess was ardently fond of power, and all its appanages of observance, rank and wealth. The deepest secrecy and dissimulation guarded every avenue of her passions; and close retirement was adapted to these purposes. She could not appear in public (after the arrival of the Queen) as the first woman of the kingdom: her unpopularity made her pride tremble; and privacy shrouded such hours as were not calculated to draw esteem; and it contracted her expenses. After the King’s marriage she appeared seldom or never at St. James’s, nor deigned to accompany the ceremony of the coronation. The attendance of her ladies was dispensed with except on drawing-room days; and by degrees even her maids of honour and women of the bedchamber were removed from her palace, where she lived in a solitude that would have passed for the perfection of Christian humility in the ages of monkish ignorance. Jealousy of her credit over her son made her impose almost as strict laws of retirement on him. He was accessible to none of his Court but at the stated hours of business and ceremony: nor was any man but the Favourite, and the creatures with whom he had garrisoned the palace, allowed to converse with the King. Affection had no share in this management.

The Princess, who was never supposed to disclose her mind with freedom,[18] but on the single topic of her own children, had often mentioned her eldest son with contempt; and during the life of her husband, had given in to all his partiality for the Duke of York. When her views of governing by her husband were cut off, she applied to the untutored inexperience of his heir: and the first step towards the influence she meditated, was by filling his mind with suspicions and ill impressions of all mankind. His uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, was made another instrument. The young Prince had a great appetite: he was asked if he wished to be as gross as his uncle? Every vice, every condescension was imputed to the Duke, that the Prince might be stimulated to avoid them.

The Favourite, who had notions of honour, and was ostentatious, endeavoured to give a loftier cast to the disposition of his pupil, though not to the disparagement of the vassalage in which he was to be kept. Lord Bute had a little reading,[19] and affected learning. Men of genius, the arts and artists were to be countenanced. The arts might amuse the young King’s solitary hours: authors might defend the measures of government, and were sure to pay for their pensions with incense, both to their passive and active protectors. The pedantry and artifice of these shallow views served but to produce ridicule. Augustus fell asleep over drawings and medals, which were pushed before him every evening; and Mæcenas had so little knowledge, and so little taste, that his own letters grew a proverb for want of orthography; and the scribblers he countenanced, were too destitute of talents to raise his character or their own. The coins of the King were the worst that had appeared for above a century; and the revenues of the Crown were so soon squandered in purchasing dependents, that architecture, the darling art of Lord Bute, was contracted from the erection of a new palace, to altering a single door-case in the drawing-room at St. James’s. Yet, his emissaries the Scotch were indefatigable in coining popular sayings and sentences for the King. It was given out that he would suffer no money to be spent on elections. Circumstances that recoiled with force, when every one of those aphorisms were contradicted by practice.

But the chief engine to conciliate favour was the King’s piety. The Princess, no doubt, intended it should be real, for she lived in dread of a mistress. But mankind was not inclined to think that her morals could have imprinted much devotion on the mind of her son: nor was any man the dupe of those professions but Secker, the Archbishop, who for the first days of the reign flattered himself with the idea of becoming first minister in a Court that hoisted the standard of religion. He was unwearied in attendance at St. James’s,[20] and in presenting bodies of clergy; and his assiduity was so bustling and assuming, that having pushed aside the Duke of Cumberland to get at the King, his Royal Highness reprimanded him with a bitter taunt. The prelate soon discovered his mistake. Nor were the Princess or the Favourite inclined to trust the King in the hands of a Churchman, whom they knew so well, and whose sanctity was as equivocal as their own.

As far as could be discerned of the King’s natural disposition, it was humane and benevolent. If flowing courtesy to all men was the habit of his dissimulation, at least, it was so suited to his temper, that no gust of passion, no words of bitterness were ever known to break from him. He accepted services with grace and appearance of feeling: and if he forgot them with an unrestrained facility, yet he never marked his displeasure with harshness. Silence served him to bear with unwelcome ministers, or to part with them. His childhood was tinctured with obstinacy: it was adopted at the beginning of his reign, and called firmness; but did not prove to be his complexion. In truth, it would be difficult to draw his character in positive colours. He had neither passions nor activity. He resigned himself obsequiously to the government of his mother and Lord Bute: learned, and even entered with art into the lessons they inspired, but added nothing of his own. When the task was done, he relapsed into indifference and indolence, till roused to the next day’s part.[21]

The first gust of faction that threatened the new era, was an intended duel between the Earl of Albemarle[22] and General George Townshend.[23] A pamphlet was published against the latter,[24] reflecting bitterly on the vanity with which he had assumed a principal share in the conquest of Quebec, though the honour of signing the capitulation had only fallen to him by the death of Wolfe and the wounds of Monckton; an honour so little merited, that he had done his utmost to traverse Wolfe’s plans. The pamphlet, too, set forth the justice of taking such freedom with a man whose ill-nature had seized every opportunity of ridiculing those he disliked by exhibiting their personal defects in caricatures, which he had been the first to apply to politics. His uncle the Duke of Newcastle, the Duke of Cumberland, and Mr. Fox, had been the chief objects of those buffoon satires. The pamphlet was certainly written under the direction of the last, and could not fail to be agreeable to the partizans of the second. It wounded so deeply, that Townshend, in the first blindness of his rage, concluded it came from the person he hated most and had most offended: that was the Duke of Cumberland: and as Lord Albemarle was the first favourite of his Royal Highness, thither Townshend addressed his resentment, though no man was less an author than the Earl. A challenge passed, was accepted, and prevented in time by Townshend’s want of caution.

On the 18th of November the Parliament met. Many Tories, though they had received no formal invitation, appeared at the Cockpit to hear the King’s speech read. It was composed, as usual, by Lord Hardwicke, was long and dull, and had received additions from Pitt. On the Address Beckford proposed to push the war with more vigour, the end of the last campaign having, he said, been languid. Pitt fired at this reproach from his friend, though certainly not levelled at him, and asked Beckford what new species of extravagance he wished for? The Address from Oxford had other objects in view. They boasted openly of their attachment to Monarchy. As all places were already filled with Whigs, the Court was forced to increase the establishment, in order to admit their devotees. The King’s Bedchamber received six or eight additional Grooms and seven Gentlemen. Most of the late King’s were continued; the King’s own were joined with them; the rest were taken from the Tories.

The Duke of Richmond,[25] haughty and young, was offended that his cousin, Colonel Keppel,[26] was removed from Gentleman of the Horse, which the King destined for one of his own servants. The Duke asked an audience; but began it with objecting to the distinction paid to Sir Henry Erskine.[27] This so much disgusted, that the King would not hear the Duke on the subject of Keppel. On cooler thoughts, Lord Bute was sent to the Duke, to offer him to be of the King’s Bedchamber. He accepted it, on condition that Keppel should remain Gentleman of the Horse, which was likewise granted. But this pacification lasted few days. Lord Fitzmaurice,[28] a favourite of Lord Bute, was made Equerry to the King; though inferior in military rank to Lord George Lenox[29] and Charles Fitzroy,[30] brothers of the Dukes of Richmond and Grafton. The latter[31] had been of the Bedchamber to the King, when Prince, but had quitted it, from dislike of Court attendance, and disgusted with the haughty stateliness affected by Lord Bute. Richmond and Grafton were much of an age; each regarded himself as Prince of the Blood; and emulation soon created a sort of rivalship between them. The Duke of Richmond’s figure was noble, and his countenance singularly handsome. The Duke of Grafton was low, but manly, and with much grace in his address. The passions of both were strong, but of the first, ardent; of the latter, slow and inflexible. His temper was not happy; but the Duke of Richmond’s, which was thought worse, because more impetuous, was pliant, and uncommonly easy and accommodating in his family and society. Both were thought avaricious; but the latter very unjustly, generally approaching nearer to the opposite extreme of profusion. His parts, too, were quicker and more subtle than Grafton’s and more capable of application, though his elocution was much inferior. The Duke of Grafton had a grace and dignity in his utterance that commanded attention, and dazzled in lieu of matter; and his temper being shy and reserved, he was supposed to be endued with more steadiness than his subsequent conduct displayed. Neither of them wanted obstinacy; but their obstinacy not flowing from system, it was in both a torrent more impetuous in its course than in its duration.

The Duke of Grafton made a decent representation to the King, on the wrong done to his brother, and demanded rank for him. The other Duke carried a violent memorial, and commented on it in a manner, which some years afterwards he found had never been forgotten or forgiven. The next day he resigned the Bedchamber, but not his regiment. In a few days he repented this step, and went to Lord Bute to explain away his resignation, which, he said, might not be known. Lord Bute replied, all the world knew it. The Duke, thinking this coldness proceeded from a suspicion that he was influenced by Fox,[32] his brother-in-law, disclaimed all connexion with him, and said, he had never approved his sister’s marriage. Lord Bute, who even then probably had views of Fox’s support, as a counterbalance to Pitt, replied, that Mr. Fox’s alliance could be a disgrace to no man; as he must always be of great use and weight in this country. Yet the Duke’s youth and frankness made him avow what he had said to Fox himself, in the presence of Lord Albemarle, who, though not much older, had far more worldly cunning, and no doubt reported the conversation to his master, the Duke of Cumberland; for Richmond and Albemarle, though first cousins, were no friends; and the latter possessed all the arts of a Court. The Duke, rebuffed by the Favourite, next consulted the Duke of Cumberland, who told him prudently, that he was sorry the Duke of Richmond, at twenty-three, had quarrelled with the King, at twenty-two; and advised him to retire into the country, which he did. The effects of these squabbles will appear hereafter, which made it proper to state them here.

The King’s revenue was settled and fixed to eight hundred thousand pounds a year, certain. In the late reign any overplus was to accrue to the Crown, but had ever produced so trifling an augmentation, that the present boasted restriction, which was often quoted as one great merit of the new Government, was not worth mentioning. It is true, this revenue was by no means ample, considering the large incumbrances with which it was loaded. The Duke of Cumberland’s annuity (exclusive of the parliamentary grant of twenty-five thousand pounds a year) was fifteen thousand pounds; Princess Amalie’s, twelve thousand. The King’s brothers were to be provided for out of it; so was a future Queen; and the Princess Dowager’s jointure was of fifty thousand pounds a year from the same fund. Yet, though her dower was so great—though she reduced her family, and lived in a privacy that exceeded economy, and though she had a third of the Dutchy of Cornwall, which produced four thousand pounds a year more, her passion for money was so great, that she obtained an additional annuity of ten thousand pounds a year from her son.[33] The Electorate suffered for these exigences of the Crown. Whatever money could be drawn from thence was sunk in the privy purse, which was entirely under the direction of Lord Bute.

The Earl of Litchfield,[34] a leader of the Tories, was added to the King’s Bedchamber, as the Earl of Oxford[35] and Lord Bruce[36] had been before, with the Scotch Earls of March[37] and Eglinton.[38] The Lord Viscount Middleton,[39] an Irish Peer, was the first who in the House of Commons here broached a hint of jealousy against the channel in which Court favour seemed to flow. He was ridiculed for it by Charles Townshend; but the spirit of dissatisfaction had been infused into the former by the Duke of Newcastle, who openly censured the new partiality to the Tories. Partiality there was, but the grievance came with an ill grace from Newcastle, Stone,[40] suspected for more than a Tory, had been placed by him as preceptor to the King; Lord Mansfield had been his bosom favourite; and to gratify that favourite, the extension of the Habeas Corpus had been prevented. To gain the Tories had been a prudent measure, but their principles were still more welcome to the Court than their votes. Having only votes to offer, and neither numbers nor abilities, they brought much discredit on their patron, and little strength to his assistance.

In Ireland the prospect was not more promising. By Poyning’s law the Privy Council of Ireland are to transmit hither all heads of bills, particularly of money-bills. This latter was omitted by the intrigues of the Primate, courting popularity. The bills were sent back, with a severe reprimand for the omission of a money-bill. Mr. Pitt alone took up the defence of the Irish Commons, and would not sign the message, which thirty-four others of the English Privy Council who were present signed. The King thanked the Duke of Bedford for supporting his prerogative, but the Privy Council of Ireland wrote angry letters to the Duke and his minister Rigby, telling them that they must not come into that Kingdom again. The Duke, a little before, had been challenged even in print by a mad Lord Clanrickard,[41] whose letter being complained of by his Grace, the Council here ordered the Attorney-General to prosecute the Earl: Rigby,[42] too, sent him a challenge, which he did not accept. The Lords Justices sent over a strong remonstrance in vindication of their conduct, and there the matter ended for the present; but in the beginning of the next year the Lords Justices renewed the attack on their Governor, and he and Rigby were burned in effigy. Mr. Pitt interposed, and prevailed to have a temperate memorial sent to the Justices, arguing the point with them, and to that he offered to set his little name, which was done. The Lords Justices submitted, but with threats from the Primate of resigning his part of the government. Nor yet did they send a new bill, but a plan for raising the money already voted. Lord Clanrickard, in answer to Rigby’s challenge, which had been printed and dispersed in Ireland, replied in print likewise, excusing his not appearing at Holyhead, the appointed rendezvous, on account of the prosecution directed against him, though the prosecution in date was subsequent to the challenge by two months. The Earl affirmed that he had proposed to Mr. Rigby a new place of meeting; but a year or two afterwards, on an accidental journey of Rigby to Ireland, the Earl seemed very glad that an interposition was made, and the quarrel accommodated. The ill-humour of the country, however, determined the Duke of Bedford to quit the Government, after having amply gratified his family and dependents with pensions. The Earl of Kildare, for taking no part in these divisions, was rewarded with a marquisate.

Foreign affairs fluctuated with their old vicissitude. The Russians and Austrians made themselves masters of Berlin, and treated it with more lenity than could be expected from such barbarians and incensed enemies. But they relinquished it in a few days; and before the close of the year the King’s fortune and arms recovered their lustre by a signal victory, which he gained in person near Torgau, over his great competitor in glory, Marshal Daun, who was wounded in the thigh, and carried from the field; a circumstance that did not impeach his fame, as the loss of the day was attributed to his absence.

Yet this victory, shining as it was, could not counterbalance the new spirit that was gone forth in England to the disparagement of the war. Lord Hardwicke had long distasted it; and under his countenance had been published a Tract, setting forth the burthen and ill-policy of our German measures. It was called Considerations on the German War; was shrewdly and ably written, and had more operation in working a change on the minds of men, than perhaps ever fell to the lot of a pamphlet.[43] The author was one Mauduit, formerly a Dissenting teacher, and at that time a factor at Blackwell-hall. How agreeable his politics were to the interior of the Court, soon appeared by a place being bestowed on him by Lord Bute. Still, however, the Favourite left the contest to be managed by other hands; and he had acted wisely to have adhered to that plan. A new and formidable expedition had been preparing. Newcastle and Hardwicke had quitted the Council, because they could not prevail to have it laid aside. Yet it was postponed for some time. Pitt, in the House of Commons, taking notice of the pacific spirit that he saw arising, said, “Some are for keeping Canada; some, Guadaloupe; who will tell me which I shall be hanged for not keeping?”

On opening the ways and means for the ensuing year, George Grenville opposed the intended tax on ale and beer; the first overt act of his disagreement with Mr. Pitt.

CHAPTER III.

New Promotions.—Pitt and Grenville.—Aggrandizement of Lord Bute.—His haughtiness.—Sir Henry Erskine, Home, and Worseley.—Debt to the Chancery of Hanover.—Secret Article in the Treaty with the Landgrave of Hesse.—Extravagance of the War.—New Tenure of the Judges.—Approaching general Election.—Flagrant Corruption.—Lord Bute appears more ostensibly in the character of Minister.—Mr. Pitt and Lord Holderness.—Injudicious Conduct of Lord Bute.—Ministerial Changes.—A strange Exaltation.—The Duke of Rutland.—Mr. Legge and the King.—General Conway.—Overtures by France for Peace.

The new year opened with promotions. The Lord Keeper Henley was made Lord Chancellor. Lord Denbigh,[44] a creature of the Favourite, Master of the Harriers; and George Grenville[45] was called to the Cabinet Council. Pitt had ever treated him with contempt, and little expected to find him vain or daring enough to enter the lists against him. Grenville’s conceit of himself was by no means measured by the standard of modesty. His ambition was equal to Pitt’s; and his plodding, methodic genius made him take the spirit of detail for ability. Avarice, which he possessed in no less proportion than his other passions, concurred to lead him from a master, who browbeat and treated him superciliously, to worship the rising sun. Lord Bute was in want of tools; and it was a double prize to acquire them from his rival’s shop.

But Fortune, had he known how to use her gifts, was kinder to the Favourite than his own politics. His wife’s father, old Wortley Montagu, died at this time, and left to her and her second son a fortune, that, at four per cent., was estimated at one million three hundred and forty thousand pounds. This was the third death within twelve months that happened to aggrandize Lord Bute. The decease of his uncle, the Duke of Argyle,[46] left Scotland open to his power; and that of the late King put the Crown itself into his hands. The estate of his father-in-law was all he was qualified to enjoy. What could be expected from a boy[47] locked up from the converse of mankind, governed by a mother still more retired, who was under the influence of a man that had passed his life in solitude, and was too haughty to admit to his familiarity but half a dozen silly authors and flatterers? Sir Henry Erskine,[48] a military poet, Home,[49] a tragedy-writing parson, and Worseley,[50] a rider of the great horse and architect, were his principal confidents. The nation was soon governed accordingly. And yet it was not the nation’s fault, if it did not receive the yoke even from this Junto!

No trouble was given to the Government by the old Parliament, which still subsisted, and continued to lend all facilities to the progress of the war. An estimate of three hundred thousand pounds due to the Chancery of Hanover, for forage for the use of Hanoverians, Prussians, and Hessians, was voted to be paid, without a division, though not without some comments. Sir Francis Dashwood, Cooke,[51] Coventry,[52] and Beckford[53] opposed it. Coventry said with a sneer, he was glad so just a debt was demanded before the nation was bankrupt, and unable to discharge it. Beckford imputed the extravagance of the war (which indeed was notorious) to the Duke of Newcastle, who, he supposed, intended to overturn Mr. Pitt’s system, and prevent the continuation of the war, by the excess of the expense; and he commended the management of the Treasury during the short time in which it had been in the Duke of Devonshire’s hands. Legge[54] defended the measure, and both Newcastle’s and Devonshire’s administrations. Pitt was confined with the gout, and not present.

In the last treaty with the Landgrave of Hesse, had been stipulated a secret article of indemnification to that country. Many sums had been allowed to them, to avoid the appearance in public of the article itself. Mr. Pitt had at once granted them sixty thousand pounds on that score. Yet now at last was Administration forced to lay before Parliament a demand of four hundred thousand pounds for indemnification to the Landgravate. Legge, who knew himself fallen into disgrace with Lord Bute, refused to make the motion, on which he received intimation that he must resign. Lord Winchelsea[55] said, Legge had had more masters than any man in England, and had never left one with a character. Lord Barrington,[56] therefore, made the demand. Beckford again declaimed on the extravagance of the war. Sir Francis Dashwood said, he had always disapproved the continental war, but would agree to vote the money, (which was a sum of two hundred and sixty thousand pounds for three years,) as we were bound by treaty to pay it; and he found fault with more authorities not being laid before Parliament. This money too was granted on March 6.

Three days before, the King had gone to Parliament, to desire that the places of the judges, which were held during the life of the Prince on the Throne, might be fixed to them for their own lives. This was one of Lord Bute’s strokes of pedantry. The tenure of the judges had formerly been a popular topic; and had been secured as far as was necessary. He thought this trifling addition would be popular now, when nobody thought or cared about it. When, not long afterwards, the advocates for the Court were puzzled to produce instances of favour to the constitution or to the cause of liberty, this boon to the judges was sounded high, and repeated in every panegyric.

Nothing more of note occurred in this session. All attention was engrossed by the approaching general election of a new Parliament. It had been propagated that the King had forbidden any money to be issued from the Treasury. Nothing was less true in fact, or proved less true in effect. Both the Court and particulars went greater lengths than in any preceding times. In truth, the corruption of electors met, if not exceeded, that of candidates. The borough of Sudbury was so shameless, as to advertise itself to the highest bidder.

But, preparatory to a new Parliament, and as an intimation to men under whom they should list, the Favourite determined to appear more ostensibly in the character of Minister. Accordingly, on the 12th of March, orders were suddenly sent to Lord Holderness to give up the seals of Secretary of State: the King adding, in discourse, that he had two secretaries, one (Mr. Pitt) who would do nothing, and the other (Lord Holderness) who could do nothing;[57] he would have one, who both could and would. This was Lord Bute, to whom the Seals were immediately delivered. Subduing Europe was reckoned nothing, as the service was ungracious: and however low the talents of Lord Holderness deserved to be estimated, they did not suffer by comparison with those of his successor. Mr. Pitt resented the fall of his creature, but was sweetened by the offer of cofferer to James Grenville.[58] Newcastle rejoiced, having been deserted by Holderness; but affected to be concerned: yet was not struck with the warning that this measure ought to have been to himself. Mr. Pitt felt it more sensibly, and would not part with Lord Temple, who might have been Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, but was necessary to him in the House of Lords, where his measures had no other champion. Lord Halifax was named to that great office; the Duke of Bedford refused to accept any post; but it was supposed had his eye on the Seals, which everybody expected disgust would soon oblige Mr. Pitt to resign.

Nothing could be more injudicious than this step taken by the Favourite. The conduct he ought to have pursued was obvious; which was, lying quiet, till some or all of a few events, most probable to happen, should have paved the way to his taking the reins. Newcastle was old, Mr. Pitt very infirm. Their deaths, or at least a rupture between them, would have delivered him from them; at least have constituted him umpire between them. Any sinister event of the war might have demolished Mr. Pitt’s popularity. Prudence, at least, should have dictated to Lord Bute to await the conclusion of the peace, which, however good, would have given a shock to Mr. Pitt’s credit, from the impossibility of contenting all mankind. But the Favourite was as impatient to have the honour of making that peace, as if he had intended to make it an honourable one. His thrusting himself into administration at the moment he did, was so preposterous, that most men thought him betrayed into it by malicious advice. The Duke of Bedford, to pay his court, and from desire of peace, certainly counselled it; but Newcastle, and Hardwicke too, were generally believed to have infused the same advice, with a view to his destruction; for while only Groom of the Stole, Lord Bute stood in no responsible place. This was the more likely, as what emoluments they obtained for their friends in the new shuffling of the cards, by no means compensated for the credit they lost by the appearance of this new star in the horizon of power.

The Duke of Rutland[59] was named Groom of the Stole; Lord Sandys,[60] First Lord of Trade, but upon the ancient footing; the West Indies, to please Mr. Pitt, being again put under the province of the Secretary of State. The Duke of Leeds[61] was turned back to his old place of Justice in Eyre, in the room of Lord Sandys, but with an additional salary of a thousand pounds a year. Legge, who refused to resign, was dismissed; and Lord Barrington made Chancellor of the Exchequer; being succeeded by Charles Townshend[62] as Secretary at War. Sir Francis Dashwood was made Treasurer of the Chambers. Elliot,[63] another of Lord Bute’s court, succeeded James Grenville at the Board of Treasury. Lord Villiers[64] and Thomas Pelham[65] were placed in the Admiralty, as John Yorke, Lord Hardwicke’s fourth son, Rice,[66] son-in-law of Lord Talbot, and Sir Edmund Thomas were at the Board of Trade. Mr. Spencer[67] and Sir Richard Grosvenor (at the recommendation of Mr. Pitt) were created Viscounts; Sir Thomas Robinson,[68] Sir Nathaniel Curzon,[69] a rich Tory, Sir William Irby,[70] chamberlain to the Princess, were made barons, along with Dodington,[71] whose ambition still hovered about the Court, in which he was at last likely to have some lead, by his connexion with the Favourite. Nor did Lord Bath[72] himself quit sight of the back-stairs, by which he obtained leave to hobble up to the King whenever he pleased.

