I remember, my lord, that you and I once studied together the History of England, in Question and Answer.  If your lordship recollects, the year 1746 began in the very height of the celebrated rebellion.  The ministers of the sovereign at this time, were, that mixed and plausible character, Mr. Pelham, and that immortalized booby, the duke of Newcastle.  These gentlemen possessed their full proportion of that passion, so universally incident to the human frame, the love of power.  They had formed such a connection with the monied interest of the kingdom, that no administration could go on without them.  Conscious to this circumstance, they had no toleration for a rival, they could “bear no brother near the throne.”  From this sentiment, they had driven that most able minister I have mentioned, from the cabinet of his sovereign, in no very justifiable manner, about twelve months before.  The same jealousy kept alive their suspicions:  they knew the partiality of their master:  they imagined their antagonist still lurked behind the curtain.  The distresses of the kingdom were to them the ladder of ambition.  This was the language they held to their sovereign:  “The enemy is already advanced into the heart of your majesty’s dominions.  We know that you cannot do without us.  You must therefore listen with patience to what we shall dictate.  Drive from your presence for ever the wisest and the ablest of all your counsellors.  This is the only condition, upon which we will continue to serve you in this perilous moment.”  Majesty, as it was but natural, was disgusted with this language.  The Pelhams resigned.  Lord Granville accepted the seals.  And he held them I believe for something more than a fortnight.

My lord, I will tell you, what were the Pelhams, and what was the true character of lord Granville.  Whatever may be said, and much I think may justly be said, in favour of the former, they were not men of genius.  Capable of conducting, and willing upon the whole to conduct with loyalty and propriety the affairs of their country, while they kept within the beaten channel, they were not born to grapple with arduous situations.  They had not that commanding spirit of adventure, which leads a man into the path of supererogation and voluntary service:  they had not that firm and collected fortitude which induces a man to look danger in the face, to encounter it in all its force, and to drive it from all its retrenchments.  They were particularly attached to the patronage, which is usually annexed to their high situations.  They did not come into power by the voice of the people.  They were not summoned to assume the administration by a vote of the house of commons.  They were introduced into the cabinet by an inglorious and guilty compromise of sir Robert Walpole; a compromise, that shunned the light; a compromise, that reflected indelible disgrace upon every individual concerned in it.  We will suppose them ever so much in the right in the