If to make war eventually was a breach of that act, as a juror he would find these treaties such a violation. The very payment of money to Hesse and levying troops was an overt-act—but a daring Ministry had assumed to be the Parliament of Great Britain! He desired to know whether the 12,000 men formerly stipulated for England from Muscovy were to be included in the 55,000 now engaged for Hanover. If included, the bargain was still dearer—and we were to give 500,000l. to 30,000 men to invite them to live upon murder and rapine!—but this shifting measure, like a diamond, the more brilliant the more it shone. “But come,” said he, “let us consider this northern star, that will not shine with any light of its own—Great Britain must be the sun of all this solar system:—could Russia, without our assistance, support her own troops? She will not prove the star of the Wise Men—they must go with presents. ’Tis a miserable star, that you must get to shine, that you must rub up; but the real wise man—

“By this measure,” continued he, “is not Prussia thrown into the power of France? What can he answer, if France proposes to march an army into Germany? If he refuses to join them, will they not threaten to leave him at the mercy of the Russians? This is one of the effects of our sage negotiations—not to mention that we have wasted between ten and eleven millions in subsidies! Were our circumstances equal to the avarice of German Courts, our system might last a little longer; but now we are lost in limine, in the first outset of the war. Shall we not set our impossibility of supporting such an extensive war against the argument of his Majesty’s honour being engaged? or shall we continue to go begging to every beggarly Court in Europe? The Ministers foresaw our ill success at sea, and prudently laid a nest-egg for a war on the continent. Indeed, to induce us, we have been told of ancient and modern story, of Greece and Carthage. I have not,” said he, “read those histories these many years; they are very well for declamation; but I think I recollect enough to see how improperly they are quoted in this Debate. Suppose Thebes and Sparta, and the other Grecian Commonwealths fallen from their former power; would Athens have gone alone and paid all the rest? Would Demosthenes have alarmed Greece, when they would no longer hear him?—but Athens put herself on board her fleet, and recovered her land, because she fought where she could be superior. Not giving succour to Hannibal indeed was wrong, because he was already on land and successful, and might have marched, as Prince Eugene proposed, with a torch to Versailles.

“Another poet,—I recollect,” continued he, “a good deal of poetry to-day,—says, Expende Hannibalem—weigh him, weigh him—I have weighed him—what good did his glory procure to his country? It puts me in mind of what the same poet says:

He dwelt on his duty to the King, and how harsh it must be for Ministers to be honest—but perhaps the resistance given to these treaties might save the Administration from a continent war. Yet himself would nevermore place confidence in the authors, advisers, adopters of this measure. He ended with a prayer, that conviction might change perverted Ministers to save us; or that British spirit might exterminate such measures as shake our Government; and that British spirit might influence in British councils.

The Russian treaty was approved by 263 to 69. The Hessian by 259 to 72.

After these Debates, the Parliament adjourned for the Christmas holidays, during which the changes in the Administration were settled. Charles Townshend was dismissed: the Duke of Bedford was persuaded by Mr. Fox’s arts and friends to ask the exalted post of Lord Privy Seal for the Duchess’s brother, Lord Gower—a vast promotion for so young a man! Mr. Fox would have engaged his Grace to promise to drop all asperity to the Duke of Newcastle, but he frankly refused. The ductile Duke of Marlborough had ceded the Privy Seal, to accommodate this measure, and took the Ordnance with little ceremony from General Ligonier: a violence, deservedly esteemed hard—and not judicious, for the representative of the great Marlborough to dispossess almost the only man in England who approached the services of that hero, and who had the additional merit, though a Frenchman, of having saved the country[50] which had so humbled his own. The old man felt it sensibly—but as the King always consulted him on military affairs preferably to his son the Duke, of whom he could not stifle a little jealousy—the Duke, still less disposed to check a jealousy of preference, eagerly countenanced the removal of Ligonier. The latter had all the gallant gaiety of his nation. Polished from foppery by age, and by living in a more thinking country, he was universally beloved and respected. His successor, the Duke of Marlborough, had virtues and sense enough to deserve esteem, but always lost it by forfeiting respect. He was honest and generous; capable of giving the most judicious advice, and of following the worst. His profusion was never well directed, and a variety of changes in his political conduct having never been weighed previously, or preserved subsequently, joined to the greatest bashfulness and indistinction in his articulation, had confirmed the world in a very mean opinion of his understanding.