But a phenomenon, that for some time occasioned more speculation than even the credit of the Favourite, was the staff of Lord Steward being put into the hands of Lord Talbot,[73] with the addition of an earldom. As neither gravity, rank, interest, abilities, nor morals could be adduced to countenance this strange exaltation, no wonder it caused very unfavourable comments. This Lord had long affected a very free-spoken kind of patriotism on all occasions. He had some wit, and a little tincture of a disordered understanding; but was better known as a boxer and man of pleasure, than in the light of a statesman. The Duchess of——had been publicly divorced from her lord on his account; and was not the only woman of fashion who had lived with him openly as his mistress. He was strong, well made, and very comely; but with no air, nor with the manners of a man of quality. No wonder the promotion of such a minister, in a reign that advertised piety, strengthened the suspicions already entertained of the sincerity of the Court. It grew more comic still, when the new statesman appeared to be a reformer too. As the Court knew that the measures it had in contemplation could only be carried by money, every stratagem was invented to curtail the common expenses of the Palace. As these fell under the province of the Lord Steward, nothing was heard of but cooks cashiered, and kitchens shut up. Even the Maids of Honour, who did not expect rigours from a great officer of Lord Talbot’s complexion, were reduced to complain of the abridgement of their allowance for breakfast. The public joined in the cry, and the shops teemed with scandalous prints against the reformer and his patroness.

The Duke of Rutland was not pleased with the office of Groom of the Stole, which had fewer employments in its disposal, and which was therefore given to Lord Holderness; but the very next day the Duke was appointed Master of the Horse, from whence Lord Huntingdon[74] was removed to be Groom of the Stole; and Lord Holderness was laid aside with a large pension, and the reversion of the Cinque Ports after the Duke of Dorset. Lady Bute was created a baroness, that her son might inherit an English peerage.

When Legge resigned his Seal, he lamented being under his Majesty’s displeasure, but said his future life should testify his zeal. The King replied, he was glad to hear him say so; nothing but his future life could eradicate the ill impressions he had received of him. His disgrace was owing to his not having seconded the Favourite’s views in the late reign, when Lord Bute had been desirous of bringing a Jacobite friend into Parliament for Hampshire, of which more will be said hereafter.[75]

General Conway[76] was sent to command in Germany under Lord Granby. The Bedford faction opposed it, in favour of General Waldegrave,[77] who had served there during the whole war, upon the supposition that Lord Granby would come to England, and that Waldegrave might succeed him, Mostyn[78] not being equal to the charge. Conway obtained to be sent, but without a certain promise of replacing Lord Granby,[79] though the King said Conway was a man of abilities, character, sense, and prudence, such as was greatly wanted there. France at this time made earnest overtures for peace.

CHAPTER IV.

Thanks of the House of Commons to Mr. Onslow, their Speaker.—His Character.—Sir John Philipps.—Mr. Legge.—Mr. More, of Shrewsbury.—Mr. Onslow’s retirement.—His last address to the House.—Lord Bath’s Pamphlet.—Solicitations by France for Peace.—Mr. Pitt disinclined to negotiate.—Expedition against Belleisle.—Mr. Pitt’s obstinacy.—Lord Bute’s Faction.—Mr. Pitt and the Duke of Bedford.—Negotiation for Peace.—Monsieur de Bussy.—Mr. Stanley.—Death of Archibald Duke of Argyle, and of Hoadley, Bishop of Winchester.—Character of those Personages.—Their Successors.

The last day of the session, March 18th, was fixed for returning the thanks of the House of Commons to Mr. Onslow, their Speaker, who had filled the chair with unblemished integrity during the whole long reign of George the Second, and who had the prudence to quit the scene before his years and growing infirmities made him a burthen to himself and the public.[80] No man had ever supported with more firmness the privileges of the House, nor sustained the dignity of his office with more authority. His knowledge of the Constitution equalled his attachment to it. To the Crown he behaved with all the decorum of respect, without sacrificing his freedom of speech. Against encroachments of the House of Peers he was an inflexible champion. His disinterested virtue supported him through all his pretensions; and though to conciliate popular favour he affected an impartiality that by turns led him to the borders of insincerity and contradiction—and though he was so minutely attached to forms, that it often made him troublesome in affairs of higher moment, it will be difficult to find a subject whom gravity will so well become, whose knowledge will be so useful and so accurate, and whose fidelity to his trust will prove so unshaken.

Sir John Philipps[81] moved the address of thanks to him for his great services, but so wretchedly, that the sensibility the House showed on the occasion flowed only from their hearts, not from any impression made on them by the eloquence of their spokesman. Legge seconded the motion with his usual propriety and brevity, and commended retreat, God knows with what sincerity! Others threw in their word of panegyric; and Mr. More, of Shrewsbury, an old and acute member, proposed to erect a statue to the Speaker’s memory, with great encomiums on the authority with which he had formerly kept in order such men as then filled the Treasury-bench and composed the Opposition, naming among the former Sir Robert Walpole and Mr. Pelham, the latter of whom, he said, had the honour of dying a Commoner. More was a Whig of the primitive stamp, and though attached to Sir Robert Walpole, had withstood, and by the force of his honest abilities had defeated, the intended clemency of that Minister to some attainted Jacobite families with respect to their estates. He had long abstained from Parliament, returned to it without his former success, and now appeared there for the last time.

Henry Archer[82] proposed to address the Crown to bestow a pecuniary reward on the Speaker’s services. Sir John Philipps replied, he knew that was intended; as it was; an annuity of two thousand pounds a year to him and his son. Sir George Saville approved the reward, but desired the Commons, not the Crown, might have the merit of bestowing it. Velters Cornwall made one of his absurd, ill-natured speeches, which the House was always so kind as to take for humour, teazing the Speaker under pretence of complimenting him; while the good old man sat overpowered with gratitude, and weeping over the testimonies borne to his virtue. He rose at last, and closed his public life in the most becoming manner; neither over-acting modesty, nor checking the tender sensibility which he necessarily felt at quitting the darling occupation of his life. His thanks to the House for their patient sufferance of his errors, and for their gracious acceptance of his endeavours to serve them, were shortly, but cogently, expressed; and his voice, and the tears he could not restrain, spoke still more forcibly how much his soul was agitated by laudable emotions. He begged to have the address spared, as he would accept nothing for himself, though he would not prejudice his family. He was going, he said, into the most close and obscure retreat, where he should want little; and he concluded with a pathetic prayer for the perpetuity of the Constitution. Sir John Philipps desired that what he had uttered might be inserted in the votes. The Speaker protested he could not remember his own words, but the House insisted, as Cornwall and Sir George Saville did on the address, to which the Speaker at last acquiesced, and it was voted. He ended with saying this was the greatest day and the greatest honours ever known, for they could only be conferred by a free nation.[83]

The next day the Parliament was prorogued, then dissolved, and a new one chosen.

In this month was published a pamphlet called “Seasonable Hints from an Honest Man on the present Crisis.” The author, and some of the doctrines it broached—not any merit in the composition—make it memorable. It was written by Lord Bath,[84] who having surprised the King into a promise of the Lord-Lieutenancy of Shropshire, was opposed by the Duke of Newcastle, who supported Lord Powis.[85] The pamphlet, therefore, warmly attacked his Grace, taxed him with his cabals and resignation in the last rebellion, and it defended the measure of admitting the Tories to a participation of power. In general, the language of the pamphlet was that of the Court, who conducted themselves by the advice bequeathed by Lord Bolingbroke, who had, and with truth, assured the late Prince of Wales, that the Tories would be the heartiest in the support of prerogative. The censure passed on pensions was not equally flattering to the Court, the new reign having already bestowed them profusely. Yet much the book vaunted the King’s declaration against corruption in elections, which had gone no farther than to undermine the Duke of Newcastle’s influence. The private Junto was impatient to conclude the peace, that they might prosecute the intended war on the old ministry at home, the established harmony being solely produced by the war, as had often been the case at Rome. A few pedantic examples were the sum of Lord Bute’s knowledge; yet his partizans affected to celebrate the care he had taken of the King’s education. A well-founded panegyric on a man who was deficient in the orthography of his own language! The King had had able preceptors: the Bishop of Norwich[86] was a scholar; the Bishop of Salisbury[87] not deficient. Stone and Scott had taste and knowledge. Lord Waldegrave, for forming a King, was not to be matched. It proved, indeed, that his Majesty had learned nothing, but what a man, who knew nothing, could teach him.

About the end of March, France renewed the most pressing solicitations for peace. They frankly avowed the distress of their affairs; for they did not apprehend hard-heartedness in the new Court. Augsburgh they proposed for the place of congress, or any other town the King should name, professing they would treat vis-à-vis du Roi de la Grande Brétagne; for which purpose they offered to send a minister hither, where, too, might be one from the King of Prussia: the ministers of their allies should assemble at Paris. The two Empresses, they said, were grown more moderate in their demands; and for their own part, they talked of yielding to us all Canada. So much ear was given to these overtures, that the Earl of Egremont[88] and Sir Joseph Yorke[89] were named to go to the Congress. But so little was this measure to the inclination of Mr. Pitt, that he prosecuted with unusual warmth an expedition he had meditated against Belleisle; a conquest of so little value, and so inadequate to the expense with which it was attended, that the plan was by many believed calculated solely to provoke the Court of France, and break off the negotiation. France was more surprised than concerned at this attack. Sir Edward Hawke had lain before it for two years, when there were not five hundred men on the island, without attempting it. Now they had had time to fortify it, we persisted in the conquest. Both Hawke and Boscawen[90] earnestly dissuaded the enterprise. Yet Pitt was obdurate; and the island was taken at last by the beginning of June, after an enormous waste of money, and the loss of some men. There fell Sir William Williams, a gallant and ambitious young man, who had devoted himself both to war and politics. The island is a barren rock; and it was only to humour Mr. Pitt, that France, in the succeeding negotiations, condescended to treat it as an object of the smallest importance.

The indecent and injudicious precipitation with which the Favourite’s faction hurried towards peace, justified any steadiness Mr. Pitt could exert to keep the balance where he had placed it, in our own hands. Newcastle and Hardwicke, either not perceiving the symptoms of their own fall, or hoping to ward off the evil hour, truckled to the Favourite’s views. The Duke of Bedford (who in his heart admired Pitt, but was made to hate him by Rigby, at the instigation of Fox, and inflamed by the coldness with which Pitt had listened to the representations made by his Grace, on the opposition to him in Ireland) was, avowedly, pacific; and all of them seemed united against the warlike minister. Lord Talbot went so far as to press the dismission of him. But it was Lord Bute’s nature to provoke first, before he offended. Gallitzin, the Russian minister, was reprimanded by him for carrying the proposition of peace to Mr. Pitt, instead of to him; though it had been usual, while Lord Holderness held the Seals, for the foreign ministers in his department to address themselves to the effective minister. Mr. Pitt’s temper, soured by these associations and contradictions, broke out first against the Duke of Newcastle. At a great council held on the 23rd of April, Mr. Pitt, who had been wont to affirm, that too much could not be spent on the war in Germany, made severe complaint of the extravagance in the management of it; and imputed it to the fault of our commissaries, that Prince Ferdinand had been disabled from making greater progress there. Himself, he said, within six months, would move for an inquiry into the conduct of the war. The Duke of Bedford took up the contrary side with warmth, and made a speech that was much admired; and so little attention was paid to the views of Mr. Pitt, that it was settled Mr. Stanley[91] and Monsieur de Bussy should be exchanged to conduct the negotiation. Bussy was an Abbé of parts, who had formerly resided here as minister,[92] and had given much offence to the late King whom he treated so impertinently, that the King, asking him one day in the circle, “Ce qu’il y avoit de nouveau à Paris?” Bussy replied with contemptuous familiarity, “Sire, il y gêle.” He had again been imposed on that Prince, when the French dictated to him a neutrality for Hanover. Bussy was not likely to be so presumptuous now. Yet France, trusting to our pusillanimous impatience for peace, had the confidence to demand, that the man-of-war that carried over Stanley should bring back Bussy. But Mr. Pitt was yet minister; the proposal was rejected; and it was settled that Stanley and Bussy should be at Dover and Calais on the 22nd.

Before the departure of Stanley, it was agitated in Council, whether he should be entrusted with full powers. Mr. Pitt, who had named Stanley from opinion of his abilities, though at that time disunited from him and gone over to Newcastle, confided in this nomination, and thought it would leave himself master of the negotiation, if Stanley, who by being at Paris was in his department, were charged with conclusive powers; for which, therefore, Pitt and Lord Temple pleaded. But Bute, and the rest of the Council, who chose not to let the negotiation pass out of their own hands, prevailed to have Stanley’s instructions limited.

During these discussions died two considerable men, Archibald Duke of Argyle, and Hoadley Bishop of Winchester. The character of the former[93] has been sufficiently set forth in my preceding Memoirs. The last will be known by his writings, and as long as a Churchman, combating for the liberties of mankind, shall be an unusual phenomenon.[94] Argyle had the lowest opinion of his nephew, Lord Bute, who he had foretold would rush into power without having formed a plan. The nephew had in truth too little capacity, and too much presumption, to let himself be guided by so shrewd a relation, though the uncle would not have been obdurate if proper deference had been paid to his oracle. The last effort of this great Lord’s power in Scotland had miscarried. The city of Edinburgh had recurred, as usual, to his nomination for the election of their representative; that is, of thirty-three electors, twenty-two still acknowledged their ancient dictator. He named Forester, an able Scottish counsellor, but always resident in England. Six days before the election such violent papers were dispersed against Forester, as too much an Englishman, that the City did not dare to put him in nomination, but were forced to choose their own Provost. How much did Scotland afterwards resent parallel nationalities, when exercised against them!

The Marquis of Tweedale[95] succeeded the Duke of Argyle, as Chief Justiciary; and Bishop Thomas, of Salisbury, the King’s former preceptor, was made Bishop of Winchester. Drummond,[96] of St. Asaph, whom Newcastle had destined to Winchester, succeeded. Thomas Earl Powis was made Comptroller of the Household on the death of Lord Edgcumbe.[97]

CHAPTER V.

Solemn and unusual Summons of the Council.—Announcement of the King’s intended Marriage with the Princess of Mecklenberg Strelitz.—The Princess Dowager’s aversion to her Son’s Marriage.—The King’s attachment to Lady Sarah Lenox.—Schemes of Mr. Fox.—Remarkable Speech of the King to Lady Susan Strangways.—Frustration of Fox’s Intrigues.—Colonel Graeme despatched to Germany to select a Queen.—The King’s deference to his mother, and acceptance of the Bride she had chosen.—Lady Sarah Lenox.—Serious Crisis in the Cabinet.—Lofty Conduct of Mr. Pitt.—His Draught for a Treaty with France.—Reception of this by the other Ministers.—Arrival of the new Queen.—Her mental and personal Characteristics.—Anecdotes.—Disposal of the vacant Bishopricks.—Lord Talbot.—Coronation Squabbles.—Sir William Stanhope’s bitter Speech against the Scotch.—Lord Talbot and the Barons of the Cinque Ports.

While the attention of mankind hung on the negotiation, the King’s messengers were suddenly sent forth to all Privy Councillors to meet at one o’clock, at St. James’s, July 8th, on urgent and important business. The business itself was an absolute secret. Every body concluded that so solemn and unusual a summons of the Council was to give fuller sanction to peace. How great was the general surprise when they heard his Majesty had convened this assembly to notify his intended marriage with the Princess of Mecklenberg Strelitz! A resolution taken and conducted with so much mystery, that till that hour perhaps not six men in England knew such a princess existed.

It has been mentioned with what aversion the Princess Dowager had opposed a marriage projected by the late King between his heir apparent and a very accomplished Princess of Brunswick. A wife for her son, not chosen by herself nor obliged to her, by no means suited the views of the Princess. Could she have chained up his body, as she fettered his mind, it is probable she would have preferred his remaining single. A mistress would have been more tremendous than a wife. The next brother, the Duke of York, was not equally tractable, had expressed little reverence for his mother, and much antipathy to her favourite. If the King should die and leave even an infant, a minority did not deprive the Princess of all prospect of protracting her rule.

But there had happened circumstances still more pressing, more alarming. The King was fallen in love with Lady Sarah Lenox, sister of the Duke of Richmond; a very young lady of the most blooming beauty, and shining with all the graces of unaffected, but animated nature. What concurred to make her formidable to the mother and Favourite, was, her being under the tutorage of Mr. Fox, her eldest sister’s[98] husband; and in truth, she and her family spared no assiduity to fix the young monarch’s heart. And though Fox would probably not have been scrupulous or delicate on the terms of cementing that union, the King’s overtures were so encouraging, that Fox’s views extended even to placing the young lady on the throne. Early in the winter, the King told Lady Susan Strangways,[99] Mr. Fox’s niece, and the confidant of Lady Sarah, that he hoped she (Lady Susan) would not go out of town soon. She said, she should. “But,” replied the King, “you will return in summer, for the coronation?” Lady Susan answered, “I do not know; I hope so.” “But,” said the King again, “they talk of a wedding. There have been many proposals; but I think an English match would do better than a foreign one. Pray, tell Lady Sarah Lenox I say so.” The next time Lady Sarah went to Court (and her family took care that should not be seldom) the King said, “he hoped Lady Susan had told her his last conversation.”

The Junto was not blind to these whispers and dialogues. Lady Bute was instructed to endeavour to place herself in the circle, and prevent them. And the Princess Augusta marked her observation of what was going forward to Lady Sarah herself, laughing in her face, and trying to affront her. But Fox was not to be so rebuffed. Though he went himself to bathe in the sea (possibly to disguise his intrigues), he left Lady Sarah at Holland House,[100] where she appeared every morning in a field close to the great road (where the King passed on horseback) in a fancied habit, making hay.

Such mutual propensity fixed the resolution of the Princess. One Colonel Graeme was despatched in the most private manner as a traveller, and vested with no character, to visit various little Protestant Courts, and make report of the qualifications of the several unmarried Princesses. Beauty, and still less, talents, were not, it is likely, the first object of his instructions. On the testimony of this man, the golden apple was given to the Princess of Mecklenburg; and the marriage precipitately concluded. The ambassador was too remarkable not to be farther mentioned. This Graeme, then, was a notorious Jacobite, and had been engaged in the late rebellion. On a visit he made to Scotland, his native country, after this embassy, David Hume, the historian, said to him, “Colonel Graeme, I congratulate you on having exchanged the dangerous employment of making Kings, for the more lucrative province of making Queens.”

So complete was the King’s deference to the will of his mother, that he blindly accepted the bride she had chosen for him; though, to the very day of the council, he carried on his courtship to Lady Sarah; and she did not doubt of receiving the crown from him, till she heard the public declaration of its being designed for another. Yet, in confirmation of the trust he had reposed in Lady Susan Strangways, himself appointed Lady Sarah to be one of the bridemaids to the Queen. Yet Lord Bute’s friends affected to give another turn to the story; and insisted that the King had never thought of Lady Sarah but for his mistress. All, they affirmed, he had said to Lady Susan was, to bid her ask Lady Sarah if she should like a place in the family of the new Queen; that she had accepted it; and that the King had destined her to be Mistress of the Robes. Her surprise and disappointment, however, were too strongly marked to make this legend credible. Lady Susan adhered to the truth of what she had reported, in various examinations by her father and uncle. And the resentment Lady Sarah expressed, and which caused, as the Court said, her not being placed about the new Queen, was proof enough on which side the truth lay. The Junto persuaded the King she was a bad young woman; but if she was, what hindered her becoming his mistress? Was it criminal to propose being his wife rather than his mistress? And what became of the King’s boasted piety, if he intended to place his mistress about his wife? Some coquet attempts, which Lady Sarah afterwards made to recover his notice, and her stooping to bear the Queen’s train as bridemaid, did her more prejudice than all that was invented against her. Pique and extreme youth might excuse both; and her soon after preferring a clergyman’s son to several great matches, gave evidence that ambition was not a rooted passion in her.

In my own opinion, the King had thoughts of her as a wife; but wanted resolution to oppose his mother and Lord Bute. Fortunately, no doubt, in this instance; for the daughter of a subject, and the sister-in-law of so ambitious and exceptionable a man as Fox, would probably have been productive of most serious consequences. To avoid returning to this topic, I will only remember, that during the wedding-service, on mention of Abraham and Sarah, the King could not conceal his confusion. And the day following, when everybody was presented to the Queen, Lord Westmoreland,[101] old and dimsighted, seeing Lady Sarah in the rich habit of bridemaid, mistook her for Queen, and was going to kneel and kiss her hand.

But while the arrival of the Queen was expected, and the approaching ceremonies of the wedding and coronation engrossed the attention of the public, affairs grew towards a serious crisis in the Cabinet. Prince Ferdinand had opened the campaign with vivacity and advantage, driving the French before him, and seizing, or reducing them to destroy great part of their magazines; a success that enabled him to form the sieges of Ziegenhayn and Cassel. Marshal Broglio was not disheartened or inactive; but re-assembling his dispersed troops, he attacked the Hereditary Prince, and routed the body under his command; in consequence of which the sieges were raised, and Prince Ferdinand retired, abandoning the whole country of Hesse to the enemy. This advantage, it was apprehended, would make France less eager for peace. Yet she continued the negotiation with much appearance of warmth; and though she was far from bringing all the facilities our Court wished for, the conclusion of the treaty seemed to be rather impeded by the loftiness and firmness of Mr. Pitt, than by the insincerity of France. Still, as it afterwards appeared, she had secret resources in reserve; nor could she fail to hope but Mr. Pitt might be displaced, and her condition mended, when the administration should fall into the hands of men whose honour was not so much concerned in the event of the war, and who had national honour much less at heart. The transactions have been printed, and will appear in every common history. My part is to relate by what steps and intrigues the negotiation was broken off.

In the end of August, the council had ordered their ultimate concessions to be drawn and sent to France. Mr. Pitt made the draught and carried it to Council. The other ministers thought it spoke his sense, not theirs; or rather, contained more of an ultimatum than they were disposed to adhere to. In defence of his own inflexibility, Mr. Pitt spoke largely on the haughtiness of France.

Lord Hardwicke[102] said he approved our not submitting to their haughtiness, and congratulated his country in not having been behind hand with them in that respect. Lord Granville[103] took the draught, and applauded it exceedingly; said it deserved to be inserted in the Acta Regia; but for his part he did not love fine letters on business. He thought even bad Latin preferable to good in negotiations.

These speeches raised Pitt’s choler; and with reason. He had vindicated the honour of his country; and now was supporting it with a dignity it had never known since the days of Cromwell. He saw himself abandoned and ridiculed by his master’s ministers; but he was not a man to recoil before such adversaries. If he had assumed an unwarrantable tone, his situation might well justify it. He broke out with great asperity, and told them dictatorially, they should not alter an iota of the letter. Rhodomontade had been too favourite a figure with Lord Granville to leave him the dupe of it in another man. He himself had made glory but a step to ambition, instead of making ambition a footstool to glory. He neither admired Pitt’s exalted diction, nor exalted views; and continuing to canvass the point with him, said, he had understood from Bussy—“From Bussy,” interrupted Pitt; “nor you, nor any of you shall treat with Bussy: nobody shall but myself.”

The Duke of Bedford, whom the rest always summoned when they wanted to combat Pitt and did not dare, said, “he did not know why he was called to council, if he was not at liberty to debate; and since he was told they were not to be permitted to alter an iota, he would come thither no more,” and retired. Some of the others were less stout. Lord Bute said little, but that he thought the King’s honour was concerned in sticking to our own terms; and therefore he should be for adhering to them. This short turn in the Favourite produced a like sentiment in some who waited on his nod. Besides Mr. Pitt and Lord Temple, the Chancellor, Lord Halifax, and Lord Ligonier assented to the Favourite’s opinion; Hardwicke, Newcastle, Mansfield, and Granville adhered to the softer method. The Duke of Devonshire remained, who had uttered no opinion. At last he said, if they were not permitted to alter the draught of the letter (which implied his inclination to have it altered), he should give no opinion. Mr. Pitt asked what he should report to the King as his Grace’s advice? He replied as he had said before, “he would give no opinion.”

Newcastle was alarmed, and jealous of the sudden and unexpected turn Lord Bute had taken, but was soon satisfied by his Lordship that he was in no connection with Mr. Pitt; and, indeed, it is probable that he had only been overawed, and had apprehended being taxed by Pitt with any unpopular measure. On the 25th, another council was held, to which, notwithstanding his declaration, the Duke of Bedford returned. He and Devonshire seemed to have no concern but lest any wayward humour of Newcastle should be crossed. Pitt at this council was more temperate, and submitted to some small concessions.

