him, did not even discompose him.  With courage he had the virtues which are akin to courage.  He spoke the truth, was open in enmity and friendship, and upright in all his dealings.  But his nature was hard; and what seemed to him justice was rarely tempered with mercy.  He was, therefore, during many years, one of the most unpopular men in England.  The severity with which he had treated the rebels after the battle of Culloden, had gained for him the name of the Butcher.  His attempts to introduce into the army of England, then in a most disorderly state, the rigorous discipline of Potsdam, had excited still stronger disgust.  Nothing was too bad to be believed of him.  Many honest people were so absurd as to fancy that, if he were left Regent during the minority of his nephews, there would be another smothering in the Tower.  These feelings, however, had passed away.  The Duke had been living, during some years, in retirement.  The English, full of animosity against the Scots, now blamed his Royal Highness only for having left so many Camerons and Macphersons to be made gaugers and custom-house officers.  He was, therefore, at present, a favourite with his countrymen, and especially with the inhabitants of London.

He had little reason to love the King, and had shown clearly, though not obtrusively, his dislike of the system which had lately been pursued.  But he had high and almost romantic notions of the duty which, as a prince of the blood, he owed to the head of his house.  He determined to extricate his nephew from bondage, and to effect a reconciliation between the Whig party and the throne, on terms honourable to both.

In this mind he set off for Hayes, and was admitted to Pitt’s sick-room; for Pitt would not leave his chamber, and would not communicate with any messenger of inferior dignity.  And now began a long series of errors on the part of the illustrious statesman, errors which involved his country in difficulties and distresses more serious even than those from which his genius had formerly rescued her.  His language was haughty, unreasonable, almost unintelligible.  The only thing which could be discerned through a cloud of vague and not very gracious phrases, was that he would not at that moment take office.  The truth, we believe, was this.  Lord Temple, who was Pitt’s evil genius, had just formed a new scheme of politics.  Hatred of Bute and of the Princess had, it should seem, taken entire possession of Temple’s soul.  He had quarrelled with his brother George, because George had been connected with Bute and the Princess.  Now that George appeared to be the enemy of Bute and of the Princess, Temple was eager to bring about a general family reconciliation.  The three brothers, as Temple, Grenville, and Pitt, were popularly called, might make a ministry without leaning for aid either on Bute or on the Whig connection.  With such views, Temple used all his influence to dissuade Pitt from acceding to the propositions of