It is laid in the unalterable constitution of things,—­None can aspire to act greatly but those who are of force greatly to suffer.  They who make their arrangements in the first run of misadventure, and in a temper of mind the common fruit of disappointment and dismay, put a seal on their calamities.  To their power they take a security against any favors which they might hope from the usual inconstancy of fortune.  I am therefore, my dear friend, invariably of your opinion, (though full of respect for those who think differently,) that neither the time chosen for it, nor the manner of soliciting a negotiation, were properly considered,—­even though I had allowed (I hardly shall allow) that with the horde of Regicides we could by any selection of time or use of means obtain anything at all deserving the name of peace.

In one point we are lucky.  The Regicide has received our advances with scorn.  We have an enemy to whose virtues we can owe nothing, but on this occasion we are infinitely obliged to one of his vices.  We owe more to his insolence than to our own precaution.  The haughtiness by which the proud repel us has this of good in it,—­that, in making us keep our distance, they must keep their distance too.  In the present case, the pride of the Regicide may be our safety.  He has given time for our reason to operate, and for British dignity to recover from its surprise.  From first to last he has rejected all our advances.  Far as we have gone, he has still left a way open to our retreat.

There is always an augury to be taken of what a peace is likely to be from the preliminary steps that are made to bring it about.  We may gather something from the time in which the first overtures are made, from the quarter whence they come, from the manner in which they are received.  These discover the temper of the parties.  If your enemy offers peace in the moment of success, it indicates that he is satisfied with something.  It shows that there are limits to his ambition or his resentment.  If he offers nothing under misfortune, it is probable that it is more painful to him to abandon the prospect of advantage than to endure calamity.  If he rejects solicitation, and will not give even a nod to the suppliants for peace, until a change in the fortune of the war threatens him with ruin, then I think it evident that he wishes nothing more than to disarm his adversary to gain time.  Afterwards a question arises, Which of the parties is likely to obtain the greater advantages by continuing disarmed and by the use of time?

With these few plain indications in our minds, it will not be improper to reconsider the conduct of the enemy together with our own, from the day that a question of peace has been in agitation.  In considering this part of the question, I do not proceed on my own hypothesis.  I suppose, for a moment, that this body of Regicide, calling itself a Republic, is a politic person, with whom something deserving