On the 7th of September, the new Queen landed at Harwich. Lord Harcourt,[104] whose peace had been made by Lord Talbot, had been sent to fetch her, with the Duchesses of Ancaster[105] and Hamilton;[106] but as an earnest of the prison prepared for her, and to keep her in that state of ignorance which was essential to the views of the Princess, they were forbidden to see her alone. Her mother, who died during the treaty of marriage, ordered her to put herself entirely into the hands of the Princess. Mrs. Katherine Dashwood,[107] of a Jacobite family, and intimate of Lady Bute, was destined to live in the palace. No privy purse was allowed to the Queen, but Mr. Stone[108] received twenty thousand pounds a year to pay her servants.

She had been educated in that strict course of piety, which in Germany reaches to superstition; a habit in which she was encouraged to such a degree, that when the King visited his mother, which he soon, at the desire of the Princess, began to do, without the Queen, she was afraid of staying alone, and retired to her two German women; her English ladies not being suffered to keep her company. Yet this weakness seemed solely the result of a bad education. Her temper appeared to be lively, and her understanding sensible and quick. Great good-nature, set off by much grace in her manner, recommended all she said. Her person was small, and very lean, but well made. Her face pale and homely, her nose something flat, her mouth very large. Her hair was of a fine brown, and her countenance pleasing.

When first she saw the palace she trembled. The Duchess of Hamilton smiled. The Queen said, “You may laugh; you have been married twice; but it is no joke to me.” The King received her in the garden of St. James’s; she would have kneeled, but he raised and embraced her, and led her to the Princess, where they and Lady Augusta dined together. Between nine and ten at night they went to chapel. The Duke of Cumberland gave her away; and after the ceremony they appeared for a few minutes in the drawing-room, and then went to supper. She played and sung, for music was her passion, but she loved other amusements too, and had been accustomed to them; but excepting her music, all the rest were retrenched; nor was she[109] ever suffered to play at cards, which she loved. While she was dressing, she was told the King liked some particular manner of dress. She said, “Let him dress himself; I shall dress as I please.” They told her he liked early hours; she replied, she did not, and “qu’elle ne voulait pas se coucher avec les poules.” A few weeks taught her how little power she had acquired with a Crown. The affection she conceived for the King softened the rigour of her captivity. Yet now and then a sigh stole out, and now and then she attempted, though in vain, to enlarge her restraint. What must have penetrated deeper, was, that policy did not seem to be the sole motive of the mortifications she endured. At times there entered a little wantonness of power into the Princess’s treatment of her. The King made her frequent presents of magnificent jewels; and as if diamonds were empire, she was never allowed to appear in public without them. The first time she received the sacrament, she begged not to wear them, one pious command of her mother having been, not to use jewels at her first communion. The King indulged her; but Lady Augusta carrying this tale to her mother, the Princess obliged the King to insist on the jewels, and the poor young Queen’s tears and terrors could not dispense with her obedience.

Previous to the Coronation the vacant Bishopricks were bestowed. The Archbishoprick of York was given to Dr. Drummond;[110] and Hayter[111] of Norwich, who had been disgraced with Lord Harcourt, was, by the interest of the same patron, Lord Talbot, promoted to the See of London. Newcastle vehemently opposed it, and solicited for Thomas of Lincoln,[112] but received this thundering sentence from Lord Bute:—“If Thomas is such a favourite with your Grace, why did not you prefer him when you had the power?” The Duke, however, obtained the mitre of Norwich for Dr. Yonge; and being bidden to observe that the King’s answer to the address of Oxford on his marriage was kinder than that to Cambridge, he replied, it is true; but two of the new Bishops are Cambridge men—so easily did he comfort himself even with the shadow of power!

Here ended, almost as soon as it began, the credit of Lord Talbot. He was sometimes well, sometimes ill with Lord Bute, and though remaining in favour at Court, never seemed to have any influence there. A trifling circumstance, because it occasioned an event that made much noise afterwards, must be mentioned. As Lord Steward, Lord Talbot composed part of that ridiculous pageant at the coronation, the entry of the Champion. So fond was Lord Talbot of his share in this mummery, that he rehearsed his part on his steed in Westminster-hall, and carried his new Bishop of London to be witness of his feats. The Duke of York calling Hayter, who was lame, up to the haut pas, which he ascended with difficulty, the Bishop said, “You see, sir, how hard it is for me to get a step.” When the day came, Lord Talbot piqued himself on not turning his back to the King, and produced a strange hubbub of laughter by trying to force his horse to retire backwards out of the hall. With the City, with the Knights of the Bath, and the Barons of the Cinque Ports, Lord Talbot had various squabbles, by retrenching their tables at the coronation. Beckford told him it was hard if the citizens should have no dinner, when they were to give the King one, which would cost them ten thousand pounds. This menace prevailed. Sir William Stanhope, brother of Lord Chesterfield, a man of not less wit, and of more ill-nature than his elder, said, “It was an affront to the Knights of the Bath; for some of us,” added he, “are gentlemen.” It was a more bitter speech he made against the Scotch and their Protectress. “He would not go to Court,” he said, “for fear of the itch, which would reduce him to go to the Princess’s Court for brimstone.” To the Barons of the Cinque Ports Lord Talbot said, “If they came to him as Lord Steward, their request could not be granted; if, as Lord Talbot, he was a match for any of them.” This boisterous and absurd behaviour drew aside much odium from the Favourite; but as puppet-shows were not exhibited every day, the zany was forgotten, and the hisses of the mob soon fastened on the principal performer.

CHAPTER VI.

Interposition of Spain in behalf of France.—The Duke of Bedford and Bussy.—Mr. Pitt’s indignation at the demands of Spain.—Resignation of Mr. Pitt and Lord Temple.—Exultation of Lord Bute and other Ministers.—Lord Talbot’s advice to the Duke of Newcastle.—Effect on the Nation of Mr. Pitt’s Secession from the Cabinet.—His acceptance of a Peerage for his wife, and of a pension.—Insidious conduct of the Court.—Mr. Pitt’s Successors in Office.—George Grenville.—Injudicious Conduct of Mr. Pitt.—Address to him from the Common Council of London, and from Provincial Towns.—Mrs. Anne Pitt’s sarcasm against her brother.—Meeting of Parliament.—Choice of a Speaker.—Sir John Cust.—The King’s Speech.—The Address.—Lord Temple’s Speech.—The King and Royal Family dine in the City with the Lord Mayor.—Mr. Pitt’s reception in Guildhall.—Riots.

It was not without reason that the nation took an alarm, when almost all who conducted our affairs were determined to take none. Spain for some time had interposed officiously in behalf of France, which, said the Spaniards, was sufficiently humbled, and must not be ruined. It was known that they had furnished her with money; and, as if they sought an open breach with us, they demanded for all Spain the same privilege as Biscay and two other provinces enjoyed, of fishing on the coasts of Newfoundland. This was peremptorily refused; and had Mr. Pitt’s influence been equal to his spirit, Lord Bristol[113] had been immediately recalled from Madrid. But the other ministers, who desired nothing better than an excuse for their pusillanimity, begged to temporize. They pretended to dread being overpowered, but were more afraid of a new field being opened to success. The Spanish ministers of the French faction had blown up their opinionative and ignorant Prince[114] with ideas of holding the balance between England and France: but the old Spaniards lamented a system so abhorrent from the true interest of their country. The King of Spain was possessed with a notion that his lights were equal to his grandeur. He listened, or thought he listened, to no advice: but if anything is more fatal to a nation than a foolish indolent Prince, it is a foolish one that is active and obstinate. Our ministers cried out against a war with Spain as unnatural; but when the interest of Spain did not direct Spain, were we to act as if it did? The Duke of Bedford, who, like Don Carlos, could be made to take half of what he meant for the whole, was clamorous against a Spanish war; and as he always compensated for the arguments he leaped over, by excess on the other side, he told Bussy he was sorry for his departure, as we were no longer in a situation to make war.[115]

Bussy, however, still lingered, and invented frivolous excuses to palliate his delay. Lord Hardwicke, considering a treaty in the light of a bill in Chancery, begged some binding words might be inserted in the treaty. But Mr. Pitt had fixed his resolution. It was by one bold stroke to assert the honour of his country, or to quit the rudder. He insisted that a fleet of twelve or fourteen men-of-war should be instantly sent to Cadiz; and that Lord Bristol should be ordered to demand a sight of the treaty between Spain and France; and if not accorded, to leave Madrid without delay. When Spain had given such indications of her partiality to France, nothing could be more justifiable than this measure. But Spain had not restrained herself within the bounds of favour. In the midst of the negotiation between us and France, to which Spain pretended to offer herself as guarantee, she had committed a most flagrant and unheard-of instance of taking part, nay, of adding herself as a party to the grievances complained of. Bussy, tolerated here as a negotiator, and without even a character from his own Court, presented to Mr. Pitt a cavalier note in the name of Spain, demanding restitution of some prizes we had made on Spain during the war, satisfaction for the violation of their territory by the navy of England, liberty of fishery on Newfoundland, and destruction of our settlements on the Spanish territory, in the bay of Honduras. A power in amity with us, and affecting to act as mediator, selects our enemy’s agent to convey their complaints!—what could surpass this insult?—the patience of our ministers under such indignity—not of Mr. Pitt. He replied with the majesty of the Crown he served,—the vengeance of that Crown slept in other hands.

His hands tied, the nation affronted, and duped by the partial breaking off of the treaty with France, no proper resentment permitted against Spain, Mr. Pitt found he could do no farther good. His character had been lost by acquiescence; and nothing could rouse the nation, but his quitting the sphere of business, where he was so treacherously controlled. He had desired to enter his protest in the council books against the temporizing advice of his colleagues. He and Lord Temple delivered to the King their reasons and advice for a war with Spain; and October 2nd Mr. Pitt took leave of the Council, thanking the ministers of the late King for the support they had given to the war; and on the fifth he resigned the Seals. Lord Temple quitted on the ninth following.

It is difficult to say which exulted most on this occasion, France, Spain, or Lord Bute, for Mr. Pitt was the common enemy of all three. Newcastle, Hardwicke, Bedford, Devonshire, Mansfield and Fox were not less pleased,[116] for they had all concurred to thwart his plan. Lord Talbot alone, though of the same faction, seemed to see farther than any of them. He advised the Duke of Newcastle, “not to die for joy on the Monday, nor for fear on the Tuesday.”

The nation was thunderstruck, alarmed, and indignant. The City of London proposed to address the King to know why Mr. Pitt was dismissed? but it being replied, that the King would tell them he had not dismissed Mr. Pitt, but had wished him to continue in employment, the motion dropped. Some proposed a general mourning; others, more reasonable, to thank Mr. Pitt for his services; but this too was damped; for the Favourite’s agents were not idle, and insinuated that Mr. Pitt had acted with mischievous views; for they who were incapable of great views, were excellent in undermining. The King was advised to heap rewards on his late minister. The Princess pressed it eagerly. A peerage, a vast pension, the government of Canada (as a mark that it was not to be restored at the peace), were offered to him. He had the frailty to accept a peerage for his wife, and a pension of three thousand a year for three lives!

The Court, impatient to notify their triumph, and to blast his popularity at once, could not resist the impulse of publishing in the very next night’s Gazette, Mr. Pitt’s acceptance of their boons[117]—the first instance, I believe, of a pension ever specified in that paper.[118] At the same time, to decry his councils, and to stigmatize them with rashness, they added an article from Spain, setting forth the pacific intentions of that Court. But in this instance their ardour outran their discretion, for the article published was dated September 4th. Other letters had been received from thence of the 8th, which not being divulged, implied that the letters of the 8th were of a hostile cast, and consequently justified Mr. Pitt’s sentiments. Subsequent events were a still clearer vindication of his conduct.

The Seals, which Mr. Pitt had resigned, were given to Lord Egremont; and his brother-in-law, George Grenville, was entrusted with the management of the House of Commons. Grenville had been destined for Speaker; an office to which his drudgery was suited; and which being properly the most neutral place in government, would have excused him from entering into the contest between Mr. Pitt and the Favourite. But Grenville’s temper, though plodding and laborious, had not the usual concomitant, prudence. He lent himself to the views of Lord Bute, to promote his own. Lord Temple, who had as little decency as his brother George had judgment, was exasperated beyond measure; broke out in bitter invectives against him, and threatened to leave from him the paternal estate and give it to James, the third brother, who had resigned with him and Mr. Pitt.

The public, though staggered by the pension, did not abandon their idol. At first the Common Council, which had been summoned to thank him for his services, dropped the intention, and separated, after voting an address to Parliament for widening the streets. But on one hand, Lord Temple’s zeal kept alive the flame; and on the other, the rancour with which Lord Bute’s and Fox’s partisans pursued Mr. Pitt, only served to alarm the nation, and to endear the man to them who they saw suffered for his patriotism. Yet his own conduct was not judicious. Incensed at the abuse thrown on him, he wrote a letter into the City to explain his resignation, pleading that he had no longer been allowed to guide. A term so engrossing gave offence, and handle to ridicule. Fox’s agents did not overlook it, but published some cutting pamphlets on Pitt’s arrogance. Yet his condescending to appeal to the City against the Court bore down all opposition. The Common Council agreed to thank him, and to instruct their members; and though Paterson, an agent of Fox, opposed the motion, it was carried by 109 to 15. The contagion soon spread, even to part of Scotland. Stirling, Exeter, York, Chester, and other cities and towns, complimented Mr. Pitt on his conduct.

His own sister, Mrs. Anne Pitt, who was of the opposite faction, furnished his enemies with a severe sarcasm. She had been Maid of Honour to Queen Caroline, and was warmly attached to her brother, with whom she lived. On his promotion to the Pay-office, he had shaken her off in an unbecoming manner. She had excellent parts and strong passions. Lord Bolingbroke had recommended her to the late Prince, on whose death she had been made Privy-purse to the Princess: but being of an intriguing and most ambitious nature, she soon destroyed her own prospect by an impetuosity to govern her mistress, and by embarking in other Cabals at that Court. Her disgrace followed, but without dismission; on which she had retired to France. On her return, though she could never recover the favour of the Princess, she so successfully cultivated the patronage of Lord and Lady Bute, that she kept her ground at Leicester Fields, and obtained a large pension. This she had notified by letter to her brother. He had coldly replied, that he congratulated her on the addition to her fortune, but was grieved to see the name of Pitt in a list of pensions.[119] On his accepting one, she copied his own letter, turning it against himself; and though restrained by her friends from sending it to him, she repeated what she had done, till it became the common talk of the town.

On the 3rd of November the Parliament met. George Grenville made a very handsome panegyric on the late Speaker; and then the House proceeded to the election of his successor. The choice had been very difficult: not from the number of competitors, but from a total deficiency of proper subjects. Grenville, who would have filled the chair with spirit and knowledge, had been taken off to a province, for which he was far less qualified. Lord Bute had solicited Prowse[120] to accept the office, who was the most knowing and the most moderate of the Tories, but he had declined from bad health. The Duke of Newcastle had proposed Bacon,[121] who had more Whiggism than abilities; but the Favourite determined on Sir John Cust,[122] who was a Tory, and had nothing but industry; he was indeed a very poor creature. Lord Barrington named him, his friend Lord Egmont praised him, and he was chosen.

Two nights before, at a meeting of the principal men in the House of Commons, to hear the King’s Speech, and the respondent Address, read, Charles Townshend, who was offended at the lead being assigned to Grenville, found fault that there was no mention of the militia. Grenville said, it was not usual to insert anything in the Address which was not touched upon in the Speech; and added, that he found there were very different opinions in members of Parliament on the usefulness of the militia. Lord Barrington and Charles Yorke supported Grenville: Stanley agreed with Townshend, who again debated the point with much warmth. The next night, at a larger meeting at the Cockpit, Townshend recanted to Grenville all he had said, professed he believed he had been infatuated, begged it might be forgotten, and that Grenville would not take it to himself. Grenville replied, he had not: that for himself he forgot it; as the King’s servant, he could not forget it.

On the 6th, the King made his speech. Lord Northumberland[123] and Lord Berkeley[124] of Stratton moved and seconded the Address. Lord Temple rose, and opened on his own and Mr. Pitt’s resignations, the motives to which he explained; found fault that no mention was made of the militia, and that the Parliament had not been thanked for establishing it. He talked on Court favour, and on those who disposed of all things; endeavouring to provoke Lord Bute to rise. He said, the crisis for a war with Spain had been most advantageously held out to this country, and complained of those who had betrayed the secrets of our situation to Bussy. It was a time, he said, when a first minister was necessary; but now, who remained fit for that office? Who thought himself capable of guiding? He uttered this in his usual languid manner, though the matter was not ill conceived; nor, though indiscreet, was he so intemperate as had been expected. The Duke of Bedford replied with much applause, and said, he did not know why the militia deserved more thanks than the grant of regular troops. He declared,[125] upon his honour, that he had told no such thing, as had been hinted at, to Bussy; and concluded with hoping never to see a first minister. Lord Shelburne, attached to Fox, and profuse of application to Lord Bute, spoke against the German war. The Duke of Marlborough[126] and Earl Gower moved the congratulation to the Queen.

The decency of Lord Temple’s prelude to new opposition soon changed its hue in a manner more suited to his factious turbulence. On the 9th, the King and all the Royal family dined in the City with the Lord Mayor. Thither, too, went Mr. Pitt and Lord Temple in a chariot together,—a step justly censured, and very nearly productive of fatal consequences. To them all acclamations were addressed; and the distinctions paid in the Guildhall to Mr. Pitt, to the total neglect of the King, bestowed all the honour of the triumph on the former. Little was wanting to turn the pageant into a tragedy. Riots ensued, and many persons were insulted. The Favourite had taken the precaution of having a guard of butchers and bruisers; and by the defence of that convoy alone, escaped mischief. Sir Samuel Fludyer, the Lord Mayor, caused diligent inquiry to be made into the proceedings of the day, and learned that Beckford himself had visited several public-houses over night, and had appointed ringleaders to different stations, and had been the first to raise the huzza in the hall on the entrance of Mr. Pitt. His joining himself to a pomp, dedicated to a Court that he had just quitted, was not decent. The ambition of drawing to himself the homage of the people was not modest. To offer himself as an incentive to civil tumult, and to how dangerous consequences he could not tell, was not a symptom of very innocent intentions.

CHAPTER VII.

Mr. Wilkes’s censures on the King’s Speech, seconded by Dempster.—The Debate on continuing the War.—Speeches of Beckford, Cust, Harvey, Forester, Pitt, and George Grenville.—The Queen’s Dowry voted.—Ministerial Manœuvres on the secession of Mr. Pitt.—Meeting at the St. Alban’s Tavern.—Discussion on the Militia Act.—Speech, in the House of Commons, of Charles Townshend, Secretary at War.—Policy of the Court.—Fox’s Faction.—Debate on the War in Germany.—George Grenville’s desertion of Pitt.—Pitt’s Reply.—Walpole’s Reflections on that Statesman.

On the 13th of November the Address to the King was moved in the House of Commons by the Lords Middleton and Parker.[127] Mr. Wilkes,[128] a man of whom much will be said hereafter, passed some censures on the King’s speech, which, in the language of Parliament, he said, he was authorized to call the speech of the minister; though of what minister he could not tell. The extraordinary Gazette, he said, which had vaunted the pacific disposition of Spain, had been contradicted by facts: it had appeared that we were rather in a state of war with that Crown. Yet no notice had been taken of those transactions in the speech, though all mankind was apprised of their notorious insults. He himself had seen a Spanish memorial, that had been delivered by a French agent. Unless some communication was made to Parliament, how could Parliament lay the state of the nation before his Majesty? As little mention, he observed, was made of the militia, though the ground on which the war had stood. Dempster,[129] a young Scotch member, seconded Wilkes, though less peremptory in opposition; for though he pleaded for the extension of the militia to Scotland, and said the militia had felt the heavy hand of administration, yet he censured the German war, as having neither object nor end; condemned faction, and said, he was pleased to see that his Majesty had emancipated himself from the chains that had been prepared for him.

Beckford, with his usual rhodomontade, said, our situation had never been so comfortable, nor the national union ever so complete. It was not the mob, nor two hundred great Lords (who received more from Government than they paid to it), that made us so firm: the middling rank of men it was in which our strength consisted, and who called upon us to demand peace sword in hand. Nor had our abilities ever been so great. He was astonished our ministers—who they were he knew not, nor did he look on Grenville and those in the House of Commons but as subalterns—were afraid of any power upon earth: he was amazed they could suffer such memorials from Spain, so derogatory to our honour. The answer should have been made by the mouth of cannon. The revenues of Spain were pitiful, were foreign: must be brought home,—and that we might have prevented. You are near shore, continued he; will you go back? and without a pilot? A King should not govern by a faction: the late King had been governed by one, who resigned in the midst of rebellion, and flung an empty purse in his face; but we had now no Earl of Warwick, no king-makers. Hope must come from the rising generation: we had tried the old in vain. The war in Germany had an object, and had almost obtained it. The French ought to be kept there. He did not desire to see France and England engaged single-handed. France said, let us both get out of Germany, for she felt the mischief of warring there. The manner indeed in which we had conducted our affairs there, had been too expensive; of which he produced instances: but speak out, cried he; will you quit all your allies? Two points must be obtained, the security of America and of our fisheries. We had already conceded too much: he was sorry for it—was sorry Mr. Pitt had softened at all. He would be ready to second Mr. Wilkes in moving for the Spanish papers, and to know if they avowed Bussy.

Beckford was answered by Cust[130] (the Speaker’s brother), and by Harvey;[131] the last, a lawyer; both of Tory families, and the latter very sensible. The former spoke on the burthen of the war, and said, that to raise six millions, we ran in debt two: this year would cost us between nine and ten. He would appeal to our very successes for the impropriety of continuing the war. The King had told us he would never depart from our true interest: if we never had departed from it, we should not be debating now. Harvey condemned the war in Germany, and justified the intentions of Spain. Fuentes had declared, that if his Court had had any hostile designs, it would itself have made the demands; but the other end of the town, said he, will always promote a Spanish war: had done so in the last reign; had driven it on by the feigned cruelties exercised on Captain Jenkins,[132] who, however, died with his ears on his head. Forester, another and still shrewder lawyer, endeavoured to ward off the rising spirit by showing there was no such question before the House as what was then in debate, Wilkes not having made any motion; (this was an usual art in old members, and often served the purpose;) nor was the militia more the subject of the debate, nor as yet to come on. Thus was the House free from any influence but of gratitude to the militia, as they had been encamped without law, and only because we had a greater war abroad than we could bear. He hoped that night’s mail would not carry to the Continent news of disunion in the new Parliament.