Lord Duplin and Lord Darlington were made joint Paymasters: Doddington, again a Courtier, returned to his old office of Treasurer of the Navy: Lord Bateman and Mr. Edgecombe, the one nephew of the Duke of Marlborough, the other equally attached to Mr. Fox, were placed in the Admiralty. The Duke of Newcastle, the Duke of Bedford, the Chancellor, and a little time afterwards Mr. Fox, had each a nomination to the Board of Trade, and placed there their friends, Judge Talbot, Mr. Rigby, Soames, Jenyns the poet-laureate of the Yorkes, and young Hamilton. Lord Hilsborough was made Treasurer of the Chambers; Lord Hobart succeeded him as Comptroller of the Household: Lord Gage was made Paymaster of the Pensions; George Selwyn Paymaster of the Board of Works. That old rag of Lord Bath’s foolish quota to an administration, the mute Harry Furnese, was made a Lord of the Treasury, because he understood the French actions. To him was suddenly joined Mr. O’Brien, on the very morning that Mr. Ellis was to have kissed hands; but the Duke of Newcastle, who had recovered his insolence now the treaties were over, would not suffer a creature of Mr. Fox at the Board of Treasury. Ellis was put off with a portion of the Vice-Treasurer of Ireland: it was usually in two persons: Sir William Yonge was just dead; Lord Cholmondeley, the other, received as associates, Ellis and Lord Sandwich, who was destined for Chief Justice in Eyre by the Duke and Mr. Fox, but the same authority which had set Ellis aside marked Lord Sandwich too; and as if there was a choice between the outcasts of former silly Administrations, gave the preference to Lord Sandys.

It has been mentioned that Lord Barrington was appointed Secretary at War in the new system: he and Ellis may easily be described together; they were shades of the same character; the former a little brighter by better parts, the other a little more amiable by less interestedness. Lord Barrington was always assiduous to make his fortune; Ellis, meaning the same thing, was rather intent on not hurting his. The former did not aim at making friends, but patrons; the latter dreaded making enemies. Lord Barrington had a lisp and a tedious precision that prejudiced one against him; yet he did not want a sort of vivacity that would have shone oftener, if the rind it was to penetrate had been thinner. Ellis had a fluency that was precise too, but it was a stream that flowed so smoothly and so shallow, that it seemed to design to let every pebble it passed over be distinguished. Lord Barrington made civility and attention a duty; Ellis endeavoured to persuade you that that duty was a pleasure. You saw that Lord Barrington would not have been well-bred, if he had not been interested: you saw that if Ellis had been a hermit, he would have bowed to a cock-sparrow.

There remained one purchase to the Government to be completed, which though not terminated till the beginning of the succeeding year, I shall comprehend in the account of this expensive establishment. This was Hume Campbell; annihilated in the eyes of the world and in his own, by Mr. Pitt’s philippic; still precious to the Duke of Newcastle, who was now as injudiciously constant to an useless bargain, as he was apt to be fickle to more serviceable converts. Lord Lothian, after many negotiations and reluctances, was dismissed with a pension of 1200l. a year from the office of Lord Registrar of Scotland, which was conferred on Hume Campbell for life. Secure with such a provision, he never once provoked Pitt’s wrath; and repaid this munificence with one only scrap of an ignorant speech on the Plate-tax.

