Whenever the adverse party has raised a cry for peace with the Regicide, the answer has been little more than this:  “That the administration wished for such a peace full as much as the opposition, but that the time was not convenient for making it.”  Whatever else has been said was much in the same spirit.  Reasons of this kind never touched the substantial merits of the war.  They were in the nature of dilatory pleas, exceptions of form, previous questions.  Accordingly, all the arguments against a compliance with what was represented as the popular desire (urged on with all possible vehemence and earnestness by the Jacobins) have appeared flat and languid, feeble and evasive.  They appeared to aim only at gaining time.  They never entered into the peculiar and distinctive character of the war.  They spoke neither to the understanding nor to the heart.  Cold as ice themselves, they never could kindle in our breasts a spark of that zeal which is necessary to a conflict with an adverse zeal; much less were they made to infuse into our minds that stubborn, persevering spirit which alone is capable of bearing up against those vicissitudes of fortune which will probably occur, and those burdens which must be inevitably borne, in a long war.  I speak it emphatically, and with a desire that it should be marked,—­in a long war; because, without such a war, no experience has yet told us that a dangerous power has ever been reduced to measure or to reason.  I do not throw back my view to the Peloponnesian War of twenty-seven years; nor to two of the Punic Wars, the first of twenty-four, the second of eighteen; nor to the more recent war concluded by the Treaty of Westphalia, which continued, I think, for thirty.  I go to what is but just fallen behind living memory, and immediately touches our own country.  Let the portion of our history from the year 1689 to 1713 be brought before us.  We shall find that in all that period of twenty-four years there were hardly five that could be called a season of peace; and the interval between the two wars was in reality nothing more than a very active preparation for renovated hostility.  During that period, every one of the propositions of peace came from the enemy:  the first, when they were accepted, at the Peace of Ryswick; the second, where they were rejected, at the Congress at Gertruydenberg; the last, when the war ended by the Treaty of Utrecht.  Even then, a very great part of the nation, and that which contained by far the most intelligent statesmen, was against the conclusion of the war.  I do not enter into the merits of that question as between the parties.  I only state the existence of that opinion as a fact, from whence you may draw such an inference as you think properly arises from it.