Mr. Pitt, on whom all eyes were fixed, rose; and said, he wished the turn of the debate had permitted him to sit still; but he found himself called upon. He professed great zeal for his Majesty and for the administration, when it should be settled; and was desirous to leave his own justification to his past conduct. For the militia, he should have been glad it had been mentioned in the speech. He had advised that measure last year against the greater part of the Cabinet Council. For a war with Spain, the motives for it were not founded on the French papers: those, he concluded, would be published here: the silence of the ministers made him conclude so, or it would be unfair dealing with the Parliament. When those papers should appear, he would as a member of Parliament speak his opinion: did not desire on that question that any man should think with him, but form his judgment on the fact itself. As the contrary sentiment had been adopted by his Majesty, he hoped not to have the bulk of the nation on his side. God alone knew what the opinion would be, when the whole should come out. The probability was, that himself had been erroneous. His own situation was awful; he stood there to be examined—hoped the ministers would produce the advice, signed by Lord Temple and him, and delivered to his Majesty. He would conceal nothing as far as was consistent with his oath of Privy Councillor. Nor would he inflame—how could he—he, who stood so unsupported? He had been taxed with assuming to guide. He declared he had never abetted the publication of his letter to Hodges—never had consented to its publication; but now published, he did avow it. Early he had contracted an indifference to party-papers, and had rather read two passages in Virgil or Horace. He had resigned the Seals, in order not to be responsible for measures he was no longer suffered to guide, and from seeing the question of Spain in the light he saw it. He had acted from conviction, as he supposed the great Lords, who had opposed him, had done likewise. He blessed himself that no question had been moved that day to bar unanimity. All vigour was recommended from the Throne: he would not have the post depart with many arraignments of the German war, and without any minister saying a word in its behalf. In their situation he would have lain by: did they advise a speech of vigour, and yet hold their peace, when vigorous measures were condemned? Himself was never stopped by popularity, or by the turn of the tide. He would speak though a private man: hoped never to be a public man again. He never would come into place again; he never could; for he never could but by his own accord. He had been nursed in the lap of fortune, but now had not weight enough to make but one Lord, with whom he would live and die, of his opinion. Hoped his Majesty’s rest would not be disturbed, as his had been: he had been robbed of his sleep for many days, and now should be robbed of his honour, if our troops were recalled from Germany. Nothing but that spectre of an invasion, which the Ministry had not had constancy enough to look at, had frightened us out of Mahon. So would it be again, if the troops of France found themselves at liberty to quit Germany. He had known five thousand French occasion our recalling seventy or fourscore thousand men to look them in the face. He paid a handsome compliment to Admiral Hawke and the navy; but said, ask the French whether they could not engage you hand to hand, if delivered from the war in Germany. The way to peace was not by lessening our efforts. England was equal to both wars, the American and the German; and if continued, nothing but conquest would follow—all owing to the German war. If we abandoned our allies, God would abandon us. When we had spent a hundred millions, should we throw away the fruit, rather than spend twelve more? Let a man so narrow-minded stand behind a counter, and not govern a kingdom. [This was pointed at Cust, who was a director of the African Company.] America had been conquered in Germany.[133] Prince Ferdinand had been the saviour of Europe, and had shattered the whole military power of that military monarchy, France. It was not from what young members had said against the German war, but from what had not been said for it, that he augured ill for this country. He hoped so insignificant a name as his would be sent to every hostile Court; though every other man in the House should be against the German war, he would stand single, and undergo the shame. Government, he hoped, would in due time lay open the proceedings of Spain, lest gentlemen might be misled from not knowing the precise time of the arrival of Fuentes.[134] Harvey was sure Spain could not have acted as alleged, yet owned he knew nothing of the matter. But were people to go away, thinking he himself had courted a war with Spain? He might have declared his private opinion in council; but let Parliament see the whole of the negotiation: let them know his patience and long-suffering, till he was afraid he should be answerable for it. He gave a flat contradiction to the notion of his having courted a war with Spain, and protested he had done all he could to avoid it. He had stated his opinion in writing, lest false whispers from those who ought to be above such underhand machinations, should prejudice him in the eyes of his countrymen. In delicacy, not in obligation, he would sit down rather than divulge what had passed. Yet altercation, opposition would have ensued, had there not been a determination to preserve unanimity. He would even persuade gentlemen not to be too fastidious in their criticisms on the Treasury and the budget. For his relaxing on the article of the fisheries, with which his friend Beckford had taxed him, he said, it was best to own the truth; he had been overborne by numbers. He and Lord Temple would have made exclusive fisheries the sine quâ non of the peace. Were the negotiation to recommence, provided circumstances concurred, he would stand for exclusive fisheries; nor sheath the sword till they were given up, even at the expense of another campaign. He was going to sit down, but added a few words on the note of Fuentes, which, said he, that minister knows was never remitted to me. He did read me an extract; it was to the effect alleged. I did not much attend to it; said I had written to Lord Bristol, and would let it rest there. He did read something like it, but did not deliver it.

This guarded, artful, and inflammatory speech remained unanswered. George Grenville, indeed, said a few words on the form of proceeding; as, that it would be precluding those great questions, to insert them either in the Speech or Address: and to justify Spain, he read a letter in which they ordered one of our cutters to be restored. As a rising minister he spoke more largely on himself, disclaimed any ambition, and professed he would do his duty without fear. The Address passed without a negative. The next day Lord Thomond[135] and Lord Villiers moved the Address to the Queen, and on the 19th her dowry was voted.

The secession of Pitt, and his popularity, that still kept its ground, warned the administration to a closer union. At least, the old ministers, who had separated from him, thought it prudent to draw nigher to the Favourite. The Duke of Devonshire, governed by Fox, who hated Pitt, and aspired to be lieutenant to Lord Bute, meditated a coalition of the latter with Newcastle. The house of Bedford were already devoted to the Favourite, and concurred in that connection. In consequence of this conjunction, the Privy Seal was delivered to the Duke of Bedford; great promises were made to Rigby. Lord Thomond, brother-in-law of Grenville, was appointed Cofferer; Lord Powis,[136] Treasurer of the Household, and Lord George Cavendish,[137] Comptroller.

On the 25th, at night, some forty persons, or fewer, met at the St. Alban’s tavern, in Pall Mall. The Act that had granted the militia was within a year of expiring. It was become irksome to many of the country gentlemen, was much disliked by the chief ministers, and by great part of the House of Commons. The friends of the measure had wished to get it renewed for five years more. Some desired it perpetual. Pitt, while minister, had staved off even the shorter term. He now went to this meeting, spoke four times warmly for the perpetuity, and said, this was the moment to push it. Charles Townshend, who attended the meeting too, spoke earnestly, but only for the term of five years. The company signed a paper, engaging to stand by one another in the measure; and they who held commissions in the militia promised to throw them up, if the perpetuity should not be carried, agreeing only to await the arrival of General Townshend, the patron of the plan, who was expected from the army. The Court was as much set against the militia. The Duke of Devonshire told George Grenville, he believed he could not induce his own brothers to vote for it. The very same day intelligence had been received of an intended invasion from France. Grenville, told the Duke he could not come into any measure that would disband seven and twenty thousand men, when we should have so much occasion for them: it would be better to grant the perpetuity, and repeal it afterwards.

The same morning, Charles Townshend,[138] now Secretary at War, moved for the land forces, which were granted without opposition. His new office gave him an opportunity of venting his vanity. He assumed much, and called himself trustee for the honest claims of the officers. On December 9th, he opened to the House the state of the foreign troops in our pay, the expense of which came to near a million. Townshend pleaded the inconsiderable loss we had sustained in the last campaign, not above two thousand men, which would easily be recruited; and that next year, as in the last four, we should cover our allies against any force France could bring against us. Should we for next year continue the same army, or break off abruptly? The Parliament had been called upon day after day to disapprove or ratify the measure; and had ratified it. The totality of the war had been one of the great causes of its success. Had we neglected any other part for Germany, it had been fatal: but a mixed system, and attention to the whole, had given us victory in every quarter. France had resisted every where, had been disgraced every where. Their navy, the last sanguine promise of still another minister, was annihilated. We ought not to desist but from inability to pursue up the blow. It ought to be manifest that we were disabled. But where was a symptom of decay? In our trade, credit, agriculture, where was a failure? Yet he thought our situation nor comfortable, nor desperate. Five millions he allowed would be expended this year on the war in Germany. He concluded with high encomiums on what he called Mr. Pitt’s divine plan; but added, that a larger portion of fame remained for those who should take up the plan and terminate it by a good peace.

The Court, who wished to veil their eagerness for peace, and who, instead of attaining that peace, were on the brink of a war with Spain, took great pains to prevent their creatures from openly attacking the German war. Lord Egmont was persuaded to be absent from the House; but Fox’s faction was more intent on discrediting Pitt than even on paying their court—and perhaps knew how easily they should be forgiven. Rigby said he had voted for all very large sums; was sorry he began to have a doubt; wished an end was put—had been put to the whole war. The Germans were entitled to the protection of the House, but ours was no protection. They were in a worse condition than if conquered. The treaty with Prussia would expire on the 12th of the month; he hoped we should make no more such with that little power. Not to quit the alliance, ought only to be a condition on the party subsidized. In no one treaty did there exist an article that obliged us to continue our national troops in Germany. Nor could we supply our army with men; since 1758, we had sent over twenty-nine thousand men. We had but thirteen thousand remaining. Could this country furnish four thousand men a year to Germany? Marshal Ligonier had ordered the old corps to be recruited at any rate. We had three thousand sick in hospitals, and were reduced to send boys of ten years old—a good way to make the war last! He spoke, he said, neither from fickleness nor discontent; was very well contented; had tried to swallow the measure, but found it would not do. If these troops had been brought home, we might have disbanded the militia. Wished he could see the negotiation for peace renewed; wished even a bad peace was offered. He concluded the French account of the rupture was authentic, or would have been contradicted. He spoke, he said, to the country gentlemen; they were not included in the picture of our comfortable situation. If so much was given to glory, their cups of comfort would not be drunk so often as they used to be. Sir Robert Walpole, whom he thought the greatest minister that this country had known, had always declared the nation could not stand under a debt exceeding an hundred millions.

Stanley defended the measure of pursuing the German war, and said it was evident from every page of the printed negotiation that France wished to get out of Germany; that she was not equal to both wars, and had therefore neglected everything to make her push there, hoping it would exasperate the people of England against Hanover. That none of our allies were in a situation to make conquests, and therefore we must part with some of ours, to obtain tolerable conditions for them.

George Grenville supported the question solely on the foot of treaties, which he recapitulated, but took care to assert that he had neither advised nor approved them; he had not been able, he said, to stop a torrent; let those who had given the advice drink the dregs! he did not desire to steal the fame due to another. It had not been the German war, but the want of seamen, that had disabled France from prosecuting the war in America and from invading England. Let us know what had been the obstacle that had broken off the treaty. An immense load of debt had been laid upon us; he would not call on any light of Government, who had brought us into these distresses, to help us out of them. If they had overlooked these things, he must be sorry. But our honour was pledged, and he would not be for an ignominious peace; nor, on the other hand, would he intoxicate the people with unattainable objects. He would not hang out our distresses; to know them was the first point; to conceal them, the second.

Thus were hostilities openly commenced by Grenville. He had during the last reign avowedly or silently supported every one of Pitt’s expensive German measures. Indeed he had held by Pitt’s favour one of the most lucrative places under the Government, the Treasurer of the Navy. The scene was changed, and Grenville with it.

Pitt replied in a long speech, but with much temper, which he professed he would keep, though so marked out; but in contempt of Grenville, he affected chiefly to answer Rigby, falling into the familiar, and not in a masterly style; desiring to expostulate, not to altercate on who was in or out of place; but considering himself as in a council of state, engaged to find out the point of truth, and how to wind up the war. He complimented our troops, whom he called the glory of human nature, and Charles Townshend on his moderation and clear method of stating the question. If Rigby, he said, had had communication of papers, he must have seen the distresses of France, but would advise him to reconsider his positions, before he published his political code, before he should come to guide—but begged pardon for his levity; he chose to be in good humour, for fear of being in bad. He would not enter into the wretched consideration of what himself had done. Grenville had treated his counsels as pernicious—nobody indeed had asserted it—somebody did shrewdly convey it—for his part he liked better a man that affirmed. Grenville, however, would not entirely take away the lustre of this measure, already more than half exploded by the King’s servants. Himself, an individual, had been called, compelled to the service; he had found this measure bound on upon the nation, both by the concluding and breaking the treaty of Closter Severn. It was an electoral measure, not advised, but submitted to in silence by the piety of the Duke of Cumberland. The subsidy to Prussia had been dictated by Hanover, not by Great Britain. Little Princes are subsidized, when not worthy of reciprocation; but necessity had driven that great Prince to accept our money; yet his Prussian Majesty did not think that he thereby lost his equality of not being deserted. Both the Empresses had received subsidies from us. He himself, he said, had resisted the measures of the closet, nor would subscribe to them till qualified. His late gracious master had suffered his representations; and he had boldly urged them, fearing our own defence and America would be neglected; nor would he agree to the German war till every other service had been provided for. Was it candid, was it just, to throw the whole burthen on him, who had been but an acceder to a plan settled? an acceder to a ministry that had wanted vigour. He had borrowed their majority to carry on their own plan. He had seen where they had been right, where wrong. He had brought the American war, and taken up the German; had seen that we must be strong enough to baffle France, or should do nothing. France had been dedecorum pretiosus emptor. It was true our expense had been great, and he offered himself confitentem reum, if he had not thereby annihilated their power both in East and West Indies. Perhaps he had done it the wrong way; and Mr. Grenville could have done it some other way. The business, however, was done, by whatever way done; and he would now divide the House alone against abandoning our allies. Relaxation could only invite inflexibility in our enemies; nor ought we to give the money, and at the same time blast the measure. As Germany had formerly been managed, it had been a millstone about our necks; as managed now, about that of France. Let a man get possession of the Government, and act as late ministers had acted, and he would endeavour to make his heart ache. Now we were leagued with the King of Prussia, who was born to administer military wonders to the world; his motto should be adversis rerum immersabilis undis. To him was added Prince Ferdinand, for whom he could not find adequate words. That great Prince had stood like a rampart to cover Germany—and at last, comperit invidiam supremo fine domari.

Legge spoke a few words in praise of the measure, and against abandoning our allies; and the debate ended without a division.

The recapitulation of many speeches may perhaps weary the reader, but, in equity, he must remember that at this period at least it was essential to detail them. When Mr. Pitt was driven from the management of the war, he existed as a public man; but in his speeches and past services, his own defence of his measures was necessary from his own mouth. Libels on libels were published against him, and he wrote none. I am sensible that I do not do justice to his arguments, and less to his eloquence; but what I give was faithfully taken from his own mouth in the House of Commons; and unless better transcripts appear, this rude sketch may be welcome to posterity. No flattery is intended to him. When I thought him blameable, I have marked it, as will appear hereafter, with the same impartiality. The debates, too, of a free nation, arrived at the summit of its glory, may be worthy the attention of future times. Our descendants will see what their ancestors were in arms and eloquence, and what liberty they enjoyed of discussing their own interests. Grant, Heaven, they may not read it with a sigh; reading it in bondage and ignominy!

CHAPTER VIII.

Mr. Pitt’s Enemies.—Debates in Parliament on the German war, and on our Affairs with Spain.—Speeches of the leading Members.—Mr. Pitt’s Defence of himself.—Colonel Barré’s insulting conduct to Mr. Pitt.—Libellous Pamphlets against that Statesman, by the Rev. Philip Francis.—Justification of Mr. Pitt’s Measures.—Family compact between France and Spain.—Portugal invaded by Charles the Third of Spain.—The Queen’s desire that her Brother should come to England.—Pratt compelled to be Chief Justice of the Common Pleas.—Lord Hardwicke and his Son.

Mr. Pitt’s enemies did not content themselves with traducing him in pamphlets and satires. A deeper blow was meditated, which, though not carried to the extent which the projectors hoped, could not but wound his mind, and did to a degree lower him in the opinion of some men, though the brutality with which it was conceived and executed, raised almost general indignation. I will just touch the surprize it wrought on me, which may convey some idea of what effect it must have had on others.

The report on the foreign troops was made the day after they had been removed. Mr. Bunbury,[139] who married Lady Sarah Lenox, had spoken, for the first time in Parliament, against the German war. Lord George Sackville, with more caution, but no less hostile intention to Pitt, had declared for the measure, as no alternative was proposed, though he hoped ministers would concert with our allies how to draw us out of this scrape. He did not believe that France was in a worse situation than she had been at Gertruydenburg,[140] when she rejected insolent terms. She could, besides, subsist her troops on easier terms than we could. She brought to account the contributions raised by her armies; he did not know that we did. Lord George was finishing his speech as I came into the House. My ear was struck with sounds I had little been accustomed to of late, virulent abuse on the last reign, and from a voice unknown to me. I turned, and saw a face equally new; a black, robust man, of a military figure, rather hard-favoured than not young, with a peculiar distortion on one side of his face, which it seems was owing to a bullet lodged loosely in his cheek, and which gave a savage glare to one eye. What I less expected from his appearance, was very classic and eloquent diction, and as determined boldness as if accustomed to harangue in that place. He told the House that in the late King’s reign we had been governed solely by Hanoverian measures and councils; and though called to order (in truth unparliamentarily), he proceeded with the same vociferous spirit to censure all ministers but Lord Bute; and for Mr. Pitt, who was not present, he received the appellation of a profligate minister, who had thrust himself into power on the shoulders of the mob. The present King, said this new Court-tribune, was so English, that he did not believe he had looked into the map for Hanover;[141] and he commiserated the present ministers, who were labouring through the dregs of German councils.

The reader must imagine the astonishment occasioned by this martial censor. He was a Colonel Barré, of French extraction, born at Dublin, and had served for some years in the war in America with reputation, prosecuting his studies with assiduity in the intervals of duty. With General Wolfe he had been intimately connected, both as an officer and penman; but had thought himself ill-used by Mr. Pitt, though the friends of the latter, and Lord Barrington, lately Secretary at War, bore witness that Mr. Pitt had made it a point to serve him. In his younger years he had acted plays with so much applause, that, it was said, Garrick had offered him a thousand pounds a year to come upon the stage.[142]

This man, therefore, had been selected by Lord Fitzmaurice (become Earl of Shelburne by the death of his father) as a bravo to run down Mr. Pitt. Lord Shelburne held a little knot of young orators at his house; but Barré soon overtopped them; and Fox had pushed on the project of employing him to insult Pitt—to what extent was surmised by all the world. The consequences will appear in the next debate.

Glover,[143] the author of “Leonidas,” uttered a speech in most heroic fustian, but not without good argument, to show that all our great advantages had been obtained before we went deeply into the German war. Charles Yorke, Attorney-General, defended the measures of the late King against Barré and his own friend Mauduit’s pamphlet, urging that his Majesty had reduced himself to poverty to support the war in Germany. Elliot made an admirable oration to reconcile himself to consistence: owned he had opposed the treaties in 1755; and was then told they were calculated to prevent a war in Germany. He had since been dazzled with the national enthusiasm on the King of Prussia’s victories, and confessed that on the like appearances he should again be led to approve the German war. It was true that war had its object, collateral division; but would the House wish to Germanize this young King, and make him turn his thoughts thither more than he did? He concluded with a pathetic ejaculatory wish that the peace had succeeded.

Oswald[144] took the same turn of endeavouring to palliate his inconsistencies; but though his parts were still shrewder and quicker than Elliot’s, he did it much worse. Dr. Hay[145] attempted, too, an apology for himself, but with the worst success of the three; and the necessity which the principal men in Parliament found themselves under of justifying their abandoned corruption and versatility, stamped disgrace on this Parliament itself, which it did but increase by fresh and repeated instances of servility in ensuing sessions on every change of Administration.

The next day, Dec. 11th, Mr. Cooke[146] moved for all memorials relating to our fisheries, &c., which he introduced by saying, he wished to know what was the state of our affairs with regard to Spain—he hoped peaceable; but desired to see the papers relating to their claims, and to know if they had treated us with contempt and disdain. Beckford seconded him, urging that the Gazette and Bussy’s memorial contradicted one another. The King had asked advice of Parliament: if ministers should refuse these papers, they refused to comply with the King’s request. He did not know who were the ministers, nor whether we had a single minister, or a minister depute. It was necessary to have one minister.

Grenville replied, that though he had heard of this motion, he could not believe it would be made. It was our right to have papers, when essentially necessary; but power of negotiation belonged to the Crown; and negotiations ought not to be made public, when real mischief might be the consequence. Had his Majesty asked advice as to Spain? would you ground advice on those papers? or were they wanted to answer newspapers? Should a minister or minister depute make that answer? He had heard with surprise that one man ought to direct. What had been the constant charge against Sir Robert Walpole, but his acting as sole minister? Yet his modesty had declined the appellation. Prime Minister was an odious title: he was sorry it was now thought an essential part of the constitution. He did believe the Gazette had contained, word for word, the sense of the dispatch. The assurances of a peaceable disposition had been given, but who could answer that they were to be depended upon? It would be breach of trust to communicate the papers demanded without particular leave; nor, should they be communicated, would they be sufficient ground for advice. Would the House, if they contained offensive words, lay them before the public to inflame the people? The subject was not fit at that hour for the intervention of Parliament. If ministers are called upon, and tell our distresses, they are repeated abroad: if silent, are supposed to allow them. There was no reason to suspect the King of exercising his power improperly.

Lord Strange said, he had not believed that any men would be so hardy as to bring on this affair, and thought they could not word it so as to obtain his assent: but the motion was now so unexceptionable, that he could not object to it. No letters of a private nature were demanded. The House had a right to tender its advice, even unasked. Who doubted but Spain had communicated all those papers to France? Yet ministers would not produce them to Parliament. They were divided amongst themselves; therefore the people ought to interpose. By showing no confidence to the people, the administration would destroy their zealous attachment to the Crown.

Wilkes maintained that Spain ought to be considered as hostile. Sir Francis Dashwood said he would agree to the motion, if he saw either utility or meaning in it, but such as he would not express. Parliament, he owned, had a right to all papers, yet Parliament had a right too to consider if there were any use in asking for them. He saw a proper answer had been made to the memorial, and the Spanish minister had been desired to recant—(Mr. Pitt cried out, “Where?”) Spain said to France, you are making peace, try if you cannot obtain something for me. He had heard, he said, of no faction in the administration: he hoped there was none any where else. Why should not confidence be placed in the King and administration, till it was abused? There might be something in the papers which Spain would not like the City of London should know—yet he supposed there was not more than appeared. Was it wished to address the Crown to declare war? But that was the prerogative of the Crown. Spain, too, would probably think twice before she embarked in hostilities. There might be different opinions in the council of Spain. That secret we were bound in honour to keep.

Lord Frederick Campbell[147] said, he did not believe there were any factions in the ministry; if there were, the King would put an end to them: but if the administration were distracted, this measure would distract them much more. He had great hopes that these ill appearances would end in peace. Nugent[148] lamented there being any divisions, as unanimity was never more necessary. Bamber Gascoyne said, if any of the papers were of too secret a nature, a secret committee might be appointed to examine them. By destroying parties, we had created factions.[149] He himself had never been in a minister’s house, nor ever intended it.[150] The conduct of this patriot will appear hereafter.

Sir John Glynn said, that that time twenty years had been famous for calling for papers; with intention then to condemn a minister; now it was with a view to applauding one. A paper had been produced at that time which the King of Prussia never forgave. Himself had never seen any benefit arise from motions of that sort. Rigby said, he should be sorry if that motion were likely to be complied with; but that did not seem very probable. But what? had the City instructed its representatives to demand a First Minister? He had heard the Excise adopted by a sort of First Minister. He would tell the House who were the Administration; the two Secretaries of State, the Chancellor, the President, &c., and in their deliberations there had been twelve against two; proof enough of union. The other House had a right to judge as well as the Commons; and was the natural barrier between the Crown and people. Whoever sought the Administration, might find them in the Duke of Cumberland’s late lodgings at St. James’s (where the councils were held). At a time when not a man whispered to his friend, but in commendation of the King, would the House wish to set a First Minister over him?

