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Retort upon Mr. Pitt as to cruelties

tingencies in which he will treat with Bona- Where then, sir, is this war, which on every parte? He will excite a rebellion in France. side is pregnant with such horrors, to He will give support to the Chouans, if they can be carried ? Where is it to stop ? Not stand their ground; but he will not make com till we establish the house of Bourbon! And mon cause with them; for, unless they can de. this you cherish the hope of doing, because you pose Bonaparte, send him into banishment, or have had a successful campaign. Why, sir, beexecute him, he will abandon the Chouans, and fore this you have had a successful campaign. treat with this very man, whom, at the same The situation of the allies, with all they have time, he describes as holding the reins and wield- gained, is surely not to be compared now to ing the powers of France for purposes of unex- what it was when you had taken Valenciennes, ampled barbarity.

Quesnoy, Condé, &c., which induced some genSir, I wish the atrocities, of which we hear so tlemen in this House to prepare themselves for a

much, and which I abhor as much as march to Paris. With all that you have gain

any man, were, indeed, unexampled. ed, you surely will not say that the prospect is practiced at I fear that they do not belong exclu- brighter now than it was then. What have Naples.

sively to the French. When the right you gained but the recovery of a part of what honorable gentleman speaks of the extraordinary you before lost ? One campaign is successful successes of the last campaign, he does not men- to you; another to them; and in this way, anition the horrors by which some of these success. mated by the vindictive passions of revenge, haes were accompanied. Naples, for instance, has tred, and rancor, which are infinitely more flagibeen, among others, what is called delivered ; and tious, even, than those of ambition and the thirst yet, if I am rightly informed, it has been stained of power, you may go on forever ; as, with such and polluted by murders so ferocious, and by black incentives, I see no end to human misery. cruelties of every kind so abhorrent, that the And all this without an intelligible motive. heart shudders at the recital. It has been said, All this because you may gain a better peace a not only that the miserable victims of the rage year or two hence! So that we are called and brutality of the fanatics were savagely mur- upon to go on merely as a speculation. We dered, but that, in many instances, their flesh must keep Bonaparte for some time longer at was eaten and devoured by the cannibals, who war, as a state of probation. Gracious God, are the advocates and the instruments of social sir! is war a state of probation? Is peace a order! Nay, England is not totally exempt rash system ? Is it dangerous for nations to from reproach, if the rumors which are circula- live in amity with each other? Are your vigited be true. I will mention a fact, to give min. lance, your policy, your common powers of obisters the opportunity, if it be false, to wipe away servation, to be extinguished by putting an end the stain that it must otherwise affix on the Brit- to the horrors of war? Can not this state of ish name. It is said, that a party of the repub- and property should be guaranteed, and that they lican inhabitants of Naples took shelter in the should, at their own option, either be sent to Toulon förtress of the Castel de Uovo. They were be or remain at Naples, without being molested either sieged by a detachment from the royal army, to in their persons or families. This capitulation was whom they refused to surrender ; but demanded accepted; it was signed by the Cardinal, and the that a British officer should be brought forward, Russian and Turkish commanders, and, lastly, by and to him they capitulated. They made terms Captain Foote, as commander of the British force. with him under the sanction of the British name.

About six-and-thirty hours afterward, Nelson arrived It was agreed that their persons and property ing his cruise, consisting of seventeen sail of the line,

in the bay, with a force, which had joined him durshould be safe, and that they should be conveyed with seventeen hundred troops on board, and the to Toulon. They were accordingly put on board Prince Royal of Naples in the Admiral's ship. A å vessel ; but, before they sailed, their property flag of truce was flying on the castles and on board was confiscated, numbers of them taken out, the Sea-horse. Nelson made a signal to annul the thrown into dungeons, and some of them, I un treaty, declaring that he would grant rebels no othderstand, notwithstanding the British guarantee, er terms than those of unconditional submission. actually executed 131

The Cardinal objected to this; nor could all the ar.