It is necessary to recapitulate the extravagant and lasting charge which this new caprice or consequence of the Duke of Newcastle’s caprices brought on the Government. Sir Thomas Robinson had a pension of 2000l. a year on Ireland for thirty years. Mr. Arundel, to make room for Lord Hilsborough, 2000l. a year. Sir Conyers Darcy 1600l. a year. Lord Lothian 1200l. Lord Cholmondeley, to indemnify him for the division of his office, 600l. a year. Here was a load of near 8000l. a year incurred for many years to purchase a change in the Administration—for how short a season will soon appear!

But if this traffic for a partial revolution in a system, still upheld, was scandalously inglorious, at least it called forth a display of abilities that revived the lustre of the House of Commons, and in the point of eloquence carried it to a height it perhaps had never known. After so long a dose of genius, there at once appeared near thirty men, of whom one was undoubtedly a real orator, a few were most masterly, many very able, not one was a despicable speaker. Pitt, Fox, Murray, Hume Campbell, Charles Townshend, Lord George Sackville, Henry Conway, Legge, Sir George Lyttelton, Oswald, George Grenville, Lord Egmont, Nugent, Doddington, the Lord Advocate of Scotland, Lord Strange, Beckford, Elliot, Lord Barrington, Sir George Lee, Martin, Dr. Hay, Northey, Potter, Ellis, Lord Hilsborough, Lord Duplin, and Sir Francis Dashwood, these men, perhaps, in their several degrees, comprehended all the various powers of eloquence, art, reasoning, satire, learning, persuasion, wit, business, spirit, and plain common sense. Eloquence as an art was but little studied but by Pitt: the beauties of language were a little, and but a little more cultivated, except by him and his family. Yet the grace and force of words were so natural to him, that when he avoided them, he almost lost all excellence. As set speeches were no longer in vogue, except on introductory or very solemn occasions, the pomp and artful resources of oratory were in a great measure banished; and the inconveniences attending long and unpremeditated discourses, must (as I have delivered them faithfully,) take off from, though they ought to add to, their merit. Let those who hear me extol, and at the same time find Mr. Pitt’s orations not answer to my encomiums, reflect how bright his talents would shine, if we saw none of his, but which, like the productions of ancient great masters, had been prepared for his audience, and had been polished by himself for the admiration of ages! Similes, and quotations, and metaphors were fallen into disrepute, deservedly: even the parallels from old story, which, during the virulence against Sir Robert Walpole, had been so much encouraged, were exhausted and disregarded. It was not the same case with invectives; in that respect, eloquence was little more chastened. Debates, where no personalities broke out, engaged too little attention. Yet, upon the whole, the style that prevailed was plain, manly, argumentative; and the liberty of discussing all topics in a government so free, and the very newspapers and pamphlets that skimmed or expatiated on all those subjects, and which the most idle and most illiterate could not avoid perusing, gave an air of knowledge and information to the most trifling speakers.

I shall not enter into a detail of all the various talents of the men I have mentioned; the genius and characters of many of them have been marked already in different parts of this work. Most of them were more or less imperfect; I pretend to consider the whole number but as different shades of oratory. Northey saw clearly, but it was for a very little way. Lord Strange was the most absurd man that ever existed with a very clear head: his distinctions were seized as rapidly as others advance positions. Nugent’s assertions would have made everybody angry, if they had not made everybody laugh; but he had a debonnaire jollity that pleased, and though a bombast speaker, was rather extravagant from his vociferation, than from his arguments, which were often very solid. Dr. Hay’s manner and voice resembled Lord Granville’s, not his matter; Lord Granville was novelty itself; Dr. Hay seldom said anything new; his speeches were fair editions of the thoughts of other men: he should always have opened a Debate! Oswald overflowed with a torrent of sense and logic: Doddington was always searching for wit; and what was surprising, generally found it. Oswald hurried argument along with him; Doddington teased it to accompany him. Sir George Lyttelton and Legge were as opposite in their manners; the latter concise and pointed; the former, diffuse and majestic. Legge’s speeches seemed the heads of chapters to Sir George Lyttelton’s dissertations. Lord Duplin aimed at nothing but understanding business and explaining it. Sir Francis Dashwood, who loved to know, and who cultivated a roughness of speech, affected to know no more than what he had learned from an unadorned understanding. George Grenville and Hume Campbell were tragic speakers of very different kinds; the latter far the superior. Grenville’s were tautologous lamentations; Campbell’s bold reprehensions. Had they been engaged in a conspiracy, Grenville, like Brutus, would have struck and wept; Campbell would have rated him for weeping. The six other chief speakers may, from their ages and rank in the House, be properly thrown into two classes.

