It may be doubted whether he would have been thus misled, if his mind had been in full health and vigour.  But the truth is that he had for some time been in an unnatural state of excitement.  No suspicion of this sort had yet got abroad.  His eloquence had never shone with more splendour than during the recent debates.  But people afterwards called to mind many things which ought to have roused their apprehensions.  His habits were gradually becoming more and more eccentric.  A horror of all loud sounds, such as is said to have been one of the many oddities of Wallenstein, grew upon him.  Though the most affectionate of fathers, he could not at this time bear to hear the voices of his own children, and laid out great sums at Hayes in buying up houses contiguous to his own, merely that he might have no neighbours to disturb him with their noise.  He then sold Hayes, and took possession of a villa at Hampstead, where he again began to purchase houses to right and left.  In expense, indeed, he vied, during this part of his life, with the wealthiest of the conquerors of Bengal and Tanjore.  At Burton Pynsent, he ordered a great extent of ground to be planted with cedars.  Cedars enough for the purpose were not to be found in Somersetshire.  They were therefore collected in London, and sent down by land carriage.  Relays of labourers were hired; and the work went on all night by torchlight.  No man could be more abstemious than Pitt; yet the profusion of his kitchen was a wonder even to epicures.  Several dinners were always dressing; for his appetite was capricious and fanciful; and at whatever moment he felt inclined to eat, he expected a meal to be instantly on the table.  Other circumstances might be mentioned, such as separately are of little moment, but such as, when taken altogether, and when viewed in connection with the strange events which followed, justify us in believing that his mind was already in a morbid state.

Soon after the close of the session of Parliament, Lord Rockingham received his dismissal.  He retired, accompanied by a firm body of friends, whose consistency and uprightness enmity itself was forced to admit.  None of them had asked or obtained any pension or any sinecure, either in possession or in reversion.  Such disinterestedness was then rare among politicians.  Their chief, though not a man of brilliant talents, had won for himself an honourable fame, which he kept pure to the last.  He had, in spite of difficulties which seemed almost insurmountable, removed great abuses and averted a civil war.  Sixteen years later, in a dark and terrible day, he was again called upon to save the State, brought to the very brink of ruin by the same perfidy and obstinacy which had embarrassed, and at length overthrown his first administration.

Pitt was planting in Somersetshire when he was summoned to Court by a letter written by the royal hand.  He instantly hastened to London.  The irritability of his mind and body were increased by the rapidity with which he travelled; and when he reached his journey’s end he was suffering from fever.  Ill as he was, he saw the King at Richmond, and undertook to form an administration.