Mr. Pitt expressed much concern at the flame that had arisen, and that the House, by losing its temper, had lost its reason, and degenerated into barbarism. His friend Beckford, he feared had thought more of him than he had done of himself; but the word guide, commented as it had been, had misled him. If the present question tended to make one individual minister, he should be against it; but when he looked at the complexion of the House, he had no such apprehension. Censured as he had been for using an expression so much condemned, he could not find reason to retract it. Lord Egremont, he believed, would not hold the Seals an hour, if not permitted to guide his own correspondence. Thus, he himself, who he hoped had not lessened his country, had insisted on the same right. In the Treasury, in the Military, in the Navy, he had never assumed or claimed any direction: had never spoken to the King on those heads, but had always applied to the ministers of those several departments; had transmitted everything through the channels of each office. He hoped, he said, to have these egotisms pardoned; he would now come to the question in agitation with a temper that nothing could ruffle. Even the virtues of the King, on which the House had been so much advised to rely, must be a little the fruit of time; hoped his Majesty would be aided by wholesome and deep-sighted advice. From the present motion what mischief could arise? he wished some necessity had made him absent—but would it be decorous in him to be shy? in a House where, he believed, he did not stand too well? He believed the bottom of the bottom of this affair would be dangerous; not so, while confined to memorials. Spain had made three demands in a most extensive manner; the right of fishery, which he had said he would as soon give up the Tower of London, as grant; nor would the King, he was sure, accord it; himself had never been ordered to hold any other language. But why, might it be said, call for these papers? because, if you temporized, or let Spain think you temporized, she would more assuredly push her claims. Suspense might be wholesome, if they were prepared, and you were not. The contrary being true, contrary measures should be pursued. Himself would not press the motion, if told by authority that it was premature; but then let the ministers say so, and mark the era, without moulting a feather of England’s crest. The note in the memorial, said to be delivered, was no departure from their demands. Did they even say they would not impede the peace on the consideration of these demands? Let ministers declare this, and he would second to withdraw the motion—but he saw, he said, he should not be told so. Or had France given up her insulting menace, that she would stand by the demands of Spain? This was the Gordian knot, that he himself had not been able to cut; had feared it would rise in judgment against him; hoped it would not against any other man. Divisions had always existed; when were twelve men cast in the same mould? Divisions were sometimes salutary. Queen Elizabeth had promoted them in her Councils. When he left administration, had never seen such unanimity; he had said in high place, that his consolation was, to leave such men in power; and had declared that he would only oppose what he would have opposed with the Seals in his hand—but to have stayed and have done that, would only have been prejudicial. It was the extent of Spain’s claims that had shocked him, not her lofty idioms, the most insignificant of all things. Whoever should cede to them but a cockboat, ceded all. But the very present debate would strengthen the King’s hands. He then made an encomium on the diligence, activity, and punctuality of the Earl of Bristol. Should the fisheries not be settled, the man who should give them up would one day or other be impeached. For himself he wished he had not been so much in the right; wished he had not known so much as he did. What he did know was buried in the centre of the earth. France had told us with good faith, that if we did not make up with Spain, they would break off the Treaty with us. If Spain declared war, he should think her felo de se. It would not be equal imprudence in her to abet France. Could the House proportion its supplies without knowing in what predicament Spain stood with France? Should the former declare war, she could lend money to the latter. The revenues of Spain were under five millions, and she employed seventy thousand men to collect them, besides twenty thousand that were engaged in the affair of tobacco. Was this a formidable enemy? To him it was indifferent to derive justification from this situation of things; should he prove to have been in the wrong, he should comfort himself with having thought he was right. All foreign Courts, especially Spain, would think the present motion wise. Were he not limited, or self-limited, he could enforce his arguments with more strength. The Gazette had been printed to persuade eight millions of people that Spain was amicable; but if there were indisputable proofs to the contrary, it was deceiving all the world. It was of no consequence to establish on which side lay truth; Bussy’s memorial had proved the connection between the two houses of Bourbon. Should the event end in a rupture, we had lost our opportunity—if affairs were in accommodation, would the honour of England be preserved? Would Spain be obliged to England who bowed, or to France, who should extort from us, in the height of our conquests, advantages for Spain?

Colonel Barré, whether (as he gave out afterwards) to show that he had not taken advantage of Mr. Pitt’s absence to abuse him the day before, or whether (as is more probable) to pursue the point to which he had been instigated, rose, and renewed the attack with redoubled acrimony. Insult of language, terms, manner, were addressed, and personally addressed, to Mr. Pitt, by that bravo. His variations, inconsistencies, arts, popularity, ambition, were all pressed upon Pitt with energy and bitterness, and the whole apostrophe wore the air of an affront more than of a philippic. He told the House he could not amuse, but he would not deceive them. That the disagreeable posture of our affairs with Spain was solely owing to the late resignation, which had thrown our councils and the nation itself into distraction. That Mr. Pitt, though professing it, had no confidence in the King himself. Here Pitt, who had remained in astonishment at so bold and novel an attack from a new speaker, called him to order, declaring that no word guilty of so foul a crime as want of confidence in the King had fallen from him, and sat down, leaving Barré to proceed in his invective; but the latter was interrupted by Fox, who said the King’s name was never to be mentioned in a debate; that the House had listened with pleasure while justice was done to his Majesty’s virtues; that Colonel Barré had a right to show to what he thought Mr. Pitt’s arguments had tended; and that he chose to give the former this hint, because he seemed so able and willing to make use of his right. Charles Yorke said the King’s name could not be used to influence debate. Pitt said he had referred to the King’s speech, because it asked advice of the House. Fox, still fearing lest the interruption and ignorance of the forms of the House should disconcert Barré, replied, that the speech might be quoted, because it is always understood as the speech of the minister. Barré went on, saying, that if any man opposed, and not from the truest reasons, he would wish him to be silent. Should there be a man whose whole life had been a contradiction and a series of popular arts, he would judge him from his actions, not from his words. Beckford called to have the question read, to prevent such deviation into personality. Rigby insisted that Beckford always deviated more than Barré had done. Barré added, that he had less reason to deviate than Beckford, not allowing himself to be so distracted; and that his front was not broad enough to write contradiction on; nor would he desert the King’s service when most wanted.

Pitt made no manner of reply; only turning to Beckford, and asking pretty loud, “how far the scalping Indians cast their tomahawks?” It seemed to some a want of spirit, but it was evident by the indignation of the House, that such savage war was detested: and Pitt perhaps did not care to put them in mind how far himself had often pushed invective; nor chose to risk their preferring the new master of abuse to the old. It had not been unwise, it should seem, to have uttered a few words, stating to Barré the indecence of treating an infirm and much older man with such licence, showing him that insult could not be resented when offered in a public assembly, who always interpose, and putting both him and the audience in mind, that a man, who had gained the hearts of his countrymen by his services, could only forfeit them by his own conduct, and not by the railing of a private individual. With the public this outrage did Mr. Pitt no injury. Barré was abhorred as a barbarian irregular, and Fox, who had lent such kind assistance to a ruffian, drew the chief odium on himself. Charles Townshend, being asked soon after, when the House would rise for the holidays, replied,[151] “I do not know; but when it does, the roads will be as dangerous as if the army were disbanded.” And Barré having said that he would not answer for his head, but would for his heart, “Yes,” said George Selwyn,[152] “if he could not, the former would have been broken long ago.”

The debate was terminated by Lord George Sackville and Elliot; the latter pleading against producing papers in the height of a negotiation; and adding, “perhaps an express is now on the road from Spain determined for war.” The motion was rejected without a division, scarcely six voices being given for the question. Not one Tory spoke in the debate but Sir John Glynn, and he declared against Pitt. The next time Barré went to Court, the King took most gracious notice of him.

The City of Dublin addressed Mr. Pitt on his resignation. The same was proposed at Lynn, and rejected; and at Leicester such a motion was stopped by a person producing and reading a libel called Mr. Pitt’s Letter versified. It was done by Francis,[153] a clergyman attached to Lord Holland, who supplied the notes. Another, by the same hand, called A Letter from the anonymous Author of the Letters versified, was published, reviling Mr. Pitt on bearing Barré’s ill-usage. Lord Melcomb, at Lord Bute’s table, constantly held the same language.

These specks were soon effaced in the confusion that fell on the ministers themselves, and by the justification, which, in spite of them, burst forth of Mr. Pitt’s measures. The war which they had so poorly attempted to ward off, broke upon them, when they had no longer his assistance. A courier arrived on the 24th from Spain, with a refusal of showing us their treaty with France. This treaty was the famous Family Compact, to which even the House of Austria had acceded, of which Mr. Pitt, by a masterpiece of intelligence, had got notice,[154] and of which our dastardly ministers had hoped to deprecate the effects by pusillanimous palliatives and submission: a compact formed because we were become so formidable, and the very signature of which had terrified Lord Bute and his associates into departing at once from our superiority. This was the secret at which Mr. Pitt had so often hinted, and which he had now the satisfaction of hearing published by the mouths of his enemies. We had avoided the interception of the Spanish fleet, as Mr. Pitt had earnestly recommended. It was now arrived, and they temporized no longer. Fuentes was recalled, and Lord Bristol was consequently forced to return. Previous to his departure Fuentes delivered a memorial to the foreign ministers, in which Mr. Pitt was arraigned by name; an honour almost unheard of. Alberoni had been accused by George the First; but though that precedent was not flattering, Mr. Pitt could want no vindication, when the Court of Spain, and Barré, the tool of Lord Bute, conspired to charge him with being author of the war.

We had been the willing dupes of the Spanish House of Bourbon. It was a more horrid insult on all good faith—on humanity—on ties of blood, that Spain summoned Portugal to declare against us. The ruins of Lisbon were almost smoking yet! The Queen of Portugal was the Spanish Monarch’s sister; her husband and children were dwelling in tents at a distance from their late capital. Assassination and conspiracies had beset the Throne. This was the moment that Charles the Third selected to invade their kingdom! France, it was said, in vain dissuaded this perfidy—not from delicacy; but the meditated conquest of Portugal was likely to engross the whole attention of the Court of Madrid. If we should support Portugal, it might be a division of our forces; but France needed all the assistance Spain could lend. Timber was wholly exhausted in France. She had sent even to Dalmatia, and to little purpose. The expense of ship-building is far greater in France than in England. Her cities and trading companies set themselves to building ships and presenting them to the King, but this was a distant and slow resource.

The Queen, who bore great affection to her brothers, was desirous that the second, Prince Charles of Mecklenburgh, should come over. The King would not venture to propose it to Lord Bute, but wrote to him, and after a reluctance of a fortnight on the part of the Favourite, the boon was granted.

The ministers were solicitous to remove Pratt[155] from the House of Commons, and offered him the dignity of Chief Justice of the Common Pleas. He demurred; but was forced to accept it, for they would not only have removed him from being Attorney-General, a post that required a more pliant officer, and which he was willing to give up; but they had the injustice to refuse him his gown as King’s counsel, and he must have pleaded below the bar, or have quitted his profession. Mr. Yorke was made Attorney, and Norton, Solicitor Generals. This enforced destination of Pratt to be Chief Justice, preserved the Constitution afterwards from the same men, whose policy exerted such rigour against him. Mr. Yorke had lost the precedence over Pratt when the latter was made Attorney-General. It was on the coalition of Mr. Pitt, after the affair of Minorca, with the Duke of Newcastle and Lord Hardwicke. Pitt then offered to restore Lord Anson to the lead at the Admiralty, or to make Yorke Attorney, but would not grant both. Lord Hardwicke preferred his son-in-law to his son; a partiality which the latter, whose eye was fixed on the Great Seal, and which, by these means, Pratt afterwards obtained to his prejudice, never forgave to his father.

CHAPTER IX.

Fuentes, the Spanish Ambassador, quits England.—Return of Lord Bristol from Madrid.—War declared against Spain.—Projects of Lord Bute, Mr. Fox, and the Duke of Cumberland.—The Duke of Bedford.—Mr. Pitt’s influence with the Nation.—Divisions in the Council respecting the War with Spain.—Expedition to the Havannah.—Meeting of Parliament.—Lord Bute’s harangue.—Mr. Pitt’s Speech in the House of Commons.—Rigby’s attempt to show the inutility of our Conquests.—Other Speakers in the Debate.—Pacific Disposition of the new Czar.—Court Intrigues in France against Marshal Broglio and his Brother.—Prejudices and resentments of the Tories.—Preponderating Influence and Haughtiness of Lord Bute.—The Duke of York’s contempt of Lord Bute and the Scotch.—Proceedings in the Parliament of Ireland.—Lord Halifax.—William Gerard Hamilton.—Bill for continuing the Militia.

On the first day of the year Fuentes, the Spanish ambassador, quitted England, and was received at Calais, and all the way to Paris, with distinguished honours, as the saviour of France. He was a dull cold man, and wedded to all the weakness of his religion.[156] Lord Bristol,[157] a very Spaniard too in formality and pride, was recalled at the same time. His abilities had never been esteemed, and were now much called in question; but the publication of his negotiations did him much honour. Though he stooped to be the tool of Mr. Pitt, he had not disliked to receive instructions that authorized him to be imperious. His very parsimony gave way to any ostentation about his own person.

On the second, the King, in full council, declared his resolution of making war on Spain: for the ministers, who had driven out Mr. Pitt, rather than embrace this necessary measure, were reduced to adopt it at the expense of vindicating him and condemning themselves; and, what was worse to the nation than their shame, had not him, nor his spirit, to conduct them. Nor yet were they unanimous on this point, or on any other part of the war. Lord Bute’s object was, peace at any rate, that he might pursue his plans of power at home. Fox aimed at the destruction of Pitt, and at favour with and through the Favourite, to which he sacrificed his views of wealth, as Paymaster, in the German war. The Duke of Cumberland, who was now rather openly, than confidentially, consulted, was inclined to support the German war; either from partiality to the Electorate, or hoping to command there in the room of Prince Ferdinand. His Royal Highness was reconciled to the Duke of Newcastle, who, to please the Duke and Lady Yarmouth,[158] fluctuated again towards the war in Germany, though he could not lead back his friend Lord Hardwicke[159] to that side. The bias too had been too strongly given to the Duke of Bedford, who declared he would move in Parliament to recall our troops from Germany. Lord Bute, fearing the Duke would gain too great popularity by this conduct, and inclined enough to heap any mortifications on the King of Prussia and the House of Brunswick, took the same side; but was persuaded, as the money was already voted and the contracts made, to suffer the troops to make one more campaign there. The Duke of Bedford was assured by the King, that measures would be taken for recalling the troops, without recurring to the authority of Parliament. Yet so much did they dread the effects of Mr. Pitt’s influence with the nation, and of their own unpopular measures, that they agreed to give the King of Prussia his subsidy for another year, but would not renew the treaty with him, which now expired.

They were still more divided and embarrassed on the war with Spain. Unavoidable as it was, the Dukes of Newcastle and Bedford, Lord Hardwicke and Lord Mansfield,[160] were against engaging in it; and Hardwicke, when the affirmative was decided, declared he would return no more to Council. But Lord Bute, Lord Granville,[161] Lord Egremont, George Grenville, and, I think, Lord Ligonier, prevailed for the declaration of war. Lord Anson[162] was ill, and the Duke of Devonshire out of town.

Yet, though the war with Spain was a popular measure, the City and the country had so mean an opinion of those who were to direct it, that the stocks immediately fell to 66½, though in the Rebellion they had never been lower than 72. The declaration from Spain luckily arrived three days after the first subscription on the new loan had been paid—yet it sunk four per cent.—three days sooner, and it would not have been paid at all.

On the 4th, war was declared. The next day came news of the reduction of Colberg, almost the last hope of the King of Prussia. Nor yet were the Ministers ready to decide, whether they would blow up the fortifications of Belleisle and abandon it, or whether they should undertake to support Portugal. They determined first to send Lord Tyrawley[163] thither, while Lord Albemarle[164] kissed the King’s hand for the command of the expedition, which was so often set forth and so often countermanded, and which at last laboured to sea. It was to take up troops at Martinico, and thence sail to attack the Havannah.

On the 19th the Parliament met, and the King acquainted both Houses with the new war he had undertaken; a ceremonial decorated by the Favourite himself, who, as if he had wrenched the thunderbolt out of Mr. Pitt’s hands only to wield it himself with mightier vigour, now harangued the Parliament for the first time. Every preparative of pomp, attitude, and lofty language were called in to make him worthy of himself. His admirers were in ecstacies; the few that dared to sneer at his theatric fustian, did not find it quite so ridiculous as they wished. It was enough for the former that their god was not dumb, and there was no danger that he would familiarize himself too often with the multitude. He affected to adopt parliamentary measures, and to wish that all the negotiations with Spain might be laid before them; graciously promising to beseech the King that not only papers might be produced, but that the Cabinet-councillors themselves might be permitted to divulge the opinions they had given. This was a puny piece of chicane, the Ministers endeavouring to prove that the hostilities of Spain were subsequent in date to the period in which Mr. Pitt found it advisable from their conduct to attack the Spaniards. He had early detected their league with France, and was not of a humour to weigh dates against facts, or memorials against combinations. Nor Hardwicke’s forms nor Mansfield’s subtleties could persuade the seeing part of mankind that a war at our doors ought to be treated with the same literal circumspection as an action of trespass or battery at common law.

Mr. Pitt himself, in the House of Commons, with much seeming modesty, assumed the honour that was due to his intelligence and foresight; and by disclaiming any triumph on the necessity into which the ministers had fallen of making war, asserted the right, to which his counsels had entitled him, of having pointed out the moment when the war ought to have commenced—a moment, lost by his enemies, without the benefit of having warded off the war with Spain. Lord North,[165] who seconded the address of thanks for the King’s speech, had injudiciously furnished Pitt with an opportunity of vindicating his measures, calling him an abdicated minister, and violently taxing him with a fondness for new hostilities. Nothing could be more cool or artful than Pitt’s reply. It was all panegyric; all gratitude for his Majesty’s resentment of Spain’s provoking conduct, and for the caution with which he promised to engage in so large a war. In his own particular situation, he might be supposed not to like such firm, and yet such cautious measures—but he did; he heartily thanked the ministers for their caution; and meaned to conciliate unanimity, which he hoped would spread from one end of the island to the other. Himself for five years had laboured successfully—but he did not mean to pride himself that way—yet he had proved not to have been so much in the wrong as his enemies had thought; and, however Lord North had disparaged his intelligence, activity, and discernment, he hoped his successors would not be endowed with worse or less; and that the people would place confidence in the administration, whose large and wide-spread connections must be followed by confidence and favour. A poor individual like himself could have no such favour and following! He should easily have been blamed, if any slip had appeared in his conduct. Now it must be the King—it must be the Administration, the Parliament, nation, army, and navy, who were to carry on the war; and he prayed to God it might all be enough! Yet he thought us equal to the whole. However, he had not sought the Spanish war; and if it were not too much for a poor individual, for an abdicated Minister, to say, he hoped it would appear, that for five years together he had made much political court to Spain, and great persons had concurred with him in those counsels. The sacrifices he had offered would show how much he and they had been in the right; and that he had not been so haughty as was represented in rejecting Bussy’s memorial. He would never call for the papers which would exemplify the temper he had used towards Spain. If his Majesty should think they would satisfy the nation, would satisfy Europe, he knew he should appear to have had the unanimous approbation of the whole Cabinet to several of the papers he had sent to Spain. But what imported it what one man or another had thought three months before? Since that era he had received such public marks of Royal approbation, together with a pension and peerage (for his wife), as few individuals could boast. The moment was come when every man ought to show himself for the whole. I do, said he, cruelly as I have been treated in pamphlets and libels. Arm the whole! Be one people! This war, though it has cut deep into our pecuniary, had augmented our military faculties. Set that against the debt, that spirit which has made us what we are. Forget everything but the public!—for the public I forget both my wrongs and my infirmities.

Grenville told him he would have his wish: orders were given for laying before the House all the papers from the time of Bussy’s memorial. “I have no wish for their coming,” replied Pitt, “If for the benefit of his Majesty’s affairs, let them come; and if they do come, shall it be with no farther retrospect than Bussy’s memorial? How condescending is the boon! how futile! how unsatisfactory!”

Yet notwithstanding their affected alacrity for war on this occasion, the new Ministers took every opportunity of raising disgust in the nation against the late measures. Rigby, at the instigation of Fox, moved that Colonel Boyd should lay before the House of Commons the muster-roll of the Hessians, on whom he threw out many reflections, and affirmed that 9000 men were wanting out of the 22,000 which they ought to furnish. He said the muster-rolls of our mercenaries were not returned to the office of the Secretary at War; and complained that not a single order was gone to recruit the army in Germany, which ought to amount to 96,000 men. He hoped Prince Ferdinand would be allowed to give no more orders to British troops. He pretended to approve the declaration against Spain, but then endeavoured to show that we were unequal to a new war. It required, he said, 38,000 men to garrison our conquests; and yet those garrisons fell short by 11,000 men. Belleisle alone had cost near half a million; yet what did it furnish but sprats and little cows? Canada gave us only furs; yet hats were not become cheaper; nor were sugar or rum fallen by the acquisition of opulent Guadaloupe; nor negroes by the conquest of Goree; gum was the only commodity reduced. For Louisbourg, he hoped the fortifications would be blown up. The enemy was hurt, but were we enriched, except from the successes in the East Indies? He wished, in short, not to keep our conquests, and to put an end to a ruinous war, in which we had no allies but mercenaries.

Charles Townshend took the same key, and said it had been fortunate, if our apprehension of Spain had driven us to make peace with France. He feared we should sink from a dream of ambition to a state of bankruptcy.

Stanley maintained that France had been in earnest in the negotiation, but had been buoyed up by the ambition and revenge of Spain. Was France so weak, and yet not in earnest? The object of his own labours had been to keep France divided from Spain, and with that view England had offered to yield more than she had asked in return. This was a strong vindication of Mr. Pitt’s conduct, and from a competent witness.

Grenville, in answer to Beckford, said, he would pawn his life that no assurances had been given to the City that there would be no Spanish war. Thomas Walpole[166] replied, that he had never been told from the Treasury that there would not be war with Spain; yet he would say, that had the City apprehended it, they would not have lent their money so easily. The Hessian papers were ordered to lie on the table.

In prosecution of the same hostilities to Pitt, the Duke of Bedford, resisting the most earnest entreaties of the Duke of Cumberland, and even without the approbation of the Court, determined to make his motion, which, however, he softened from a proposal of recalling the troops from Germany, into a resolution of the ruinous impracticability of carrying on the war. He might as decently have termed it an exhortation to Spain not to dread our arms. Lord Bute, to show the Court did not countenance so gross a measure, moved the previous question, and was supported by Newcastle, Melcomb, and Denbigh. Lord Temple of course opposed the Duke of Bedford. The Lords Shelburne, Pomfret, and Talbot spoke for the motion; but the previous question was carried by 105 to 16, which latter were the friends of Bedford and Fox. Six or seven even protested.

In the course of the debate Lord Bute dropped hints of important good news, which he had received that very morning. It was supposed to mean the pacific disposition of the new Czar. Elizabeth, his aunt, was just dead, and Peter the Third had mounted the Russian throne. So far from inheriting her animosity to the King of Prussia, the young Emperor was his enthusiastic admirer, and more likely to war under his banners than to continue to overwhelm him with torrents of barbarians.

The Duke of Bedford receiving such a rebuff from the Lords, the faction dropped the design of renewing the motion in the Commons, the consequence having been a side-wind of approbation to Mr. Pitt, and almost applause to Lord Bute for taking up the military spirit—an approbation the latter did not wish to receive, nor intend to merit. However, 5000 men were ordered for Portugal, and the command destined to Lord Tyrawley. Lord Albemarle too, and his brothers, Commodore and Colonel Keppel,[167] set out for Portsmouth on the expedition to the Havannah; but they did not sail till the beginning of March. Lord Tyrawley went to Lisbon at the same time, whither M. Dunn, or Odunn, who had married a daughter of Parsons,[168] a famous Jacobite alderman in the last reign, was dispatched from Versailles to traverse his negotiations.

Dr. Osbaldiston,[169] the aged Bishop of Carlisle, was translated to the See of London, on the death of Bishop Hayter; and was succeeded by Lyttelton,[170] Dean of Exeter.

In France, Marshal Broglio, and his brother, the Count, were disgraced by Court intrigues. They were the best, and almost only successful officers in the French service. The marshal[171] was a mere disciplinarian, of no parts. The Count[172] was lively, and earnest to inform himself; and by being quicker than his brother, with not much better parts, was only more likely to be in the wrong: but they were both men of strict honour. Having presented a memorial against the Prince of Soubize, in which they attacked Stainville, brother of the Duke of Choiseul, the latter, who possessed the favour of Madame de Pompadour, procured the marshal and his brother to be banished to their country-seats.

The Tories, triumphing in the partiality of the Court, and rather offended than alarmed at the jealousy with which they were beheld by the Whigs, who in power, property, and credit were beyond comparison the preponderating part of the nation, took every occasion of displaying their old prejudices and resentments. On every contested election they acted in a body against the old Whigs, or later converts, however attached to the Court. Thus they exerted all their interest against Lord Gower[173] and Lord Orford[174] on election-causes, and against the Duke of Bridgwater[175] and Lord Strange, on a bill for a new northern navigation—points, on every one of which the Tories were rancorous and unsuccessful. Nor was Scotland wiser. One Haldane had stood for Bridport, lost it, and petitioned. Sir Henry Erskine, a creature of the Favourite, had the indecency and folly to call the English party in the House of Commons a profligate majority; an offence not forgotten, though the Scots were beaten by three to one. The inconsiderable number that in either House of Parliament adhered to Mr. Pitt, and the almost universal acquiescence to the Favourite’s influence, persuaded both him and his dependents, that they had but to give the tone, and prerogative would master all opposition. Nor did his partisans do more than was practised by the Favourite himself. If they insulted the nation, he ruled the Court with a rod of iron. The Queen, her brother, and the brothers of the King, were taught to feel their total want of credit. The Duke of York, as Lord Anson was dying, ambitioned the post of Lord High Admiral, but did not dare even to ask it. Prince William,[176] the favourite brother of the King, wished also to be employed abroad, and ordered Legrand,[177] his governor, to solicit Lord Bute for a command. The haughty Earl treated Legrand with scurrilous language for putting such things into the Prince’s head. The Duke of York, who, though the elder, was by far the more indiscreet of the brothers, openly expressed his resentment and contempt of Lord Bute and the Scotch; and as a mark of disobedience, went to a hunting party at the Duke of Richmond’s, to which he had been invited with the Prince of Mecklenburg; but the latter was not suffered to go to a disaffected house in disaffected company.

