Nugent added in reply to Beckford (who had said that the Opposition were Whigs and the Ministry Tories,) that he hoped he had not taken his idea of Whigs from those who refused King William his Dutch troops: if he had, he did not wonder that he mistook the Ministers for Tories. He applied the old apologue of the hen and ducklings; and then flew out into this gross and barefaced strain, _that there did not exist an honester man than the Duke of Newcastle!_ professing that he should be the most crouching slave if he meant this for flattery. Pitt, only smiling at this Drawcansir in adulation, and bent to pursue the humiliation of Murray, said that the moderation of the Estimate was a proof of the Crown’s attention to economy; but he could by no means agree in our opulence, and would recommend it to gentlemen not to deceive themselves or others. We are in reality a distressed people: he hated declamation, and was as little given to anger, but nothing should hinder him from asserting what he felt, and from averring what he knew. Young members may allow too much to what is spoken in that place: when anybody says he don’t believe that Jacobitism exists, he would tell him to his face he did not believe what he said. Nugent called him to order. Pitt was a little disconcerted, but resuming himself said, “For the nursing mother, the hen, he had been bred under such an one,[250] and he would tell the House what she had been doing for these twenty years; she had been raising a succession of treason--there never was such a seminary! but he would throw himself into the gap, and would as cheerfully make his protest alone, as in the most applauding assembly. He knew what he was; he knew what he would be; and was too cool not to know what he said. That the body he meant (Oxford) was learned and respectable: so much the more dangerous! he would mention what had happened to himself the last summer on a party of pleasure thither. They were at the window of the Angel Inn; a lady was desired to sing _God save great George our King!_ The chorus was re-echoed by a set of young lads drinking at a college over the way, but with additions of rank treason. He hoped, as they were lads, he should be excused from not having taken more notice of it. After this, walking down the High Street, in a Bookseller’s shop he observed a print of a young Highlander with a blue ribbon: the Bookseller, thinking he wanted to buy it, held it out to him--but what was the motto!--_hunc saltem everso Juvenem!_--This was the prayer of that learned body--for it was in Latin!” Colours, much less words, could not paint the confusion and agitation that worked in Murray’s face during this almost apostrophe! his countenance spoke everything that Fawcett had been terrified to prevaricate away.