The breaking out of the French Revolution, and the degree in which, in spite of all its atrocities and horrors, the revolutionary spirit for a time infected a large party in England, prevented Pitt from reviving the plan of Reform which he had framed with such care and genius for organization, and in which, though defeated in Parliament, both before and after he became minister, he had hitherto continued to cherish the hope of eventually succeeding.  But when clubs and societies, where the most revolutionary and seditious doctrines were openly broached, were springing up in London and other large towns, and unscrupulous demagogues by speeches and pamphlets were busily disseminating theories which tended to the subversion of all legitimate authority, he not unnaturally thought it no longer seasonable to invite a discussion of schemes which would be supported in many quarters only, to quote his own words, “as a stepping-stone to ulterior objects, which they dared not avow till their power of carrying them into effect should be by this first acquisition secured.”  But the alarm which the spread of revolutionary ideas excited in his mind was displayed, not only passively in this abstention from the advocacy of measures the expediency of which must at all times in some degree depend on the tone of their introduction, but also in active measures of repression, some of which were not, indeed, unwarranted by precedent, but others of which can hardly be denied to have been serious inroads on the constitution, infringements of the freedom of opinion and discussion to which all Englishmen are entitled, and one of which was, to say the least, a very perilous extension of a law already sufficiently severe, the statute of treason.  If the French had been content with the overthrow of their own government and institutions, much as we should have lamented the indiscriminate rashness and abhorred the atrocities with which their design was carried out, we should still have adhered to the unquestionable maxim, that no nation is justified in interfering in the internal affairs of another.  But the Jacobin and Girondin demagogues, who had now the undisputed sway in Paris, did not limit their views to their own country, but openly declared themselves the enemies of all established governments in every country; and the Convention passed a formal resolution in which they proffered “fraternity and assistance” to every people which might be inclined to rise against their governments.  Their resolutions were officially communicated to the sympathizing societies in England, and emissaries were secretly encouraged to cross the Channel in the hope of gaining converts.  Nor were their exertions barren.  Two men were convicted in Scotland of a plot to seize Edinburgh Castle, to massacre the garrison, to imprison the judges, and to rise in arms to compel the government to a change of policy.  In London the King was fired at on his way to open Parliament, and on his return his carriage was attacked by a furious mob, and was only protected from serious injury by a troop of the Life Guards.  Such outrages proved the existence of a new danger, against which no previous government had ever been called on to provide, and such as, in the opinion of the cabinet, could only be met by novel measures of precaution.