that they ought. I doubt whether it would be the means of restoring tranquillity and order tc a country, to attempt to divest a body of one million and a half of inhabitants, in order to re. instate a much smaller body. I question the policy, even if the thing were practicable; but I assert, that such a body of new proprietors forms an insurmountable barrier to the restora. tion of the ancient order of things. Never was a revolution consolidated by a pledge so strong.

duct, but we do not imitate it. At the beginning | to deliver up their property; nor do I even know of the struggle, we were told that the French were setting up a set of wild and impracticable theories, and that we ought not to be misled by them; that they were phantoms with which we could not grapple. Now we are told that we must not treat, because, out of the lottery, Bonaparte has drawn such a prize as military despotism. Is military despotism a theory? One would think that that is one of the practical things which ministers might understand, and to which they would have no particular objection. But what is our present conduct founded on but a theory, and that a most wild and ridiculous theory? For what are we fighting? Not for a principle; not for security; not for conquest; but merely for an experiment and a speculation, to discover whether a gentleman at Paris may not turn out a better man than we now take him to be.

Difficulties

the return of

Louis XVIII

But, as if this were not of itself sufficient, Louis XVIII., from his retirement at Increased by a Mittau, puts forth a manifesto, in declaration of which he assures the friends of his house that he is about to come back with all the powers that formerly belonged to his family. He does not promise to the people a Constitution which might tend to conciliate their hearts; but, stating that he is to come with all the old My honorable friend [Mr. Erskine] has been régime, they would naturally attach to it its propcensured for an opinion which he gave, er appendages of bastiles, lettres de cachet, ga in the way of and I think justly, that the change of belle, &c.; and the noblesse, for whom this procthe Bour property in France since the Revolu-lamation was peculiarly conceived, would also bons. tion must form an almost insurmount-naturally feel that, if the monarch was to be reable barrier to the return of the ancient proprietors. "No such thing," says the right honorable gentleman, "nothing can be more easy. Property is depreciated to such a rate, that the purchasers would easily be brought to restore the estates." I think differently. It is the character of every such convulsion as that which has ravaged France, that an infinite and undescribable load of misery is inflicted upon private families. The heart sickens at the recital of the sorrows which it engenders. The Revolution did not imply, though it may have occasioned, a total change of property; the restoration of the Bourbons does imply it; and such is the difference. There is no doubt but that if the noble families had foreseen the duration and the extent of the evils which were to fall upon their heads, they would have taken a very different line of conduct; but they unfortunately flew from their country. The King and his advisers sought foreign aid, and a confederacy was formed to restore them by military force. As a means of resisting this combination, the estates of the fugitives were confiscated and sold. However compassion may deplore their case, it can not be said that the thing is unprecedented. The people have always resorted to such means of defense. Now the question is, how this property is to be got out of their hands. If it be true, as I have heard it said, that the purchasers of national and forfeited estates amount to one million and a half of persons, I see no hopes of their being forced

fase to negotiate; but by showing their readiness to do so, had the hopes of a speedy termination of

their differences with France. In this he refers to the mission of Oliver Ellsworth, Chief Justice of

the United States, W. R. Davie, and W. V. Mur. ray, in 1799, to settle terms of peace between France and the United States. Their mission was Buccessful, and an amicable adjustment took place a few months after

stored to all his privileges, they surely were to be reinstated in their estates without a compensation to the purchasers. Is this likely to make the people wish for the restoration of royalty? I have no doubt but there may be a number of Chouans in France, though I am persuaded that little dependence is to be placed on their efforts. There may be a number of people dispersed over France, and particularly in certain provinces, who may retain a degree of attachment to roy. alty; how the government will contrive to compromise with that spirit I know not. I suspect, however, that Bonaparte will try. His efforts have been already turned to that object; and, if we may believe report, he has succeeded to a considerable degree. He will naturally call to his recollection the precedent which the history of France itself will furnish. The once formida ble insurrection of the Huguenots was completely stifled, and the party conciliated, by the policy of Henry IV., who gave them such privileges, and raised them so high in the government, as to make some persons apprehend danger therefrom to the unity of the empire. Nor will the French be likely to forget the revocation of the edict; one of the memorable acts of the house of Bourbon, which was never surpassed in atroc ity, injustice, and impolicy, by any thing that has disgraced Jacobinism. If Bonaparte shall attempt with the Chouans some similar arrangement to that of Henry IV., who will say that he is likely to fail? He will meet with no grea: obstacle to success from the influence which our ministers have established with the chiefs, or in the attachment and dependence which they have on our protection. For what has the right hon orable gentleman told them, in stating the con

30 The Chouans were Royalists, particularly those on the Loire, wh: rose against the revolutionary government

650

1800

I conclude, sir, with repeating what I said before: I ask for no gentleman's vote who would have reprobated the compliance of ministers with the proposition of the French government. I ask for no gentleman's support to-night who would have voted against ministers, if they had come down and proposed to enter into a negotiation with the French. But I have a right to ask, and in honor, in consistency, in conscience, I have a right to expect, the vote of every honorable gentleman who would have voted with ministers in an address to his Majesty, diamet rically opposite to the motion of this night.