guments of Nelson, Sir W. Hamilton, and Lady 31 All this was literally true, and took place in Hamilton, who took an active part in the confer. the summer of 1799. Lord Nelson was the officer ence, convince him that a treaty of such a nature, referred to: he was led by his infataated attach- solemnly concluded, could honorably be set aside. ment to Lady Hamilton, the favorite of the Queen He retired at last, silenced by Nelson's authority, of Naples, into conduct which has left an indelible but not convinced. Captain Foote was sent out stain on his memory. After the retreat of the French of the bay; and the garrisons, taken out of the casfrom Southern Italy, the leaders of the republican tles under pretense of carrying the treaty into ef. government, which bad been organized at Naples, fect, were delivered over as rebels to the vengeance were besieged in the castles of Uovo and Nuovo by of the Sicilian court.-A deplorable transaction! A the Cardinal Ruffo at the head of the Royalists. The stain upon the memory of Nelson, and the honor of remainder of the story will be given in the words England! To palliate it would be in vain ; to justof Mr. Soathey, the biographer of Nelson. “They ify it would be wicked: there is no alternative, for (these castles) were strong places, and there was one who will not make himself a participator in reason to apprehend that the French fleet might guilt, but to record the disgraceful story with sorrow arrive to relieve them. Ruffo proposed to the gar and with shame."-Life of Nelson in Harper's Famrison to capitulate, on condition that their persons lily Library, vol. vi., 177-8.

you excite!

550 MR. FOX ON THE REJECTION OF BONAPARTE'S OVERTURES. (1800. probation be as well undergone without adding ocally as heretofore. But I will not go into the to the catalogue of human sufferings?“But internal state of this country. It is too afllictwe must pause!" What! must the bowels of ing to the heart to see the strides whicb have Great Britain be torn out-her best blood be been made by means of, and under the misera. spilleil-her treasure wasted—that you may ble pretext of this war, against liberty of every make an experiment ? Put yourselves, oh! that kind, both of power of speech and of writing; you would put yourselves in the field of battle, and to observe in another kingdom the rapid apand learn to judge of the sort of horrors that proaches to that military despotism which we

In former wars a man might, at affect to make an argument against peare. I least, have some feeling, some interest, that know, sir, that public opinion, if it could be colserved to balance in his mind the impressions lected, would be for peace, as much now as in which a scene of carnage and of death must | 1797 ; and that it is only by public opinion, and inflict. If a man had been present at the bat- not by a sense of their duty, or by the inclina. tle of Blenheim, for instance, and had inquired tion of their minds, that ministers will be brought, the motive of the battle, there was not a soldier if ever, to give us peace. engaged who could not have satisfied his curi. I conclude, sir, with repeating what I said beosity, and even, perhaps, allayed his feelings. fore : I ask for no gentleman's vote who would They were fighting, they knew, to repress the bave reprobated the compliance of ministers uncontrolled ambition of the Grand Monarch with the proposition of the French government. But if a man were present now at a field of I ask for no gentleman's support to-night who slaughter, and were to inquire for what they would bave voted against ministers, if they had were fighting—"Fighting !" would be the an- come down and proposed to enter into a negoswer; "they are not fighting; they are paus- tiation with the French. But I have a right 10 ing." Why is that man expiring? Why is ask, and in honor, in consistency, in conscience, that other writhing with agony? What means I have a right to expect, the vote of every honthis implacable fury?” The answer must be, orable gentleman who would have voted with " You are quite wrong, sir, you deceive your- ministers in an address to his Majesty, diametself-they are not fighting—do not disturb them rically opposite to the motion of this night. —they are merely pausing ! This man is not expiring with agony—that man is not dead- These eloquent reasonings are said to have he is only pausing ! Lord help you, sir! they produced a powerful effect on the House, but are not angry with one another; they have now Mr. Pitt's political adherents could not desert no canse of quarrel; but their country thinks him on a question of this nature. Not to have that there should be a pause. All that you see, passed the address approving of his conduct, sir, is nothing like fighting—there is no harm, would have been the severest censure, and it nor cruelty, nor bloodshed in it whatever: it is was accordingly carried by a vote of 265 10 64. nothing more than a political pause! It is mere. Bonaparte made this the occasion of appeal. ly to try an experiment-to see whether Bona- ing to a new class of feelings among the parte will not behave himself better than here- French. Hitherto liberty had been the rallying tofore; and in the mean time we have agreed word in calling them to arms; the First Consul to a pause, in pure friendship!" And is this now addressed their sense of honor, and roused the way, sir, that you are to show yourselves all by the appeal. Russia had already withthe advocates of order ? You take up a system drawn from the contest, leaving Austria as the calculated to uncivilize the world—to destroy only ally of England on the Continent. Bonaorder-lo trample on religion—-10 stifle in the parte instantly assembled his troops on the Rhine heart, not merely the generosity of noble senti. and Alps; made his celebrated passage of the ment, but ihe affections of social nature ; and in St. Bernard in the month of June; crushed the the prosecution of this system, you spread ter. Austrian power in Italy by the battle of Marenror and devastation all around you.