But while inactivity reigned in the Parliament of England, that of Ireland was not idle. Lord Halifax,[178] their new Lord-Lieutenant, was, like most of his predecessors very popular at first. They voted him an additional salary of four thousand pounds a year. He had the decency, though very necessitous, not to accept it for himself, but desired it might be settled on his successors. The House of Commons, however, would not wait till it should take place, to pay themselves, but passed a vote to make their Parliaments, which existed during the life of each King, septennial. The party attached to the Castle[179] voted for it, concluding it would be thrown out by the Lords. The Lords, as provident for their popularity, thinking it would be rejected in England, passed it likewise. It was rejected here, but not without much disposition in some of the Council to have it granted. Lord Hilsborough,[180] who had great weight with Lord Halifax, stayed with him in Dublin, and openly made war on the Primate;[181] while William Gerard Hamilton,[182] the Secretary, gained such applause in that Parliament, that a motion for augmenting the troops was carried by the sole power of his eloquence.

March 19th, the bill for continuing the militia for seven years was passed by the House of Commons in England; and the counties, that had not raised theirs, were ordered to pay five pounds a man. This was settled by a compromise, lest a longer term should be insisted on. Its own friends were sick of it, and had clogged it with many clauses, in hopes it would be rejected by their opponents. But the Ministers would not risk the unpopularity of a negative, and were even afraid to part with so large a body of men.

CHAPTER X.

Conquest of Martinico.—War in Portugal.—Lord Tyrawley.—Count la Lippe.—The Cock-Lane Ghost.—Pacific disposition of the new Czar.—His Popular Measures.—Count Schouvalow.—Meditated War with Denmark by the Czar and the King of Prussia.—Insurrections in Ireland, quelled by the Earl of Hertford.—Lord Bute’s Ambition.—The Duke of Newcastle.—His friends.—The Portuguese War, and the War in Germany.—The Duke of Bedford.—Fox’s Observation to Walpole.—Lords Mansfield, Hardwicke, and Lincoln.—Newcastle’s tenacity of Power.—Creation of seven new Peers.—Private negotiation with the Court of Vienna.—The new Peers.—Buckingham House purchased by the Queen.—Seclusion of the King and Queen.—the King’s younger Brothers.

On the 22nd of March arrived news of the conquest of Martinico by General Monckton[183] and Admiral Rodney:[184] a plan ascribed by the people to Mr. Pitt, though executed under the auspices of the Favourite. In truth, the valour of the nation had taken such a bent, that Lord Bute could not check it: nothing but a peace could chain it up. If the Earl did favour any part of the war, it was that in Portugal. Colonel Burgoyne[185] was ordered thither with five thousand foot and six hundred horse; and there was a plan for regimenting twenty-five thousand papists in Ireland for the same service; but the Irish Government did not approve of giving discipline and arms to such dangerous inmates. For General-in-Chief, it was proposed to send to Lisbon the Prince of Bevern. He had been suspected of infidelity by the King of Prussia,[186]—had been disgraced, and his intellects were not reckoned sound. Lord Tyrawley sent home his aides-de-camp, affecting to wonder that we expected any invasion of Portugal. This was imputed to his disgust at not obtaining the command himself; he who was a brave and old general, and who was perfectly acquainted with the country.[187] The Prince of Bevern declined the offer; and Count la Lippe accepted it. He was born in England, had distinguished himself in every hussar-kind of service, and in his dress and manners copied Charles XII. of Sweden, though with more politeness. He found the Portuguese troops in the most deplorable state of cowardice and want of discipline. The English could not, and did not disguise their contempt of them. The Spanish army might have marched to Lisbon, had they met with no obstruction but from the natives. The English troops saved that country; and Count La Lippe, before he left Portugal, formed a regular army there.[188]

The facility which the Favourite found of mastering so great and victorious a kingdom, and of removing the man who had carried the glory of his country so high, was not the only evidence, that however enlightened an age may be, knavery and folly need never despair. The tares they sow will shoot amidst any harvest. Will it be credited that, while the Romish superstition was crumbling away even in Spain and Portugal, a set of enthusiastic rogues dared to exhibit in the very heart of London, a pantomime of imposture, which would hardly have been swallowed in a paltry village of Castile? The methodists had endeavoured to establish in Warwickshire, not only the belief, but the actual existence of ghosts. Being detected, they struck a bold stroke, and attempted to erect their system in the metropolis itself. A methodist family, at first out of revenge, endeavoured to fasten on one Parsons the imputation of having debauched and murdered his wife’s sister. A young girl was reported to be visited by the deceased, whom she called Fanny, and with whom she established a correspondence of question and answer—not by words, but by scratching. A certain number of scratches signified “yes;” another number, “no.” At first this farce, which was acted in Cock-lane, in the city, was confined to the mob of the neighbourhood. As the rumour spread, persons of all ranks thronged to the house. Two methodist clergymen constantly attended the child, who lay in bed in a wretched chamber, with only a dim rushlight at one end. These worthy divines affected to cast an air of most serious import on the whole transaction, and by their interposition prompted Fanny and the girl on any dilemma. A servant wench commented and explained Fanny’s oracle. The father would accept no money from the various visitants, for which he was promised an adequate recompense by the chiefs of the sect. When the story had gained a requisite footing, Fanny had the indiscreet confidence to declare that her body was not in the vault where it had been interred. Samuel Johnson, author of the Dictionary, was in the number of the deluded, and with some others as wise as himself, visited the vault, where, to the disappointment of their credulity, they found the body.[189] Had the precaution been taken of conveying it away, the fury of the people might have been actuated to strange lengths; for so much credit had the story gained, that Parsons, the accused, fearing a prosecution, began first. A regular trial[190] instantly unravelled the cheat: the girl was detected of performing the scratchings herself, and one of the clergymen proved to be her abettor. Lord Chief Justice Mansfield tried the cause: the divine had the impudence to present a letter to him on the bench from the Archbishop of Canterbury,[191] interceding on his behalf, for Secker had a fellow feeling for hypocritical enthusiasm. The Chief Justice put the letter into his pocket unopened, saying it was impossible it could relate to the cause in question. Yet the punishment of these impostors was very moderate: whereas the same judge inflicted most severe penalties on one Anett, who published weekly papers against the book of Genesis. The methodists did not take shame. They turned informers against profaners of the Sabbath, tried to establish great rigour on Good Friday and the fast-days, and to revive the superstition of holidays, when even the late Pope himself, Benedict XIV.,[192] had struck several out of the calendar. But the ritual of the Church of Rome was too rich in materials not to be copied by new zealots. They introduced into their service hymns sung in parts by children, as very captivating to the multitude; and the Countess of Huntingdon,[193] the patroness of the rising Church, erected a chapel at Bath, and at other places of drinking waters, the sick and diseased being an obvious prey to Reformers. Hogarth exerted his last stroke of genius on the occasion above mentioned: the print he published on the Cock-lane Ghost had a mixture of humorous and sublime satire, that not only surpassed all his other performances, but which would alone immortalize his unequalled talents.

The expectations conceived of the new Czar were now verified. He declared to the Empress Queen, to France, and to Sweden, that he was ready to abandon his conquests for peace, and hoped they were in the same disposition—not at the same price. France, indeed, had many losses to regain, few acquisitions to restore—but her hopes were placed on Spain. Sweden had made no conquests, and must obey the dictates of so powerful a mediator; but the Empress Queen was far from being equally tractable. Peter, however, having sacrificed the first moments to decency, gave the next to the gratification of his will; and without stipulating for his allies, whose politics and procrastination were incompatible with his ardour, he not only made peace with his favourite monarch,[194] but promised the same troops, which under the late Czarina had almost crushed him. Nor was this a bare promise, but faithfully executed. Such admiration of a hero was not likely to content itself with merely becoming his ally. Few men idolize heroism but they who feel the passion in their own breasts. Having obliged Sweden to make peace too, the young Czar turned his eye towards military exploits in a new field, and determined to attempt the conquest of the duchy of Sleswick from Denmark. Yet if he was dazzled by the martial talents of the King of Prussia, Peter had a heart susceptible of the most extensive humanity. One of his first acts on his accession was to bestow liberty on the Russian nobility. For the poor he lessened the tax on salt, and for the relief of all, abolished the Inquisition of the State. All the exiles were recalled, or received great mitigation of their punishments. There was one man to whom the Czar, though not so bountiful as he ought to have been, was very kind. This was Count Schouvalow, the favourite and supposed husband of the late Czarina. A man, who in twelve years of absolute power had never made an enemy; and who, had he ambitioned a crown as much as he deserved one, might have reigned. This upright man told the Czar that he had in his possession a very large sum of money, which he believed the Empress, his late mistress, had intended he should take for his own use, but not having been a specific gift, he thought it his duty to surrender it to his Majesty. The Emperor said he was in great want of money, took it, but ordered him to choose two thousand pounds a year in land wherever he pleased. I knew this amiable person afterwards, wandering about Europe,[195] possessed of nothing beyond that revenue, and sighing after a country to which it had been imprudent to return.

The Czar and the King of Prussia wished to engage us in the war with Denmark; but though the Council was divided on the measure, Denmark was too intimately connected with us, and as a maritime power, was too near a neighbour to Scotland. In this exigence the King of Denmark marched with a considerable force to Hamburgh, and obliged that opulent city to furnish him with a million of rix-dollars.

In Ireland seemed approaching a scene of a new kind. The jealousy of commerce had ever swayed England to keep that kingdom in a state of humiliation and restraint; consequently of poverty. The lowest class of people in no country less enjoyed the sweets of being; and in no country sought less to emerge from their state of barbarism. Proud and slothful, they created a kind of dignity to themselves from inactivity. To labour no more than noblemen, was a sort of nobility; and ignorance of a happier fate was happiness. They preserved their ancient poetry and traditional genealogies; hated the English settled amongst them as invaders, and necessarily were bigoted to their old superstitions in opposition to the religion of their masters. In short, they wanted but luxury, to have all the passions and prejudices of great lords. A considerable part of the island was plunged in this dismal darkness and misery. As a spirit of opposition and independence had spread amongst the Protestant inhabitants, a spirit of improvement had gone forth too. Manufactures were established, roads and bridges made, and rivers rendered navigable. Inclosures for cultivation of lands had followed. Occupation of commons seemed usurpation to a race of lazy savages; and the first murmurs were carefully blown up to rage by their priests. A massacre had been the last instance in which the Catholics of Ireland had had any superiority; and Popish priests are historians enough to be ignorant of no such era. It was the cause of property to throw down inclosures; of heaven, to cut the throats of inclosers—and of France and Spain, to promote the good work. The tumults, however, began upon the single foot of their grievances. Great insurrections appeared in Waterford, the chief improvements having been made upon the Burlington estate. The rabble soon distinguished itself by the name of White Boys; and their instructors, to veil one nonsense under a greater, taught them to give out that they were subject to the Queen of the Fairies, whom they called Sieve Oltugh, in whose name their manifestoes were signed. It appeared afterwards on the trials of some of their chiefs, that this fairy sovereign resided at Versailles. French officers were discovered among them; and during the Duke of Bedford’s regency, a rising had actually been made in the same quarter just as Thurot landed. After many outrages, they proceeded to cruelty, and buried three persons up to their chins, who had declared they knew the ringleaders. As their numbers and impunity increased, so did their insolence. They obliged the town of Lismore to hang out lights, and forced a justice of peace to fix up a proclamation by which they regulated the price of provisions, and forbad any cheese to be made till after Lent, that the poor might have the milk—a proof that the devotees of the Queen of the Fairies, and of the Virgin Mary, were equally attached to the observation of the Fast.

For six weeks this insurrection was neglected; and two regiments of dragoons, that were sent against them, proved unequal to the work. At last the House of Commons took up the affair, and foot being ordered out against the seditious, the matter was quashed, though not entirely suppressed, till the Earl of Hertford[196] was Lord Lieutenant, who refusing to pardon some of the chiefs, notwithstanding very considerable intercession, an end was put to the affair—but unless that country is more civilized and reclaimed from barbarism, or better guarded before another war breaks out, it will probably be selected by France and Spain for the first scene of their operations. At the time of which I have been speaking, France was more earnest to make a general peace, than to incense us by opening a war within our very gates,[197] and which might have made it dangerous for the Favourite to second their views.

He was hotly pushing his schemes to projection; and resolved not only to make the peace, but to be indisputably first minister when it should be made. Mr. Pitt was removed, who could have obstructed the first object; but while the Duke of Newcastle held the Treasury, there was a division of power, which all the lustre of favour could not entirely surmount. They who looked forward, bowed to the idol; but they who held by gratifications to the Treasury, could not but kiss the hand that dealt the bribe. At first it was designed by disgusts to drive the Duke to resign. Elliot and Oswald[198] were instructed to treat him rudely at his own board: but an old minister or an old mistress endure many shocks before they can be shaken off:[199] nor could all his own treacheries persuade the Duke of Newcastle that Lord Bute could so soon forget how instrumental his Grace had been in undermining Mr. Pitt. He still had a mind to be of the plot, though himself was become the object of it.

Newcastle’s friends were quicker sighted; and foreseeing that they must again range under Mr. Pitt, if cast off by the Court, they began to have doubts and difficulties—and did but hasten their fall, by daring to resume a right of opinion. The expense of the Portuguese war administered their first pretence of complaint, and the protection given to the King of Prussia by the Czar, changed the posture of his affairs so advantageously, that it had no gross appearance, when the Dukes of Cumberland, Newcastle, Devonshire, and their faction grew earnest for the continuance of the war in Germany. The Duke of Bedford, who was more than half-gained to the Court, but who always added some contradiction of his own, was averse to both wars, Portuguese and German; and Fox, who was willing to preserve an interest in the Duke of Cumberland, had a difficult part to act. He said to me, “The Duke of Devonshire says it is a Tory measure to abandon the Continent; for my part I do not know who are Whigs; they bore the partiality of the Pelhams[200] to the Tories, and Mr. Pitt’s declaration in their favour, who had complained that they enjoyed none of the favours of Government.” Lord Mansfield would have preserved Newcastle to the Court, but Lord Hardwicke pulled the other way. Lord Lincoln[201] was devoted to Pitt, and wished to unite him and his uncle Newcastle. The Duke of Devonshire advised the latter to resign; but so great was his inclination to keep even the dregs of power with the dregs of life, and so great his fear of being called to account for the waste of money on the German war, that though the King, as a fresh affront, declared seven new peers, without acquainting him, he not only overlooked it, but begged his cousin, Mr. Pelham,[202] might be added to the number, and got the barony of Pelham bestowed on himself, with reversion to that relation.

I am forced to detail these intrigues, because the moment was critical, and because it gave birth to a new party, and to many subsequent events. The Court was the more stiff, because they had conveyed a message through Count Virri,[203] the Sardinian minister in England, to the Bailli de Solar,[204] the Sardinian minister at Paris, desiring to renew the negotiation where it had been broken off. Lord Bute had gone farther: he had ordered Sir Joseph Yorke to treat privately with the Court of Vienna, without the knowledge of the King of Prussia. For some time the Court of Vienna did not vouchsafe an answer. To the confusion of the Favourite, the first news he had of any answer to come, was from the Baron de Knyphausen, the King of Prussia’s minister here.[205]

April 28th, the new peers kissed hands. Lord[206] Wentworth and Sir William Courtenay,[207] Tories, were made Viscounts. Lord Egmont,[208] Lord Milton,[209] Lord Brudenel, the Duke of Newcastle, Sir Edward Hussy Montagu,[210] Mr. Vernon,[211] of Sudbury, and Mr. Lane,[212] the two latter Tories, were made Barons, and Lady Caroline Fox, a Baroness. Lord Ligonier’s Irish peerage was entailed on his nephew. Mr. Vernon,[213] clerk of the Council, and Mr. Olmius,[214] were created Irish Barons. The Prince of Mecklenburg,[215] brother of the Queen, was made a Major-General. Lord Bute had often waved her request. She was advised to apply to the Princess, and the favour was immediately granted. Soon after, Buckingham House[216] was purchased and bestowed on her Majesty, St. James’s not seeming a prison strait enough. There the King and Queen lived in the strictest privacy, attended absolutely by none but menial servants; and never came to the palace but for the hours of levies and drawing-rooms. The King’s younger brothers were kept, till they came of age, in as rigid durance. Prince Henry, the third, a very lively lad, being asked if he had been confined with the epidemic cold, replied, “Confined! that I am, without any cold;” and soon after, when the Garter was bestowed on Prince William and Lord Bute, Prince Henry said, “I suppose Mr. Mackenzie[217] and I shall have the green ribands.”

CHAPTER XI.

Debate in the House of Commons on a Vote of Credit and the Support of Portugal.—The German War.—Pitt’s Speech.—Colonel Barré’s Reply to Mr. Pitt.—Lord Bute’s Ambition.—The Duke of Newcastle’s Resignation.—Fox and the Duke of Devonshire.—Ingratitude of the Clergy to Newcastle.—Unwise conduct of Lord Bute.—He is declared First Lord of the Treasury.—Sir Francis Dashwood, Chancellor of the Exchequer.—His unfitness for that Office.—His general Character.—His establishment of a Society of Young Travellers.

May 12th. The House of Commons debated on a vote of credit, and the support of Portugal. Glover the poet pleaded against Portugal’s claim to our assistance, from their many infractions of treaties, from their cramping our trade, and from the impossibilities our merchants had found of obtaining redress; a complaint that seemed to bear hard on the late ministry: to which he added reflections on the extravagance of the German war, which, contrary to the professions of ministers, had grown from £200,000 to six or seven millions. Pitt was offended, and corrected Glover, who threw his information on some nameless merchants, by whom he had been told that their remonstrances on the difficulties of the Portuguese trade had not been read by the ministers. Wilkes censured the weakness and irresolution of the ministry; their abandoning Belleisle, and neglecting to send over the officers to Germany. It was even said, he affirmed, that they had been humiliating themselves at the Court of Vienna. Legge more gently, and Beckford with more rhodomontade, pressed the same accusations. The latter was for invading Spain by sea; declared that the City suspected the ministry of wavering, and demanded to have their old minister again. Grenville answered finely, and compared the smallness of the sum demanded, £300,000, with the expense in Germany. Belleisle had cost more than what was now asked for Portugal. That Court knew how we were embarrassed, and asked not more than she knew we could give. What proof was there of irresolution? was not Martinico conquered? was not the Havannah likely to follow? or did Beckford think that great words, blustered in Parliament, constituted resolution? Fluctuating reports were rather owing to stockjobbers than to fluctuation in the measures of Government. He affirmed that not one step had been taken at Vienna derogatory to any of our connections. We had only tried to feel how they relished the family-compact among the Bourbons. But whether the resolution was taken to recall our troops from Germany, or at all events to go on, would it be prudent to declare which was to be the measure?

Lord George Sackville was liberal in blaming the expense of the German war, which he compared with that of Queen Anne; the whole of which, he maintained, except in 1711 and 1712, did not amount to what this German war had cost alone, though we had then employed more British and other troops than at present. Queen Anne’s war had never exceeded eight millions, including garrisons, fleet, &c. The expense of 172,000 men from 1709 to 1711 had not gone beyond what one year had recently cost in Germany. If there had not been new inventions for expense, we should not now be ready to beg peace.

Pitt, in a very capital style, took up the cause of Portugal: he did not stoop to that little hackneyed practice of party, opposing whatever was the measure of the adversary. He had stood forth for general war, and for reduction of the House of Bourbon. To advise still larger war was constancy to the same plan; and it was still safer to advise it, when he was no longer answerable for the event. To oppose vigorous steps would have been more truly lending aid to the Court, who wanted to get clear of the war.

As having been a public minister, he must not, he said, intrench himself within his present private situation, but speak his opinion. He should not wait for events, but speak boldly as a counsellor. If he voted for this measure, it was giving the Crown his advice, as if he was called to Council. He did think we ought to support Portugal, both for commercial and political reasons. Portugal is in the immediate predicament of nearness to us after Ireland and our Colonies. It assists, without draining us. Assistance was a matter of justice due from us to an oppressed, insulted ally. There had not been such an infraction of treaties as would release us from the ties of treaties. Should we sit with folded arms while the two branches of Bourbon, those proudest of the proud, would exclude us from neutral ports? We must set Portugal on its legs, not take it on our shoulders. He then expatiated on the character of Carvalho, the prime minister of Portugal, his inflexibility to danger, his intrepidity; and drew a picture that might almost have passed for his own, as he seemed to mean it should. Would there be danger in this measure? he was a co-operator in it. If you, as a maritime power, cannot protect Portugal, Genoa will next be shut against you; and then the ports of Sardinia:—what! ports shut against the first maritime power in the world! He then turned Glover into ridicule; said he admired his poetry, but quanto optimus omnium poeta, tanto—he would not, he said, go on. For the sum demanded, it might easily be raised, or a million more: and he would give the same opinion, whether the Duke of Newcastle continued minister, or should be succeeded by Mr. Fox, as was generally said to be the intention. The only difficulty was to find funds. It had been predicated for three years that we could not raise more money; therefore it was plain we could. Lord George should have put into the scale what our enemies had lost; they had been losing, we acquiring. He hoped we should keep up our officers and our marine, and not decrease the latter, as we had done after the last peace. France had last year spent eight millions in Germany. To outlast an enemy was worth perseverance. But we would not distinguish between contracting our expenses and contracting our operations. He paid great compliments to the officers of land and sea, and pleaded earnestly against relinquishing Germany. It would be turning loose an hundred and forty thousand French to overrun the Low Countries and Portugal. If there was any odium from the German war, he begged it might fall on him; though he had never seen a contractor, yet he would not disculpate himself by censuring others; and he spoke in mitigation of the blame thrown on the Treasury, owning he thought some little might have been saved, but not suspecting them of dishonesty. Yet, were an inquiry moved, he would second it; he would screen nobody. After the King of Prussia had been so ill-treated on our account, would we throw such a power out of our alliance, only to save three or four hundred thousand pounds? But he thought he had heard the army was not to be recalled—was transported to find Lord Granby was going to it. Himself was the only man that agreed with the whole administration, for he approved both of war in Germany and war in Portugal; and he was so far from meditating opposition, that he should regard the man who would revive parties as an enemy to his country. Himself had contributed to annihilate party, but it had not been to pave the way for those who only intended to substitute one party to another.[218] Should the least cloud arise between London and Berlin, he prayed for temper and reconciliation. He wished to move that the continuation of the subsidy to Prussia might be added to the vote of credit; but it did not become him to move for more than was asked by the King’s servants: yet he wished the vote of credit had been greater, and knew the Duke of Newcastle wished so too. He should rejoice to see the session closed with the grant of a large sum of money, because England could not well treat but at the head of all her force. Russia had acceded to Prussia—how much wiser to give money to that monarch now, when he is in a better situation, than, as you would do, if he were still more distressed! Nay, that little teazing incident, Sweden, was removed by dread of the Czar. Sweden is a free nation, but factions and a corrupted senate have lowered it from the great figure it made an hundred years ago. Act now, continued he, upon a great system, while it is in your power! A million more would be a pittance to place you at the head of Europe, and enable you to treat with efficacy and dignity. Save it not in this last critical year! Give the million to the war at large, and add three, four, or five hundred thousand pounds more to Portugal; or avow to the House of Bourbon that you are not able to treat at the head of your allies.

