d to business in about a month."[60] That unfavourable
turn took place when the heroic spirit lost all hope under the
distressing news from Berlin and Hanover. Austerlitz, it is true, had
depressed him. Yet that, after all, did not concern British honour and
the dearest interests of his master.

But, that Frederick William, from whom he had hoped so much, to whom
he was on the point of advancing a great subsidy, should now fall
away, should talk of peace with Napoleon and claim Hanover, should
forbid an invasion of Holland and request the British forces to
evacuate North Germany--this was a blow to George III., to our
military prestige, and to the now tottering Ministry. How could he
face the Opposition, already wellnigh triumphant in the sad Melville
business, with a King's Speech in which this was the chief news?
Losing hope, he lost all hold on life: he sank rapidly: in the last
hours his thoughts wandered away to Berlin and Lord Harrowby. "What is
the wind?" he asked. "East; that will do; that will bring him fast,"
he murmured. And, on January 23rd, about half an hour before he
breathed his last, the servant heard him say: "My country: oh my
country."[61]

Thus sank to rest, amidst a horror of great darkness, the statesman
whose noon had been calm and glorious. Only a superficial reading of
his career can represent him as eager for war and a foe to popular
progress. His best friends knew full well his pride in the great
financial achievements of 1784-6, his resolute clinging to peace in
1792, and his longing for a pacification in 1796, 1797, and 1800,
provided it could be gained without detriment to our allies and to the
vital interests of Britain. His defence lies buried amidst the
documents of our Record Office, and has not yet fully seen the light.
For he was a reserved man, the warmth of whose nature blossomed forth
only to a few friends, or on such occasions as his inspired speech on
the emancipation of slaves. To outsiders he had more than the usual
fund of English coldness: he wrote no memoirs, he left few letters, he
had scant means of influencing public opinion; and he viewed with
lofty disdain the French clamour that it was he who made and kept up
the war. "I know it," he said; "the Jacobins cry louder than we can,
and make themselves heard."[62] He was, in fact, a typical champion of
our rather dumb and stolid race, that plods along to the end of the
appointed stage, scarcely heeding the cloud of stingi