go (June 17th, 1800), and concluded the camSir, I have done. I have told you my opin- paign in forty days! In Germany, the Austriion. I think you ought to have given a civil, ans were again defeated by Moreau in the batclear, and explicit answer to the overture which tle of Hohenlinden (Dec. 3d, 1800), and comwas fairly and handsomely made you. If you pelled to sue for peace, which was concluded bewere desirous that the negotiation should have tween them and the French by Napoleon about included all your allies, as the means of bring. a year after this debate, Feb. 9th, 1801. Mr. ing about a general peace, you should have told Pitt resigned nine days after, chiefly (as became Bonaparte so. But I believe you were afraid afterward known) in consequence of a difference of bis agreeing to the proposal. You took that with the King on the subject of Catholic Emanmethod before. Ay, but you say the people cipation. were anxious for peace in 1797. I say they Mr. Addington (afterward Lord Sidmouth] are friends to peace now; and I am confident succeeded as minister, and in a short time that you will one day acknowledge it. Believe opened negotiations for peace, the preliminaries me, ihey are friends to peace; although by the of which were signed Oct. 1st, 1801. These laws which you have made, restraining the ex- were followed by the treaty of Amiens, which pression of the sense of the people, public opin, was concluded about six months after, March ion can not now be heard as loudly and unequiv- | 27th, 1802.


William Pitt, the younger, was born at Hayes, in Kent, on the 28th of May, 1759, and was the second son of Lord Chatham and of Lady Hester Grenville, Countess of Temple. His constitution was so weak from infancy that he was never placed at a public school, but pursued his studies as he was able, from time to time, under a private tutor, at his father's residence in the country. After eight years spent in this way, half of which time, however, was lost through ill health, he was sent, at the age of fourteen, to the University of Cambridge ; and so great had been his proficiency, notwithstanding all his disadvantages, that, according to his tutor, Dr. Prettyman, afterward Bishop of Lincoln, “in Latin authors he seldom met with difficulty; and it was no uncommon thing for him to read into English six or eight pages of Thucydides which he had not previously seen, without more than two or three mistakes, and sometimes without even one.” His ardor of mind and love of study may be inferred from a letter written by his father at this time, which gives a beautiful view of the familiarity and affection which always reigned in the intercourse of Lord Chatham with his children. “Though I indulge with inexpressible delight the thought of your returning health, I can not help being a little in pain lest you should make more haste than good speed to be well. You may, indeed, my sweet boy, better than any one, practice this sage dictum [festina lentè] without any risk of being thrown out (as little James would say) in the chase of learning. All you want at present is quiet; with this, if your ardor to excel can be kept in till you are stronger, you will make noise enough. How happy the task, my noble, amiable boy, to caution you only against pursuing too much all those liberal and praiseworthy things, to which less happy natures are perpetually to be spurred and driven! I will not teaze you with too long a lecture in favor of inaction and a competent stupidity—your two best tutors and companions at present. You have time to spare : consider there is but the Encyclopedia ; and when you have mastered all that, what will remain ? You will want, like Alexander, another world to conquer! Your mamma joins me in every word, and we know how much your affectionate mind can sacrifice to our earnest and tender wishes. Vive, vale, is the increasing prayer of your truly loving father.

