The enthusiasm of the nation was frantic. The heralds, on proceeding to the city to read the formal declaration, were attended by a great procession. The Prince of Wales did not disdain to take part in it, or to pause at Temple Bar to drink a public toast to the war. All the church bells of the capital were set ringing. The Minister, as he heard the clang, bitterly remarked that they might ring the bells now, but that they would soon wring their hands. This is a truth that may be uttered with justice at the beginning of all hostilities, and in this case there were many opportunities for wringing hands; for, with the exception of the truce of Aix-la-Chapelle, Britain was not at peace from now (1739) till 1763. But Walpole's cynical pun did not embody the spirit which gives confidence to a nation, or in which a great Minister would begin a just or necessary war. Walpole was, no doubt, convinced that this one was neither just nor necessary. Moreover, he hated all war as a needless complication which deranged finance and held out prospects and opportunities for a Pretender. He knew, too, that he was a Minister of peace, and that he was not likely to shine in war. He had indeed been Secretary at War, but then he had the guarantee of a Marlborough in the field; his function had been to serve and supply a supreme captain. But there was nothing now to give him the same confidence. He felt, he knew that he was out of place as a director of wars. Close to him, unsuspected as yet, was the most successful War Minister that this country has ever seen. For on the benches over against him sate Pitt, who was to revel in warfare and find his true vocation in directing it; but his time was not come. Afterwards, when it had arrived, he was to repent and recant his opposition on this occasion, and pay homage to Walpole. None, indeed, of the leaders in opposition to Walpole attempted afterwards to justify their conduct in this business. That Minister meanwhile moodily prepared to carry out the wishes of the country, and no doubt excused himself for his humiliating compliance by the thought that if he did not some one else would, with less economy and more danger to the State. He is said to have tendered his resignation, but even were this true it could only be, in view of the King's relations to himself and the Opposition, a matter of form. He uttered his own self-condemnation: 'I dare not do what is right.'