Mr. Conway soothed and persuaded; Lord George Sackville informed and convinced; Charles Townshend[51] astonished; but was too severe to persuade, and too bold to convince. Conway seemed to speak only because he thought his opinion might be of service; Lord George because he knew that others misled, or were misled; Charles Townshend, neither caring whether himself or others were in the right, only spoke to show how well he could adorn a bad cause, or demolish a good one. It was frequent with him, as soon as he had done speaking, to run to the opposite side of the House, and laugh with those he had attacked, at those who had defended. One loved the first, one feared the second, one admired the last without the least mixture of esteem. Mr. Conway had a cold reserve, which seemed only to veil goodness: Lord George, with a frankness in his speech, had a mystery in his conduct, which was far from inviting. Charles Townshend had such openness in all his behaviour, that he seemed to think duplicity the simplest conduct: he made the innocence of others look like art. But what superiority does integrity contract, when even uniformity of acting could exalt so many men above the most conspicuous talents that appeared in so rhetorical an age! Mr. Townshend was perhaps the only man who had ever genius enough to preserve reason and argument in a torrent of epigrams, satire, and antithesis!

The other parliamentary chiefs were as variously distinguished by their abilities. Pitt, illustrious as he was in the House of Commons, would have shone still more in an assembly of inferior capacity: his talents for dazzling were exposed to whoever did not fear his sword and abuse, or could detect the weakness of his arguments. Fox was ready for both. Murray, who, at the beginning of the session, was awed by Pitt, finding himself supported by Fox, surmounted his fears, and convinced the House, and Pitt too, of his superior abilities: he grew most uneasy to the latter. Pitt could only attack, Murray only defend: Fox, the boldest and ablest champion, was still more formed to worry: but the keenness of his sabre was blunted by the difficulty with which he drew it from the scabbard; I mean, the hesitation and ungracefulness of his delivery took off from the force of his arguments. Murray, the brightest genius of the three, had too much and too little of the lawyer: he refined too much, and could wrangle too little for a popular assembly. Pitt’s figure was commanding; Murray’s engaging from a decent openness; Fox’s dark and troubled—yet the latter was the only agreeable man: Pitt could not unbend; Murray in private was inelegant; Fox was cheerful, social, communicative. In conversation, none of them had wit; Murray never had: Fox had in his speeches from clearness of head and asperity of argument: Pitt’s wit was genuine, not tortured into the service, like the quaintnesses of my Lord Chesterfield.

I have endeavoured in this book (and consequently shall be much more concise in others, on Parliamentary Debates,) to give an idea of the manner and genius of our chief orators, particularly of Mr. Pitt, the most celebrated: his greatest failure was in argument, which made him, contrary to the rule of great speakers, almost always commence the Debate: he spoke too often, and he spoke too long. Of the above-recorded speeches, his first, on the Address, was sublime and various; on the Army, at once florid and alarming; on the Militia, clear, unadorned, and like a man of business: that against Hume Campbell, most bitter; the last, full of wit; but being hurt at the reflections on his pomp and invective, he took up in the rest of that session a style of plain and scarce elevated conversation, that had not one merit of any of his preceding harangues.