This speech, so artful, elevated, so much in character, and so distressful to the Junto that were endeavouring to steal disgrace upon themselves and their country in the face of the world, by setting up one war against another, and dividing the attention of the public, till impotence and mismanagement should render peace welcome,—this speech did Colonel Barré attempt to answer; and did answer it, only in length. He was sensible that he had disgusted mankind by his indecent brutality to so great a statesman: his friends had told him that his invectives, illiberal as they had been, were reckoned the produce of study; and that he must shine in cool argument, lest he should be thought a bully rather than an orator. If they apprehended this, the result of their lessons was a proof that their apprehensions had not been ill-founded. Nothing could be more cold and dull than Barré’s reply to Mr. Pitt. It revenged the latter for the former insult. Calvert,[219] a mad volunteer, who always spoke what he thought, and sometimes thought justly, was so struck with Barré’s phlegmatic impropriety, that he told the House it had put him in mind of a poet, who being at sea in a tempest, and being missed while all hands were on deck, was found half asleep in the cabin; and, being asked why he did not assist to save the ship, replied, he was thinking how to describe the storm?[220] The money was voted, and nothing more of consequence passed that session in Parliament.

Both Houses thus complaisant and submissive, there wanted but the office of prime minister to glut the Favourite’s ambition: and no wonder that he, who had dared to strike the name of the first monarch in military glory in Europe from the list of Great Britain’s pensioners, only to gratify the feminine piques of the backstairs; and who had ventured successfully to remove Mr. Pitt from the command of that country which he had saved, restored, exalted;—no wonder such a Phaëton should drive over a ridiculous old dotard, who had ever been in everybody’s way, and whose feeble hands were still struggling for power, when the most he ought to have expected, was, that his flattery and obsequiousness might have moved charity to leave him an appearance of credit. It was absurd for him to stay in place; insolent to attempt to stay there by force, and impudent to pretend to patriotism when driven out with contempt. Against his will he was preserved from having a share in the infamy of the ensuing peace.

May 14th, the Duke[221] acquainted the King that he would resign, who answered coldly, “Then, my Lord, I must fill up your place as well as I can.” Still Newcastle lingered; and, as he owned afterwards to the Duke of Cumberland, his friends had laboured to prevent the fatal blow. Lord Mansfield, he said, had pleaded with Lord Bute for above an hour, and could not extract from him a wish that the Duke should continue in the Treasury. Fox asked Lord Mansfield if this was true? He replied, “Not an hour, for I soon saw it was to no purpose.”

Thus disgraced, and disgracing himself, on the 26th the Duke of Newcastle resigned: and he, who had begun the world with heading mobs against the ministers of Queen Anne; who had braved the Heir-apparent[222] of the new family, and forced himself upon him as godfather to his son; who had recovered that Prince’s favour, and preserved power under him at the expense of every minister whom that Prince preferred; and who had been a victorious rival of another Prince of Wales;[223] was now buffeted from a fourth Court[224] by a very suitable competitor, and was reduced in his tottering old age to have recourse to those mobs and that popularity which had raised him fifty years before; and as almost the individual crisis was revolved, with a scandalous treaty and a new prospect of arbitrary power, it looked as if Newcastle thought himself young again, because the times of his youth were returned, and he was obliged to act with boys!

Such pains, however, had been taken to disjoint his faction, that his exit from power was by no means attended with consolatory circumstances. The Duke of Devonshire would not resign, though he declared he would seldom or never go to council. Fox had warned him not to be too hasty in embarking in a party in which Pitt must be a principal actor; and remembering his Grace how large a share Pitt had had in planting the Tories at Court, and that, speaking of Legge, Pitt had said, “I will have no more ear for Whig grievances.” The rest of Newcastle’s friends were as little disposed to follow him: but that he might taste the full mortification of being deserted by those whom he had most obliged, whom he had most courted and most patronized, the clergy gave the most conspicuous example of ingratitude. For thirty years Newcastle had had the almost sole disposal of ecclesiastic preferments, and consequently had raised numbers of men from penury and the meanest birth to the highest honours and amplest incomes in their profession. At this very period there were not three bishops on the bench who did not owe their mitres to him. His first levée after his fall was attended but by one bishop,[225] Cornwallis of Lichfield; who being a man of quality, and by his birth entitled to expect a greater rise, did but reflect the more shame on those who owed everything to favour, and scarce one of them anything to abilities.

The conduct of Lord Bute was not more wise than that of Newcastle. Instead of sheltering himself under that old man’s name from whatever danger there might be in making peace, the Earl was driving together all those whom he ought to have kept divided, and really seemed jealous lest himself should not have the whole odium of sacrificing the glories and conquests of the war; an infatuation that so far excuses him, as he must have thought he did a service to his country in restoring peace: but what must his understanding have been if he could think that peace would be a benefit, let the terms be what they would? He supposed, too, that Newcastle, having in opposition to Pitt declared for peace, could not retract, and be against the peace. This was not knowing Newcastle or mankind. The situation, too, was materially changed: the weight of Russia was transferred from the hostile to the friendly scale; Martinico was fallen; and Europe could scarce amass the symptom of a fleet. A mind less versatile than Newcastle’s could not want arguments against a precipitate treaty. Yet was it not Newcastle, nor a scandalous treaty that shook the Favourite’s power. It was his ignorance of the world; it was a head unadapted to government, and rendered still less proper for it by morose and recluse pride, and a heart that was not formed to bear up a weak head, that made him embark imprudently, and retreat as unadvisedly.

Lord Bute, on the resignation of the Duke of Newcastle, was immediately declared First Lord of the Treasury. George Grenville succeeded him as Secretary of State, and Sir Francis Dashwood was made his Chancellor of the Exchequer; a system that all the lustre of the Favourite’s power could not guard from being ridiculous, though to himself mankind bowed with obsequious devotion. Grenville was ignorant of foreign affairs, and, though capable of out-talking the whole corps diplomatique, had no address, no manner, no insinuation, and had, least of all, the faculty of listening. The Favourite himself had never been in a single office of business, but for the few months that he had held the seals: of the revenue he was in perfect ignorance, knew nothing of figures, and was a stranger to those Magi to the east of Temple-Bar, who, though they flock to a new star, expect to be talked to in a more intelligible language than that of inspiration. When a Lord Treasurer or a First Lord of the Treasury is not master of his own province, it suffices if the Chancellor of the Exchequer is a man of business, and capable of conducting the revenue, of planning supplies, and of executing the mechanic duties of that high post. But in the new dispensation it was difficult to say which was the worst suited to his office, the minister or his substitute. While the former shrouded his ignorance from vulgar eyes, and dropped but now and then from a cloud an oracular sentence; the deputy, with the familiarity and phrase of a fish-wife, introduced the humours of Wapping behind the veil of the Treasury. He had a coarse, blunt manner of speaking, that, looking like honesty, inclined men to hold his common sense in higher esteem than it deserved; but, having neither knowledge[226] nor dignity, his style, when he was to act as minister, appeared naked, vulgar, and irreverent to an assembly that expects to be informed, and that generally chooses to reprehend, not to be reprehended. When a statesman ventures to be familiar, he must captivate his audience by uncommon graces, or win their good-will by a humane pleasantry that seems to flow from the heart, and to be the effusion of universal benevolence. This was the secret as well as character of Henry the Fourth of France: even the semblance of it stood his grandson, our Charles the Second, in signal stead, and veiled his unfeeling heart, and selfish and remorseless insensibility.

Men were puzzled to guess at the motive of so improper a choice as this of Sir Francis Dashwood. The banner of religion was displayed at Court, and yet all the centurions were culled from the most profligate societies. Sir Francis had long been known by his singularities and some humour. In his early youth, accoutred like Charles the Twelfth, he had travelled to Russia in hopes of captivating the Czarina; but neither the character nor dress of Charles were well imagined to catch a woman’s heart. In Italy, Sir Francis had given in to the most open profaneness; and, at his return, had assembled a society[227] of Young Travellers, to which a taste for the arts and antiquity, or merely having travelled, were the recommendatory ingredients. Their pictures were drawn, ornamented with symbols and devices; and the founder, in the habit of St. Francis, and with a chalice in his hand, was represented at his devotions before a statue of the Venus of Medicis, a stream of glory beaming on him from behind her lower hand. These pictures were long exhibited in their club-room at a tavern in Palace Yard; but of later years Saint Francis had instituted a more select order. He and some chosen friends had hired the ruins of Medmenham Abbey, near Marlow, and refitted it in a conventual style. Thither at stated seasons they adjourned; had each their cell, a proper habit, a monastic name, and a refectory in common—besides a chapel, the decorations of which may well be supposed to have contained the quintessence of their mysteries, since it was impenetrable to any but the initiated. Whatever their doctrines were, their practice was rigorously pagan: Bacchus and Venus were the deities to whom they almost publicly sacrificed. The old Lord Melcomb was one of the brotherhood. Yet their follies would have escaped the eye of the public, if Lord Bute from this seminary of piety and wisdom had not selected a Chancellor of the Exchequer. But politics had no sooner infused themselves amongst these rosy anchorites, than dissensions were kindled, and a false brother arose, who divulged the arcana, and exposed the good Prior, in order to ridicule him as Minister of the Finances. But, of this, more hereafter.

CHAPTER XII.

Honours heaped on Lord Bute.—His first Levée.—Archbishop Secker.—Lord Halifax appointed to the Admiralty.—Lord Melcomb a Cabinet Councillor.—Lord Bute’s Haughtiness.—First appearance of “The North Briton.“—Its excessive Audacity.—Sketch of its Author, John Wilkes.—Churchill, Wilkes’s Associate.—Earl Temple.—Capture and recapture of Newfoundland.—The French camp surprised by Prince Ferdinand.—Propensity of the Court for Peace.—General Conway—Peter the Third.—The Czarina Elizabeth.—The Empress Catherine.—Horrible Conspiracy against Peter.—Catherine raised to the Throne.—Murder of Peter.—Effect of the Russian Revolution on the King of Prussia.

Every honour the Crown could bestow was now to be heaped on the Favourite. He was fond of his own person, and obtained the Garter in company with Prince William.[228] His first levée was crowded like a triumph. Archbishop Secker, who waited at it, pretended that, seeing a great concourse as he came from Lambeth,[229] he had inquired the occasion, and had gone in. Lincoln’s-inn-fields, where the Duke of Newcastle lived, was not now in the way to Lambeth. About the same time died Lord Anson, and left the Admiralty too at the disposal of the Favourite. He wished to bestow it on Lord Sandwich, to make room for Rigby, as Vice-Treasurer of Ireland; but the shyness of the Duke of Cumberland, whose creature Sandwich was, made that measure impracticable; and the Admiralty was bestowed on Lord Halifax, with permission to retain Ireland for a year. Elliot,[230] a chief confident of the Favourite, was appointed Treasurer of the Chambers; and Lord Melcombe a cabinet councillor: but there ended all the ambition of the latter, he dying of a dropsy in his stomach a few weeks afterwards.

These successes and the tide of power swelled the weak bladder of the Favourite’s mind to the highest pitch. His own style was haughty and distant; that of his creatures insolent. Many persons who had absented themselves from his levée were threatened with the loss of their own, or the places of their relations, and were obliged to bow the knee. But this sunshine drew up very malignant vapours. Scarce was the Earl seated but one step below the throne, when a most virulent weekly paper appeared, called the North Briton. Unawed by the prosecution of the Monitor (another opponent periodic satire, the author of which had been taken up for abusing favourites), and though combated by two Court papers called the Briton and the Auditor (the former written by Smollet,[231] and the latter by Murphy,[232] and both which the new champion fairly silenced in a few weeks), the North Briton proceeded with an acrimony, a spirit, and a licentiousness unheard of before even in this country. The highest names, whether of statesmen or magistrates, were printed at length, and the insinuations went still higher. In general, favouritism was the topic, and the partiality of the Court to the Scots. Every obsolete anecdote, every illiberal invective, was raked up and set forth in strong and witty colours against Scotland. One of the first numbers was one of the most outrageous, the theme taken from the loves of Queen Isabella and Mortimer. No doubt but it lay open enough to prosecution, and the intention was to seize the author. But on reflection it was not thought advisable to enter on the discussion of such a subject in Westminster Hall; and, as the daring audaciousness of the writer promised little decorum, it was held prudent to wait till he should furnish a less delicate handle to vengeance: a circumspection that deceived and fell heavy on the author, who, being advised to more caution in his compositions, replied, he had tried the temper of the Court by the paper on Mortimer, and found they did not dare to touch him.

This author, who must be so often mentioned in the following pages, was John Wilkes, member of Parliament for Ailesbury. He was of a plebeian family,[233] but inherited a tolerable fortune in Buckinghamshire, and had been bred at Oxford, where he distinguished himself by humorous attacks on whatever was esteemed most holy and respectable. Unrestrained either in his conduct or conversation, he was allowed to have more wit than in truth he possessed; and, living with rakes and second-rate authors, he had acquired fame such as it was, in the middling sphere of life, before his name was so much as known to the public. His appearance as an orator had by no means conspired to make him more noticed. He spoke coldly and insipidly, though with impertinence; his manner was poor, and his countenance horrid. When his pen, which possessed an easy impudent style, had drawn the attention of mankind towards him, and it was asked, who this saucy writer was? Fame, that had adopted him, could furnish but scurvy anecdotes of his private life. He had married a woman of fortune, used her ill, and at last cruelly, to extort from her the provision he had made for her separate maintenance; he had debauched a maiden of family by an informal promise of marriage, and had been guilty of other frauds and breaches of trust. Yet the man, bitter as he was in his political writings, was commonly not ill-natured or acrimonious. Wantonness, rather than ambition or vengeance, guided his hand; and, though he became the martyr of the best cause, there was nothing in his principles or morals that led him to care under what government he lived. To laugh and riot and scatter firebrands, with him was liberty. Despotism will for ever reproach Freedom with the profligacy of such a saint!

Associated with Wilkes in pleasure and in the composition of the North Briton was a clergyman named Churchill, who stepped out of obscurity about the same period, and was as open a contemner of decency as Wilkes himself, but far his superior in the endowments of his mind. Adapted to the bear-garden by his athletic mould, Churchill had frequented no school so much as the theatres. He had existed by the lowest drudgery of his function, while poetry amused what leisure he could spare, or rather what leisure he would enjoy; for his Muse, and his mistress, and his bottle were so essential to his existence, that they engrossed all but the refuse of his time. Yet for some years his poetry had proved as indifferent as his sermons, till a cruel and ill-natured satire on the actors had, in the first year of this reign, handed him up to public regard. Having caught the taste of the town, he proceeded rapidly, and in a few more publications started forth a giant in numbers, approaching as nearly as possible to his model Dryden, and flinging again on the wild neck of Pegasus the reins which Pope had held with so tight and cautious a hand. Imagination, harmony, wit, satire, strength, fire, and sense crowded on his compositions; and they were welcome for him—he neither sought nor invited their company. Careless of matter and manner, he added grace to sense, or beauty to nonsense, just as they came in his way; and he could not help being sonorous, even when he was unintelligible. He advertised the titles of his poems, but neither planned nor began them till his booksellers, or his own want of money, forced him to thrust out the crude but glorious sallies of his uncorrected fancy. This bacchanalian priest, now mouthing patriotism, and now venting libertinism, the scourge of bad men, and scarce better than the worst, debauching wives, and protecting his gown by the weight of his fist, engaged with Wilkes in his war on the Scots; and sometimes learning, and as often not knowing, the characters he attacked,[234] set himself up as the Hercules that was to cleanse the State, and punish its oppressors: and, true it is, the storm that saved us was raised in taverns and night-cellars; so much more effectual were the orgies of Churchill and Wilkes than the daggers of Cato and Brutus. The two former saved their country, while Catiline could not ruin his,—a work to which such worthies seemed much better adapted.

But while the wit and revelry of Wilkes and Churchill ran riot, and were diverted by their dissipation to other subjects of pleasantry or satire, they had a familiar at their ear, whose venom was never distilled at random, but each drop administered to some precious work of mischief. This was Earl Temple, who whispered them where they might find torches, but took care never to be seen to light one himself. Characters so rash and imprudent were proper vehicles of his spite; and he enjoyed the two points he preferred even to power,—vengeance, and a whole skin.

This triumvirate has made me often reflect that nations are most commonly saved by the worst men in them. The virtuous are too scrupulous to go the lengths that are necessary to rouse the people against their tyrants.

While Wilkes and Churchill attacked the plenitude of the Favourite’s power, another cloud overcast it, which, though inconsiderable and of short duration, contributed to lower him in the estimation of the people. An account arrived of the French having surprised and made themselves masters of Newfoundland. General Amherst[235] did not wait for orders from hence, but, detaching his brother with a body of forces, recovered the island, and made the French commander prisoner.

Prince Ferdinand, not less active and vigilant, had surprised the French camp, desirous of embarking us farther in the war, and hoping that new successes would animate the nation to resist the propensity of the Court for peace. General Conway took the castle of Waldeck by stratagem; and the Hessians triumphed in other attempts.[236] The Prince told Mr. Conway that we might be joined by a body of Russians for a trait de plume, but neither miscarriage nor success could beat the Favourite from his plan of pacification; though, had we been inclined to listen to that overture, a second change of scene in Russia would have disconcerted our treating with that nation.

Peter the Third, with a humane heart, had neither judgment nor patience. He meant to do right, and thought absolute power could not be better employed than in doing right without delay. His approbation and contempt were prompt and strongly marked; and, as his understanding was incapable of embracing many objects, his few ideas took the larger possession of him. Being educated a Lutheran, he despised the clergy of his empire, and had offended the soldiery by enforcing discipline, by restoring the conquests of the preceding reign, by manifesting indiscreet predilection for a regiment of Holstein, his native country, and by so blind a devotion to the King of Prussia, that himself wore that Prince’s uniform. Indolence and drunkenness were added to this want of conduct; but he had to struggle with a yet more dangerous evil. The late Czarina, his aunt, finding no issue arise from his marriage with the Princess of Anhalt Zerbst, questioned the latter; and, it is said, was informed by her that she must not expect any lineage from her nephew. Elizabeth replied, the State demanded successors, and left the Grand Duchess at liberty to procure them by whose assistance she pleased. A son and daughter were the fruits of her obedience. But, though her politics were satisfied, it is said the mind of Elizabeth was not, and that she privately saw her cousin, the dethroned Czar Yvan. The opinion is general, though at what time it happened is uncertain, that drugs to destroy his understanding had been administered to that poor Prince. Peter, though on obtaining the diadem he openly exhibited a mistress, could not but know that if his wife had spoken truth, he could have no claim to be father of her children: thence he had the same curiosity as his aunt, visited the Czar Yvan, and, as the rumour went, intended to name him his successor. Such rumours were sufficient to alarm the Empress, who was slighted by Peter, and had reason to think he meant to divorce her. That bold bad woman, who had all the talents for empire that her husband wanted, and who had been educated by a most artful and intriguing mother, and who, with a commanding person, had a heart susceptible of warm impressions, was then under the influence of Orloff, her lover, and her confident the Princess Daskau, a young woman little above twenty years of age, but of an adventurous spirit, and, what made her situation singular, sister of the Emperor’s mistress.

This junto agreed to believe that Peter would not limit his aversion for the Empress to mere divorce, but intended to put her to death; a charge most improbable, and inconsistent with the Emperor’s humane and unsuspecting nature. How early a conspiracy was formed, I pretend not to say; nor, in relating the events of so distant a country, and whence truth is so difficult to be procured, do I pretend to give more than the outlines of their general story, collected from the most credible authority. But, however dark and secret the measures were, the facts resulting from them were so glaring, so horrid, so impious, that neither the lying palliatives set forth by the criminals themselves, nor the mercenary flattery of the learned, will be able to wash off from the Empress the foul stains of treason, murder, and usurpation.

The Emperor had not reigned above six months, when the plan for dethroning him was formed, and ready to break forth. One of the conspirators being arrested for another crime, the rest concluded the whole was discovered; but, instead of dispersing or seeking safety by flight, the chiefs trusted to rashness for impunity. Orloff galloped off to the Czarina, who was absent from the capital at a separate villa from the Emperor, and told her she had not a moment to lose. That virago having ordered her women to report she was confined by sickness, and placing guards upon the road to prevent notice of her march being sent to the Czar, rode directly to the army and demanded their protection. One only regiment, that of Holstein, refused their support. All the rest saluted her Empress; and the clergy who trembled for their idols, and resented the loss of their beards, ran headlong into rebellion. The senate, the nobility, the people, all concurred to raise to the throne in her own name a woman who had no one claim of any sort to be their sovereign.

Nariskin, master of the horse, was the sole subject who had fidelity enough to make his escape and inform the Emperor of the catastrophe that awaited him. That poor prince was at Oraniebaum, a villa. Thunderstruck with the news, he had not presence of mind to prepare himself to save either his empire or his life. He lost both by losing a day, which he wasted in drinking and vain consultation, after having fruitlessly sent to Peterhoff to secure the Empress. Next morning he heard that his wife at the head of fourteen thousand men was marching to seize him. He then attempted to make his escape to Holstein, and embarked for Cronstadt—but it was too late! The garrison had received orders to fire on him. Exhausted with perturbation of mind, with drink and fatigue, he sunk under his misfortunes, surrendered himself, and desired to see his wife, now his sovereign. As incapable of pity as of remorse, she refused to admit him, ordering him to sign a renunciation of his crown, and a most humiliating recapitulation of his errors. Nor did this avail: within very few days he was murdered.

Thus far Catherine had acted like other monsters of both sexes. Her next measures were as weak towards men as they were profane in the face of Heaven. In very silly manifestoes she endeavoured to justify her crimes; and dared even to call on the Most High as the instigator of her abominations, speaking of her husband but as her neighbour, and of his death as a judgment. Vain and contemptible was this attempt: it could blind none but those who would be willing to acquit her without it.

The Princess Daskau soon lost the favour she had so blackly merited; and Rosamouski, Hetman of the Tartars, whom many accused as the very assassin of his master, but who, as his friends urged, was forced into the conspiracy, went into a voluntary exile. Orloff had gained deeper hold on his mistress, and kept her in subjection. Panin, governor of her son, was another of the principal conspirators. Bestucheff, the late chancellor, was recalled; and thus he, Count Munich, Biron, once Duke of Courland, and master of the empire, with the various exiles of the late reigns, found themselves again together at Petersburgh.[237]

After the murdered Prince himself, no man was likely to be more affected by this revolution than the King of Prussia. The Russians, so lately his enemies, had not been pleased to become his allies. But, though the new Empress was necessitated to comply with the wishes of her subjects in withdrawing them from that service, she was not disposed in so critical a situation to renew the war, or to add provocation to a man whom she had deprived of so useful and essential a friend. She therefore only made the requisition of the thirty thousand Russians in his service, but allowed him for a few days to profit by their assistance, and extricate himself out of this new difficulty. He returned for answer, that he would only drive Marshal Daun from the hills before him, and her troops should return. He did so. This was taking his part with admirable presence of mind. He knew that Daun must in a day or two learn the departure of the Russian troops, and would attack him when weakened.

CHAPTER XIII.

Birth of the Prince of Wales.—Treasure of the Hermione.—Conquest of the Havannah.—Indifference of the Court on that event.—Negotiations for Peace.—Not popular in England.—Reception in France of the Duke of Bedford.—The Duc de Nivernois.—Beckford elected Lord Mayor.—Duel between Lord Talbot and Wilkes.—Lord Bute’s Delegates in the House of Commons.—Grenville and Lord Bute.—Union of Lord Bute and Fox.—The latter reproached by the Duke of Cumberland.—Lord Waldegrave and the Duke of Devonshire decline the proposal of Fox.—Disgust at the union of Bute and Fox.—Purchase of a majority to approve the Peace.—Fox’s revenge against the Duke of Devonshire.—The King and the Marquis of Rockingham.—Further severity to the Duke of Devonshire.

On the 12th of August, the Queen was delivered of a Prince of Wales; and the same morning the treasure of that capital prize, the Hermione, arrived in town in many waggons, and passed through the City to the Tower. The sum taken amounted to near eight hundred thousand pounds.

In the beginning of the following month came the first news from the Havannah; and before the end of it we learned the entire conquest of that important place by the three Keppels,[238]—the Earl of Albemarle, the Commodore and the Colonel his brothers. The honour they won was a little soiled by their rapaciousness and by our great loss of men: but to Spain the blow was of the deepest consequence, and the place irrecoverable by any force they could exert. Yet such a victory seemed to infuse as little joy into the Court of St. James’s as into that of Madrid. The Favourite and his creatures took no part in the transports of the nation; and, when he declined availing himself of any merit from the conquest, it was plain he was grieved either to have more to restore at the peace, or less reason for making that peace but on the most advantageous terms: but he was infatuated, and, breaking through all the barriers of glory, he sent the Duke of Bedford to Paris to settle the preliminaries, whence the Duc de Nivernois arrived for the same purpose.