MR. FOX ON THE REJECTION OF BONAPARTE'S OVERTURES. 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 afflict. we must pause!" What! must the bowels of ing to the heart to see the strides which have Great Britain be torn out-her best blood be been made by means of, and under the misera. spilled 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 ap and learn to judge of the sort of horrors that proaches to that military despotism which we you excite! In former wars a man might, at affect to make an argument against peace. 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 inclinatle 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 curiosity, and even, perhaps, allayed his feelings. They were fighting, they knew, to repress the uncontrolled ambition of the Grand Monarch. But if a man were present now at a field of slaughter, and were to inquire for what they were fighting-"Fighting !" would be the answer; "they are not fighting; they are pausing." 'Why is that man expiring? Why is that other writhing with agony? What means this implacable fury?" The answer must be, แ You are quite wrong, sir, you deceive your self—they are not fighting—do not disturb them -they are merely pausing! This man is not expiring with agony-that man is not deadhe is only pausing! Lord help you, sir! they are not angry with one another; they have now no cause of quarrel; but their country thinks that there should be a pause. All that you see, sir, is nothing like fighting-there is no harm, nor cruelty, nor bloodshed in it whatever: it is nothing more than a political pause! It is merely to try an experiment-to see whether Bonaparte will not behave himself better than heretofore; and in the mean time we have agreed to a pause, in pure friendship!" And is this the way, sir, that you are to show yourselves the advocates of order? You take up a system calculated to uncivilize the world-to destroy order to trample on religion-to stifle in the heart, not merely the generosity of noble sentiment, but the affections of social nature; and in the prosecution of this system, you spread terror and devastation all around you.

These eloquent reasonings are said to have produced a powerful effect on the House, but Mr. Pitt's political adherents could not desert him on a question of this nature. Not to have passed the address approving of his conduct, would have been the severest censure, and it was accordingly carried by a vote of 265 to 64.

Bonaparte made this the occasion of appeal. ing to a new class of feelings among the French. Hitherto liberty had been the rallying word in calling them to arms; the First Consul now addressed their sense of honor, and roused all by the appeal. Russia had already withdrawn from the contest, leaving Austria as the only ally of England on the Continent. Bonaparte instantly assembled his troops on the Rhine and Alps; made his celebrated passage of the St. Bernard in the month of June; crushed the Austrian power in Italy by the battle of Marengo (June 17th, 1800); and concluded the cam

Sir, I have done. I have told you my opin-paign in forty days! In Germany, the Austri ion. I think you ought to have given a civil, clear, and explicit answer to the overture which was fairly and handsomely made you. If you were desirous that the negotiation should have included all your allies, as the means of bringing about a general peace, you should have told Bonaparte so. But I believe you were afraid of his agreeing to the proposal. You took that method before. Ay, but you say the people were anxious for peace in 1797. I say they are friends to peace now; and I am confident that you will one day acknowledge it. Believe me, they are friends to peace; although by the laws which you have made, restraining the expression of the sense of the people, public opinjon can not now be heard as loudly and unequiv- | 27th 1802.

ans were again defeated by Moreau in the bat tle of Hohenlinden (Dec. 3d, 1800), and com pelled to sue for peace, which was concluded between them and the French by Napoleon about a year after this debate, Feb. 9th, 1801. Mr. Pitt resigned nine days after, chiefly (as became afterward known) in consequence of a difference with the King on the subject of Catholic Emancipation.

Mr. Addington [afterward Lord Sidmonth succeeded as minister, and in a short time opened negotiations for peace, the preliminaries of which were signed Oct. 1st, 1801. were followed by the treaty of Amiens, which was concluded about six months after, Marol

These

WILLIAM PITT.

WILLIAM PITT, the younger, was born at Hayes, in Kent, or. the 23th 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 tu tors 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 fa ther. 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 antil the age of eighteen that he gained permanent health, and from that time onward 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 the 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 elegance. 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 regularly 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 exercise 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