When he had passed about a year and three quarters in gloomy privacy, the King received a few lines in Lady Chatham’s hand.  They contained a request, dictated by her lord, that he might be permitted to resign the Privy Seal.  After some civil show of reluctance, the resignation was accepted.  Indeed Chatham was, by this time, almost as much forgotten as if he had already been lying in Westminster Abbey.

At length the clouds which had gathered over his mind broke and passed away.  His gout returned, and freed him from a more cruel malady.  His nerves were newly braced.  His spirits became buoyant.  He woke as from a sickly dream.  It was a strange recovery.  Men had been in the habit of talking of him as of one dead, and, when he first showed himself at the King’s levee, started as if they had seen a ghost.  It was more than two years and a half since he had appeared in public.

He, too, had cause for wonder.  The world which he now entered was not the world which he had quitted.  The administration which he had formed had never been, at any one moment, entirely changed.  But there had been so many losses and so many accessions, that he could scarcely recognise his own work.  Charles Townshend was dead.  Lord Shelburne had been dismissed.  Conway had sunk into utter insignificance.  The Duke of Grafton had fallen into the hands of the Bedfords.  The Bedfords had deserted Grenville, had made their peace with the King and the King’s friends, and had been admitted to office.  Lord North was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and was rising fast in importance.  Corsica had been given up to France without a struggle.  The disputes with the American colonies had been revived.  A general election had taken place.  Wilkes had returned from exile, and, outlaw as he was, had been chosen knight of the shire for Middlesex.  The multitude was on his side.  The Court was obstinately bent on ruining him, and was prepared to shake the very foundations of the constitution for the sake of a paltry revenge.  The House of Commons, assuming to itself an authority which of right belongs only to the whole legislature, had declared Wilkes incapable of sitting in Parliament.  Nor had it been thought sufficient to keep him out.  Another must be brought in.  Since the freeholders of Middlesex had obstinately refused to choose a member acceptable to the Court, the House had chosen a member for them.  This was not the only instance, perhaps not the most disgraceful instance, of the inveterate malignity of the Court.  Exasperated by the steady opposition of the Rockingham party, the King’s friends had tried to rob a distinguished Whig nobleman of his private estate, and had persisted in their mean wickedness till their own servile majority had revolted from mere disgust and shame.  Discontent had spread throughout the nation, and was kept up by stimulants such as had rarely been applied to the public mind.  Junius had taken the field, and trampled Sir William Draper in the dust, had well-nigh broken the heart of Blackstone, and had so mangled the reputation of the Duke of Grafton, that his grace had become sick of office, and was beginning to look wistfully towards the shades of Euston.  Every principle of foreign, domestic, and colonial policy which was dear to the heart of Chatham had, during the eclipse of his genius, been violated by the Government which he had formed.