Sullen and silent as Mr. Pitt was, and feeble and impotent as the faction of Newcastle, still the City and merchants showed some symptoms of indignation at this obstinate alacrity for treating. The Duke of Bedford was hissed as he passed through the principal streets; and treasonable papers were dispersed in the villages round London. But in France the Duke was received as their guardian angel. The most distinguished and unusual honours were paid to him; and the principal magistrate of Calais, thinking him descended from the other John Duke of Bedford, brother of Henry the Fifth, complimented his Grace (and no doubt felicitated himself on the comparison) on seeing him arrive with as salutary and pacific, as his great ancestor had formerly landed there with hostile intentions.

His counterpart, the Duc de Nivernois, had been long employed in negotiations at Rome and Berlin, but had not the good fortune to please at the latter Court, where the King even turned into ridicule his puny and emaciated little figure. His ill-health, the titles that had centred in his person, and had filled him with vanity (for he was Peer of France, Prince of the Empire, Grandee of Spain, and a Roman Baron), and his affection for polite learning, had disposed him to live in a retired circle of humble admirers, to whom he almost daily repeated his works both in prose and verse; but not without having attempted to soar higher. He had assumed devotion, in hopes of being Governor to the Dauphin: but, except in concluding the peace, which, considering our eagerness, he could not avoid concluding, he had never met with brilliant success in any of his pursuits; being, as the celebrated Madame Geoffrin[239] said of him, “Guerrier manqué, politique manqué, bel esprit manqué, enfin manqué partout.” To England he bore no good-will: and though, till the treaty was signed, he concealed, as much as peevishness would let him, the disgust he took to this country, and was profuse in attentions to all, and in assiduity of court to the Favourite and his faction, yet, though he remained here a very little time after the signature, his nature broke forth, and scarce was enough good-breeding left to skin over the sore reluctance of a momentary stay.[240]

The nation was far less impatient than the Court for peace; and, though no great burst of spirit appeared against it, there were sufficient symptoms of ill-humour to warn the prime minister, that, without redoubling his industry and taking more solid measures, he might still be foiled in the attempt of forcing an inglorious peace on the nation. Beckford, who had been desirous of resigning his alderman’s gown, was, against his will, elected Lord Mayor; a mark of their good-will to his friend, Mr. Pitt. The North Briton spread the alarm as much as possible; but the flippancy of the author began to draw storms on his own head. Wilkes having in one of those papers ridiculed the flattery of Lord Talbot, who, officiating as Lord High Constable at the Coronation, had endeavoured to back his horse to the gate of Westminster Hall, that he might not turn his own back on the King, was challenged by Lord Talbot; and after a series of letters, which had more the air of a treaty than a defiance, and consequently reflected no great honour on either, they fought a bloodless duel on Bagshot Heath.

These little rubs having alarmed the Favourite, he began to consider how ill-qualified his delegates would be to support his treaty in the House of Commons, if either warmly or wittily attacked. It was too precious a cause to trust to Sir Francis Dashwood. Grenville had not much more credit, though more sense and gravity; but was tedious and ill-heard, and had been trained to such obsequious deference for Mr. Pitt, that at that time no man thought him likely or proper to be opposed to so capital a master. Grenville was besides unsatisfied; and, aiming higher, had been unwilling to risk an appearance of honesty when it was not in his own cause. He had neglected to traffic with the members of the House of Commons; had secured none of them; and, being pressed by Lord Bute on that head, fairly owned he would not deal with them, unless the power was his own, and their dependence rested on him. Lord Bute was startled, and would have compromised, as himself was unacquainted with the men, that the recommendation of members to favour,—that is, to places and pensions,—should be made through Grenville to himself. But Grenville was obstinate, and soon had cause to repent both his frankness and perverse ambition. It was instilled too into Lord Bute, that Grenville was not so much at variance with his family as he wished to be thought—an imputation of which he soon appeared to be guiltless: but the die was cast; and he heard with unspeakable astonishment, and with a rage not to be described, that he must exchange with Lord Halifax, that is, return to be First Lord of the Admiralty, and quit the seals, and with them the management of the House of Commons, which Mr. Fox had consented to undertake. The blow to Grenville was grievous, but could not be avoided or resented—then. No retreat towards his brothers Pitt and Temple was left him. Avarice decided the conflict, and he submitted to accept the Admiralty.

When Fox thus stooped to be the Favourite’s agent, he gratified many more passions than he could be supposed to mortify. In truth, except his pride, which had seldom restrained him, what views could he have but this step would gratify? To ravish the glories of the war from his rival Mr. Pitt, to sacrifice them, and to be selected to defend that sacrifice, glutted his spirit of competition. Favourite he could not be, for the Princess[241] hated, and Lord Bute feared him: but to be necessary to both was worth ambition, and the surest means of gratifying it; and to be master of the secret of the negotiation promised that superabundance of wealth, which by that secret he acquired. Should he succeed in carrying through the peace, he would have the first weight in the House of Commons (for what harmony there was between these rival friends may readily be conjectured); should he fail, it were but the loss of the Paymaster’s place, inconsiderable in peace compared with its produce in time of war: for it must be noted that he would not accept the seals, and thus stood in no responsible light; a strain of prudence that might have administered alarm to the Favourite himself!

Thus in the space of four months were the Princess and Lord Bute by their rash and ill-digested measures reduced to lean for support on Fox, whom they had most dreaded as the minister of the Duke of Cumberland; and who would add his own unpopularity to that of Lord Bute, and would necessarily determine Pitt to oppose with increased resentment.

Fox had embraced this invitation with such alacrity that he had signed the treaty with Lord Bute without consulting any of his friends; concluding, as over-refined politicians are apt to do, that he could bring them to his lure, and, while he paid too high compliments to his own abilities, setting too slight estimation on theirs. His first application was to the Duke of Cumberland. That haughty and sensible Prince received him with scorn, reproached him warmly with lending himself to support a tottering administration, and bitterly with his former declarations of having given up all ambitious views. The next trial made by Fox was on Lord Waldegrave,[242] to whom he urged that his Lordship had so much ridiculed the Princess and Lord Bute, that they had more to complain of than he had; and he endeavoured to enclose the Earl in his treaty with the Court, by asking him, if it should be proposed to call his Lordship to the Cabinet Council, whether he should like it? The Earl, who had been bred a courtier, who was of too gentle manners for opposition, and too shrewd not to see that the power of the Crown was predominant, desired time to consider, and went to Windsor to consult the Duke of Cumberland. His Royal Highness acknowledged the attention with many thanks, but would give no advice. The Earl, who wanted not to be told, that not advising him to make his court when he was disposed to do it, was advising him against it, was not courtier enough to quit a Prince, his friend, for a Court that he himself despised and hated; and immediately wrote to Fox to desire the proposal might not be made to him. The Duke of Devonshire[243] was in like manner endeavoured to be softened by Fox, who wished to wear the credit of reconciling his own friends to the peace, and bringing their support to the administration. But here again he was foiled. The Duke gave him a civil answer, assured him of his personal good wishes, but declined any connection with him as minister.

Abandoned by his highest and most showy friends, Fox felt the mortification of discredit both with his patron and the public, and the keenest appetite for revenge. As a politician, his credit was saved by his industry and success; and by his arts his vengeance was soon gratified on two of those that thus cast him off. But now were the seeds sown, which, though slowly, produced such bitter crops in subsequent years. Detested by the public, Fox could never recover from the stain contracted at this period:—but first we must relate his triumph, and the temporary victory he gained for the Court.

Nothing was so unpromising as the prospect of the new system at first. All the devotion of the Tories to the Court could not reconcile them to the nomination of Fox. They knew the mischief he had done them, and had not the quickness to see that a renegade is tied to make satisfaction by greater benefits. Lord Mansfield, not trusted, as he had expected to be, by Lord Bute, had blown up discontents against the peace. Lord Egremont and George Grenville had adopted those doubts; and doubts from men in high place convey extensive influence. Had the peace been instantaneously proposed to the House of Commons, there is no question but it would have been rejected; so strong a disgust was taken at the union of Bute and Fox, and so numerous were their several personal enemies. Yet in one respect Bute had chosen judiciously: Fox was not to be daunted, but set himself to work at the root. He even made applications to Newcastle; but the Duke of Cumberland[244] had inspired even Newcastle and Devonshire with resolution! This, however, was the last miscarriage of moment that Fox experienced. Leaving the grandees to their ill-humour, he directly attacked the separate members of the House of Commons; and with so little decorum on the part of either buyer or seller, that a shop was publicly opened at the Pay-office, whither the members flocked, and received the wages of their venality in bank-bills, even to so low a sum as two hundred pounds for their votes on the treaty. Twenty-five thousand pounds, as Martin,[245] Secretary of the Treasury, afterwards owned, were issued in one morning; and in a single fortnight a vast majority was purchased to approve the peace!

Bad as that peace proved, it was near being concluded on terms still more disadvantageous; for France, receiving earlier intelligence than we did of the capture of the Havannah, had near prevailed on the Duke of Bedford to sign the treaty,—but Aldworth,[246] his secretary, had the prudence or foresight to prevent that precipitate step.[247]

The Court having secured the obedience of Parliament, it was determined to assume a high tone of authority; to awe, and even to punish the refractory. “The King, it was given out, would be King,—would not be dictated to by his ministers, as his grandfather had been. The prerogative was to shine out: great lords must be humbled.” Fox—whose language ever was, that the Crown must predominate whenever it would exert its influence—warmly upheld the doctrine of rewards and punishments; and, having employed the former with so much success, he was rejoiced to inflict the latter to glut his own vengeance. The first fruit of these councils struck mankind with astonishment. The Duke of Devonshire, who had kept himself in the country, coming to town on the 28th of October, went to pay his duty to the King, and, as is customary with the great officers, went to the backstairs, whence he sent the page in waiting to acquaint his Majesty with his attendance. “Tell him,” said the King angrily, “I will not see him.” The page, amazed, hesitated. The King ordered him to go and deliver those very words. If the page had been thunderstruck, it may be imagined what the Duke felt. He had, however, the presence of mind to send in the page again to ask what he should do with his key of Lord Chamberlain. The reply was, “Orders will be given for that.” The Duke went home with a heart full of rage, and tore off his key, which immediately after he carried to Lord Egremont, the Secretary of State; and the next morning his brother Lord George Cavendish, and Lord Besborough[248] his brother-in-law, resigned their places. As the Court urged that the Duke’s disgrace was owing to his refusal of attending Councils, his Grace’s friends pleaded that he had asked and obtained the King’s leave not to attend them, as he seldom had attended them even in the late reign; and that, his summons having been made by a commis in Lord Egremont’s office, the Duke did not think that such a message interfered with his dispensation. Some said there had been no intention to dismiss the Duke; attributing the affront to a sudden start of passion in the King, who, coming from Richmond that morning, had met the Dukes of Devonshire and Newcastle together in a chariot, whence suspecting a Cabal, he had gone home in anger, and, at the moment the Duke arrived at St. James’s, was writing to Lord Bute that now was the time; words which proved at least that the Duke’s disgrace had been meditated, and which in truth nobody doubted. The Princess had more than once termed him ironically the Prince of the Whigs; and his Grace having dared to desert from Fox’s banner, left no doubt of the latter having contributed to irritate the prejudice already conceived. Nor could Fox wipe off the suspicion: though, as soon as the affront was known, he had hurried to Devonshire House,[249] and protested his utter ignorance of any such design. The Duke received him coolly, did not pretend to believe him; and his family never forgave it.

The fairness of the Duke’s character, his decent and timid caution, and the high rank in which he stood with the party, made the measure much wondered at; yet it was far from producing such open offence as might have been expected, nor did the consequences spread. The Marquis of Rockingham, five days afterwards, resigned the Bedchamber; but, offering to explain his disgusts, the King with much haughtiness refused to hear him—another strain of authority much vaunted, and not without effect. The Peerage itself kissed the rod, which was declared to be held out to humble them. Nor did they take the alarm, though the rigour towards the Duke of Devonshire was prosecuted farther; for, a Privy Council being summoned November the 3rd, the King ordered the Duke’s name to be struck out of the Council-book: a severity of which there had been no precedent in the last reign but in the cases of Lord Bath and Lord George Sackville; the first, in open and virulent opposition; the second on his ignominious sentence after the battle of Minden. John Duke of Argyle,[250] when his regiment was taken from him, was not thus affronted; nor had George the First refused to admit Lord Oxford[251] to kiss his hand on the Queen’s death, nor denied an audience to the Earl Marichal[252] involved in Jacobitism.

CHAPTER XIV.

Preliminaries of Peace with France and Spain.—Secret springs of Political actions.—Embassy to the Court of Spain offered to Lord Sandwich.—Insult to the Duke of Cumberland.—Honours and Preferments.—Resignation of Lords Ashburnham and Kinnoul.—Lord Lincoln’s ingratitude to the Duke of Newcastle.—Bait offered to Lord Granby.—Mr. Conway.—The Duke of York obliged to go to Italy.—Profusion exercised by the Court.—Charles Townshend’s want of judgment.—His bons mots.—Attempt to propitiate Walpole.—Correspondence between him and Fox respecting the Rangership of the Parks offered to Lord Orford.—Conduct of the latter.

On the 8th of the month a courier arrived with the preliminaries signed by France and Spain. I shall not detail those preliminaries, too well known, and to be found in all common histories. It is my part to explain, as far as I could know them, the leading motives of actions and events; and, though the secret springs are often unfathomable, I had acquaintance enough with the actors to judge with better probability than the common of mankind; and where these memoirs are defective or mistaken, still they may direct to the inquiry after sounder materials, and prove a key to original papers that may appear hereafter.

The peace with Spain, as it opened a door for an embassy to that Court, afforded Mr. Fox a new opportunity of revenge; and as this measure at least he could not waive the honour of having suggested, so did it corroborate the belief of his being the author of the other too.[253] He immediately offered that embassy to Lord Sandwich,[254] who as greedily accepted it. Sandwich, rejected and exploded by all mankind, had been adopted, fostered, patronized in the most kind and intimate manner by the Duke of Cumberland; nor had he the confidence now to consult his Royal Highness, or to venture in person to notify to him his desertion. He wrote. The insult was too glaring, and could not be pardoned to either Fox or Sandwich, both of whom were for ever excluded from the Duke’s presence but at his public levées, and there underwent the most mortifying neglect from him; though Fox often sued in most abject manner to be forgiven.

Severity gratified, honours and preferments were amply proffered, and but few rejected. The Duke of Manchester[255] had been named to the Bedchamber the instant Lord Rockingham had quitted it. The Duke of Marlborough[256] and the Earl of Northumberland[257] were made Lords Chamberlains to the King and Queen; the latter of which posts Lord Bristol had refused to accept, from attachment to Mr. Pitt. Lord Egmont was made Postmaster in the room of Lord Besborough. The seals of Secretary of State, with the feuille de bénéfices, were once more offered to the Duke of Newcastle; but he replied, it would be time enough to talk of business when the Parliament met. His friend, Lord Ashburnham,[258] resigned: and so did his other friend, Lord Kinnoul,[259] who, though his bosom-confident, dwelling in his very house, had borne his disgrace, and now affected to forget him, and to plead obligations to the Duke of Devonshire, at the same time declaring his reluctance to break with the Court; a reluctance so decisive, that he retired into Scotland, and came no more to London till the year 1770.

Lord Lincoln,[260] Newcastle’s favourite nephew and heir, displayed more open ingratitude. He asked an audience of the King, called his uncle a factious old fool, and said he could not forget a message which himself had brought from his uncle to his Majesty in the year 1757, in which the Duke had signified to his then Royal Highness, that, if he would not disturb the tranquillity of the rest of his grandfather’s reign, the Duke, in or out of place, though he hoped the latter, would support his measures to the utmost. It was justice, to recollect this promise; but Lincoln’s subsequent conduct, at the same time that it was inconsistent, was honourable neither towards the King nor his uncle. He had a second audience, in which he told the King that the Duke insisted on his resigning; “but if I must,” said he, “I will show but the more warmly the next day that I remember the message, of which I have kept a copy in writing.” The third time, when he went to resign, he said he must oppose. The King told him his tone was much changed since his first audience. But the Court never had much reason to complain of Lord Lincoln’s hostilities. His exceeding pride kept him secluded from the world, and rarely did he appear either at Court or in Parliament. For some time he fluctuated between Lord Bute and Mr. Pitt, to the latter of whom he at last attached himself; but with constant derision of, and insult to, his uncle, and, whatever were the Duke of Newcastle’s faults, cruel and unmerited. The truth was, Lord Lincoln’s avarice was as unbounded as his haughtiness. Though possessed of two places for life, and one of them the most lucrative in England, the auditorship of the Exchequer, which never produces less than eight thousand pounds a year, and during the war had brought in at least twenty, he had resented the Duke’s not bestowing on him two more places for the lives of his younger sons.

As every door was to be opened or barricaded that could admit or exclude friends or enemies to the preliminaries, messengers were stationed at the sea-ports to waylay Lord Granby on his return from the army, with the most advantageous offers, as the Ordnance and command of the army, setting aside the worthy old Marshal Ligonier[261] with a large pension; a bait gulped by the former without scruple. Mr. Conway, to whom they did the honour of thinking they could not bribe him, (and whoever they could not bribe, they concluded, could not approve their treaty,) was decorated with the empty honour of conducting home the army; which would and did prevent his return before the discussion of the preliminaries in Parliament. And the Duke of York, whom they would not silence by favours, they obliged to go on an idle expedition to Italy.

The profusion exercised on this occasion, and which reduced the Court to stop even the payments of the King’s bedchamber, made men recall severely to mind the King’s declaration on the choice of the Parliament, that he would not permit any money to be spent on elections.

Their greatest difficulty was with Charles Townshend, who slipped through their fingers at every turn, and could be held down to no decision. He refused to be First Lord of Trade with the same power over the colonies as had been granted to Lord Halifax. At the same time he was loth to resign, though in that quarter the needle rested at last,—a mark of that want of judgment that was conspicuous in all his actions; for, having fluctuated from uncertainty of the issue, he chose the losing side but the very day before the great victory of the Court on the preliminaries. His post of Secretary at War was soon after given to Ellis.[262] Townshend’s bons mots wounded where his conduct could not. It being reported, to justify the treatment of the Duke of Devonshire, that the King complained he had been kept prisoner; “True,” said Townshend, “he is a prisoner, but he mistakes his jailor.” Another of his sayings had not only proved a prophecy, but was often applied in the following years. He had said of the last arrangement before Fox was set at the head, that “it was a pretty lutestring administration, which would do very well for summer wear.”

After so many considerable names, it will look, perhaps, like vain presumption in me to name myself as one whom it was thought necessary to manage. But, as it proves how low the arts and attention of Fox could descend, and as my answer (at least, I have always suspected so) contributed to an event of much consequence afterwards, I shall be excused by the candid for giving some account of it. I had, soon after my appearance in the world, lived in much intimacy with Fox, had warmly espoused his side when persecuted by the Duke and Duchess of Richmond,[263] and had happened to have conferred some other little favours on him. I had carefully avoided receiving the smallest or the greatest from him. As his character opened more to the world, I declined any connection with him in politics, though determining never to have a quarrel with him, as I well knew his vindictive nature. When he united with the Duke of Newcastle, he had offered in truth slightly enough to procure the reversion of a considerable place, which I hold only for my brother’s life, to be confirmed for my own, provided I would be upon good terms with the Duke. I had ever, in the most open manner, spoken of that minister with contempt; and having never to this hour received a favour from any minister, I shall be believed that I never would accept one from Fox. I answered accordingly with much scorn, “I will not accept that reversion from the Duke.” Fox, knowing this spirit, and knowing, too, that I had declared to Lord Bute that I would receive no favour from the Court, had no hope of fixing me to his measures by any offers he could make. Nor yet had he had reason to know I was averse to the preliminaries, on which I had kept silent. The truth was, I had been civilly treated on the King’s accession, and had so much disliked Newcastle and Hardwicke, that few men were better pleased than myself to see a new administration; and had not the standard of Prerogative been hoisted, and disgrace brought on this triumphant country, I should probably have remained a satisfied spectator. Yet was I not so steeled by the glories of the war as to be insensible to the yearnings of humanity; and therefore, ignominious as the articles were, my conscience would not suffer me to speak against a treaty that would stop such effusion of blood. Sentiments, I confess, most heroic: yet I blush not to own that they divided my sensations, and forbad my voting against the preliminaries, though I was too much an Englishman to vote for them, and accordingly left the House before the putting of the question.

As doubtless I did not trust Fox with this situation of my breast, nor made my court on his new dignity, he concluded I was in the number of the disapprovers. Direct offers, or direct threats, would be vain: but to put me in mind of my dependence on my nephew, by whose interest I was chosen into Parliament,[264] and which dependence Fox ought to have remembered I had braved[265] for his sake; or of my dependence on the Treasury, which could hurt me severely[266] by stopping the payments of my place in the Treasury; he wrote me the following letter:—

Nov. 21, 1762.

Dear Sir,

As soon as I heard that the Parks,[267] which Lord Ashburnham had quitted, were worth 2200l. a year (as they certainly are), I thought such an income might, if not prevent, at least procrastinate your nephew’s ruin.[268] I find nobody knows his Lordship’s[269] thoughts on the present state of politics.

Perhaps he has none. Now, are you willing, and are you the proper person, to tell Lord Orford that I will do my best to procure this employment for him, if I can soon learn that he desires it? If he does choose it, I doubt not of his and his friend Boone’s[270] hearty assistance, and believe I shall see you too, much oftener in the House of Commons. This is offering you a bribe, but ’tis such a one as one honest good-natured man may without offence offer to another.

If you undertake this, do it immediately, and have attention to my part in it, which is delicate. If you do not undertake it, let me know your thoughts of the proposal, whether I had better drop it entirely, or put it into other hands, and whose.

You’ll believe me when I tell you that goodness of heart has as much share in this to the full as policy.

Yours ever,
H. Fox.

This artful and disingenuous letter the messenger was ordered to desire I would answer immediately. I determined at once to guard my expressions in such a manner, that, under the appearance of the same insincere cordiality which Fox affected to wear, it should not be possible to fix either declaration or engagement upon me; showing him at the same time that I would neither accept favour from him, nor be indirectly obliged to him through my nephew. I was aware that, if I refused to notify the offer to Lord Orford, he or his friends, and the Court too, would raise a clamour against me for preventing his receiving a favour that he wanted so much: and, as he was already Lord of the Bedchamber, there could be no reason in honour why he should not accept an addition of income; nor was there anything in his principles that would make him difficult to be farther bound. With these views I returned the following answer:—

Nov. 21, 1762.

Dear Sir,

After having done[271] what the world knows I have done, to try to retrieve the affairs of my family, and to save my nephew from ruin, I can have little hopes that any interposition of mine will tend to an end I wish so much. I cannot even flatter myself with having the least weight with my Lord Orford. In the present case I can still less indulge myself in any such hopes. You remember in the case of the St. Michael election, how hardly he used me on your account. I know how much he resented last year his thinking you concerned in the contest about the borough[272] where he set up Mr. Thomas Walpole; and, as he has not even now deigned to answer Mr. Boone’s letter,[273] I can little expect that he will behave with more politeness to me. Yet, I think it so much my duty to lay before him anything for his advantage, and what is by no means incompatible with his honour, that I will certainly acquaint him immediately with the offer you are so good as to make him.

You see I write to you with my usual frankness and sincerity; and you will, I am sure, be so good as to keep to yourself the freedom with which I mention very nice family affairs. You must excuse me if I add one word more on myself. My wish is, that Lord Orford should accept this offer; yet, I tell you truly, I shall state it to him plainly and simply, without giving any advice, not only for the reasons I have expressed above, but because I do not mean to be involved in this affair any otherwise than as a messenger. A man, who is so scrupulous as not to accept any obligation for himself, cannot be allowed to accept one for another without thinking himself bound in gratitude as much as if done to himself. The very little share I ever mean to take more in public affairs shall and must be dictated by disinterested motives. I have no one virtue to support me but that disinterestedness; and, if I act with you, no man living shall have it to say that it was not by choice and by principle.

I am, dear sir,
Your sincere humble servant,
Horace Walpole.