of him, He remembered how, more than twenty years before, in a day of gloom and dismay, when her possessions were torn from her, when her flag was dishonoured, she had called on him to save her.  He remembered the sudden and glorious change which his energy had wrought, the long series of triumphs, the days of thanksgiving, the nights of illumination.  Fired by such recollections, he determined to separate himself from those who advised that the independence of the colonies should be acknowledged.  That he was in error will scarcely, we think, be disputed by his warmest admirers.  Indeed, the treaty, by which, a few years later, the republic of the United States was recognised, was the work of his most attached adherents and of his favourite son.

The Duke of Richmond had given notice of an address to the throne, against the further prosecution of hostilities with America.  Chatham had, during some time, absented himself from Parliament, in consequence of his growing infirmities.  He determined to appear in his place on this occasion, and to declare that his opinions were decidedly at variance with those of the Rockingham party.  He was in a state of great excitement.  His medical attendants were uneasy, and strongly advised him to calm himself, and to remain at home.  But he was not to be controlled.  His son William and his son-in-law Lord Mahon, accompanied him to Westminster.  He rested himself in the Chancellor’s room till the debate commenced, and then, leaning on his two young relations, limped to his seat.  The slightest particulars of that day were remembered, and have been carefully recorded.  He bowed, it was remarked, with great courtliness to those peers who rose to make way for him and his supporters.  His crutch was in his hand.  He wore, as was his fashion, a rich velvet coat.  His legs were swathed in flannel.  His wig was so large, and his face so emaciated, that none of his features could be discerned, except the high curve of his nose, and his eyes, which still retained a gleam of the old fire.

When the Duke of Richmond had spoken, Chatham rose.  For some time his voice was inaudible.  At length his tones became distinct and his action animated.  Here and there his hearers caught a thought or an expression which reminded them of William Pitt.  But it was clear that he was not himself.  He lost the thread of his discourse, hesitated, repeated the same words several times, and was so confused that, in speaking of the Act of Settlement, he could not recall the name of the Electress Sophia.  The House listened in solemn silence, and with the aspect of profound respect and compassion.  The stillness was so deep that the dropping of a handkerchief would have been heard.  The Duke of Richmond replied with great tenderness and courtesy; but while he spoke, the old man was observed to be restless and irritable.  The Duke sat down.  Chatham stood up again, pressed his hand on his breast, and sank down in an apoplectic