Since the House had been prorogued in the summer much work was done in France.  The French had shown themselves the ablest architects of ruin that had hitherto existed in the world.  In that very short space of time they had completely pulled down to the ground their monarchy, their church, their nobility, their law, their revenue, their army, their navy, their commerce, their arts, and their manufactures.  They had done their business for us as rivals in a way in which twenty Ramillies or Blenheims could never have done it.  Were we absolute conquerors, and France to lie prostrate at our feet, we should be ashamed to send a commission to settle their affairs which could impose so hard a law upon the French, and so destructive of all their consequence as a nation, as that they had imposed upon themselves.

France, by the mere circumstance of its vicinity, had been, and in a degree always must be, an object of our vigilance, either with regard to her actual power or to her influence and example.  As to the former he had spoken; as to the latter (her example) he should say a few words:  for by this example our friendship and our intercourse with that nation had once been, and might again become, more dangerous to us than their worst hostility.

In the last century, Louis the Fourteenth had established a greater and better disciplined military force than ever had been before seen in Europe, and with it a perfect despotism.  Though that despotism was proudly arrayed in manners, gallantry, splendor, magnificence, and even covered over with the imposing robes of science, literature, and arts, it was, in government, nothing better than a painted and gilded tyranny,—­in religion, a hard, stern intolerance, the fit companion and auxiliary to the despotic tyranny which prevailed in its government.  The same character of despotism insinuated itself into every court of Europe,—­the same spirit of disproportioned magnificence,—­the same love of standing armies, above the ability of the people.  In particular, our then sovereigns, King Charles and King James, fell in love with the government of their neighbor, so flattering to the pride of kings.  A similarity of sentiments brought on connections equally dangerous to the interests and liberties of their country.  It were well that the infection had gone no farther than the throne.  The admiration of a government flourishing and successful, unchecked in its operations, and seeming, therefore, to compass its objects more speedily and effectually, gained something upon all ranks of people.  The good patriots of that day, however, struggled against it.  They sought nothing more anxiously than to break off all communication with France, and to beget a total alienation from its councils and its example,—­which, by the animosity prevalent between the abettors of their religious system and the assertors of ours, was in some degree effected.