CHATHAM." But all these cautions were unavailing. His constitution was so frail, and his strength so much reduced by the illness referred to, that during the first three years of his college life he was never able to keep his terms with regularity; It was not until the age of eighteen that he gained permanent health, and from that time on. ward few persons had greater powers of application to the most exhausting study or business. But though his early life at Cambridge seems to have been “one long disease," his quickness and accuracy of thought made up for every deficiency arising from bodily weakness. His whole soul from boyhood had been absorbed in one idea —that of becoming a distinguished orator ; and when he heard, at the age of seven, that his father had been raised to the peerage, he instantly exclaimed, “ Then I must take his place in the House of Commons.” To this point all his efforts were now directed, with a zeal and constancy which knew of no limits but the weakness of his frame, and which seemed almost to triumph over the infirmities of nature. His studies at the University were continued nearly seven years, though with frequent intervals of residence under his father's roof; and the reader will be interested to know how the greatest of English orators trained his favorite son for the duties of public life.

Three things seem to have occupied his time and attention for many years, viz., the classics, the mathematics, and the logic of Aristotle applied to the purposes of debate. His mode of translating the classics to his tutor was a peculiar one. He did not construe an author in the ordinary way, but after reading a passage of some length in the original, he turned it at once into regular English sentences, aiming to give the ideas with great exactness, and to express himself, at thc same time, with idiomatic accuracy and ease. Such a course was admirably adapted to the formation of an English style, distinguished at once for copiousness, force, and clegance. To this early training Mr. Pitt always ascribed his extraordinary command of language, which enabled him to give every idea its most felicitous expression, and to pour out an unbroken stream of thought, hour after hour, without once hesitating for a word, or recalling a phrase, or sinking for a moment into looseness or inaccuracy in the structure of his sentences. One of the great English metaphysicians was spoken of by Voltaire as “a reasoning machine,” and the mind of Mr. Pitt might, in the same way, be described as a fountain ever flowing forth in clear, expressive, and commanding diction. In most persons, such a mode of translating would have a tendency to draw off the mind from the idiomatic forms of the original to those of our own language, but it was otherwise with him. “He was a nice observer,” says Dr. Prettyman, “of the different styles of the authors read, and alive to all their various and characteristic excellences. The quickness of his comprehension did not prevent close and minute application. When alone, he dwelt for hours upon striking passages of an orator or historian, in noticing their turns of expression, marking their manner of arranging a narrative, or of explaining the avowed or secret motives of action. He was in the habit of copying any eloquent passage, or any beautiful or forcible expression, which occurred in his reading.” The poets, in the mean time, had a large share of his attention ; his memory was stored with their finest passages ; and few men ever introduced a quotation in a more graceful manner, or with a closer adaptation to the circumstances of the case. So anxious was he to be acquainted with every Greek poet, that he read with me,” says his tutor, "at his own request, the obscure and generally uninteresting work of Lycophron, and with an ease, at first sight, which, if I had not witnessed it, I should have considered beyond the compass of the human intellect. The almost intuitive quickness with which he saw the meaning of the most difficult passages of the most difficult authors, made an impression on my mind which time can never efface. I am persuaded that, if a play of Menander or Æschylus, or an ode of Pindar, had been suddenly found, he would have understood it as soon as any professed scholar.” Dr. Prettyman adds, that there was scarcely a Greek or Latin classical writer of any eminence, the whole of whose works Mr. Pitt had not read to him, in this thorough and discriminating manner, before the age of twenty.

