The English Parliament met October 13th. Beckford, by a high-flown encomium on Mr. Pitt, paved the way for that Minister to open on his own and our situation, which he did with great address, seeming to waive any merit, but stating our success in a manner that excluded all others from a share in it. He disclaimed particular praise, and professed his determination of keeping united with the rest of the Ministers. Fidelity and diligence were all he could boast, though his bad health perhaps had caused him to relax somewhat of his application. Not a week, he said, had passed in the summer but had been a crisis, in which he had not known whether he should be torn in pieces, or commended, as he was now by Mr. Beckford. That the more a man was versed in business, the more he found the hand of Providence everywhere. That success had given us unanimity, not unanimity success. That for himself, however, he could not have dared, as he had done, but in these times. Other Ministers had hoped as well, but had not been circumstanced (not so popular) to dare as much. (This was handsome to them, yet appropriated the whole merit to himself.) He thought the stone almost rolled to the top of the hill, but it might roll back with dreadful repercussion. A weak moment in the field, or in council, might overturn all; for there was no such thing as chance; _it was the unaccountable name of Nothing_. All was Providence, whose favour was to be merited by virtue. Our Allies must be supported: if one wheel stopped, all might. He had unlearned his juvenile errors, and thought no longer that England could do all by itself; (This was an indirect apology for having embraced the German system; and what followed on the invasion was perhaps an artful method of soliciting more troops, which once voted, might be sent abroad)--_who had never been subject to a panic, was not likely to be terrified now_. He stated Prince Ferdinand’s Army as containing but 60,000 effective men: France, the next year, would have an hundred thousand--was Prince Ferdinand, therefore, as strong as we wished him? He did wish 10,000 more could be found for him; believed France meaned to invade us, though he should not look on the attempt as dangerous if she did. He balanced his attention between the landed and the monied interest; said, he did not prefer the monied men and the eighty millions in the Funds to the landed interest, though he thought our complaisance for the former ought to increase as public credit became more delicate. He ended with a mention of peace. Anybody, he said, could advise him in war: who could draw such a peace as would please everybody? He would snatch at the first moment of peace; though he wished he could leave off at the war. This conclusion seemed to come from his heart, and perhaps escaped him without design. Though no man knew so well how to say what he pleased, no man ever knew so little what he was going to say.[73]