The mathematics, in the mean time, had their daily share of attention, being reg. ularly intermingled with his classical studies. Here he was equally successful, showing surprising promptitude and acuteness in mastering the greatest difficulties, and especially in solving problems in algebra, trigonometry, &c.—an employment which, though many consider it as dull and useless, is better fitted than almost any mental cxercise to give penetration, sagacity, and fixedness of thought, and to establish the habit of never leaving a subject until all its intricacies are fully explored. When we remember the high standard of mathematical study at Cambridge, we learn with surprise that, in addition to all his attainments in the classics, “he was master of every thing usually known by young men who obtain the highest academical honors, and felt a great desire to fathom still farther the depths of the pure mathematics.” “When the connection of tutor and pupil was about to cease between us,” says Dr. Prettyman, " from his entering on the study of the law, he expressed a hope that he should find leisure and opportunity to read Newton's Principia again with me after some summer circuit; and, in the later periods of his life, he frequently declared that no portion of his time had been more usefully employed than that which had been devoted to these studies, not merely from the new ideas and actual knowledge thus acquired, but also on account of the improvement which his mind and understanding had received from the habit of close attention and patient investigation.”

In regard to dialectics, Dr. Prettyman gives us less information as to the course pursued ; but Mr. Pitt being asked by a friend how he had acquired his uncommon talent for reply, answered at once that he owed it to the study of Aristotle's Logic in early life, and the habit of applying its principles to all the discussions he met with in the works he read and the debates he witnessed. Dr. Prettyman thus describes a mode of studying the classics, which opened to Mr. Pitt the widest scope for such an exercise of his powers: “It was a favorite employment with him to compare opposite speeches on the same subject, and to examine how each speaker managed his own side of the argument, or answered the reasoning of his opponent. This may properly be called a study peculiarly useful to the future lawyer or statesman. The authors whom he preferred for this purpose were Livy, Thucydides, and Sallust. Upon these occasions his observations were often committed to paper, and furnished a topic for conversation at our next meeting.” But he carried this practice still farther. He spent much of his time at London during the sessions of Parliament, and as he listened to the great speakers of the day, Burke, Fox, Sheridan, and others, he did so, not to throw his mind on the swelling tide of their eloquence, not even to analyze their qualities as orators, and catch the excellences of each with a view to his own improvement, but to see how he could refute the arguments on the one side, or strengthen them on the other, as he differed or agreed with the speakers. It was this practice which enabled him to rise, at the end of a debate of ten or twelve hours, extending over a vast variety of topics, and reply to the reasonings of every opponent with such admirable dexterity and force, while he confirmed the positions of his friends, and gave a systematic thoroughness to the whole discussion, such as few speakers in Parliament have ever been able to attain.

This severe training prepared Mr. Pitt to enter with ease and delight into the abstrusest questions in moral and political science. Locke on the Human Understanding was his favorite author upon the science of mind; he soon mastered Smith's Wealth of Nations, which was first published when he was a member of college ; he gave great attention to an able course of lectures by Dr. Halifax on the Civil Law; and, in short, whatever subject he took up, he made it his chief endeavor to be deeply grounded in its principles, rather than extensively acquainted with mere details. “Multum haud multa” was his motto in pursuing these inquiries, and, indeed, in most of his studies for life. The same maxim gave a direction to his reading in English literature. He had the finest parts of Shakspeare by heart. He read the best historians with great care. Middleton's Life of Cicero, and the political and historical writings of Bolingbroke, were his favorite models in point of style ; he studied Barrow's sermons, by the advice of his father, for copiousness of diction, and was intimately acquainted with the sacred Scriptures, not only as a guide of his faith and practice, but, in the language of Spenser, as the true" well of English undefiled."

How far Lord Chatham contributed by direct instruction to form the mind and habits of his son, it is difficult now to say. That he inspired him with his own lofty and generous sentiments; that he set integrity, truth, and public spirit before him as the best means of success even in politics; that he warned him against that fashion

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