Pitt then pressed me to talk it over with Mr. Grenville, which I declined. I said, I would certainly never give Mr. Conway any dishonourable advice; would never try to persuade him to be bribed or terrified; nor would he forgive me if I should. Pitt persisted. I said, “Mr. Pitt, I am persuaded Mr. Grenville will never report my conversation differently from the truth: but though he may not intend it, he may mistake me; I may mistake him. I will wait on him, upon condition a third person is present. I do not desire it may be a friend of mine, and not his: you are a friend to both; and though justly much more attached to him than to me, I am persuaded, if any difference should arise between us in the relation of the interview, you have too much honour not to do strict justice to either. If you may be present, I will meet him,--but remember, I tell you it will be to no purpose.” In truth, after such a Star-Chamber sentence as _the King cannot trust his army in the hands of a man who votes in Parliament against him_, I was not disposed to labour in cementing an union between my friend and a man of such apostate degeneracy. From that hour all my prejudices in Grenville’s favour were dispelled. I saw how dangerous he was: it was Fox with a fairer character. Though I had given too little encouragement to expect any alteration either in Mr. Conway’s or my own sentiments, Grenville persisted in the interview. I went accordingly to Mr. Thomas Pitt’s. It happened to be the evening of the riot on burning the North Briton. Grenville arrived in the most ridiculous and extraordinary disorder I ever saw. He could scarce articulate for passion. One would have thought the City had been taken by storm and the guards cut to pieces. Yet this was not a panic. It was rage to see authority set at nought while _he_ was minister. His subsequent conduct gave evidence that this was his sensation: no man ever bore power with more pride. For some time I could scarce learn what had provoked him: the confusion of his ideas made him talk as if Mr. Conway had raised a rebellion. Commanding my laughter, and waiting with patience till the torrent should have spent itself, but to no purpose, I was forced at last to ask what the riot had to do with Mr. Conway’s case? This unfortunate question, like snatching a pebble from amidst a cascade, did but make it dash at random on all sides. From seven in the evening till ten at night, I sat to hear his inundation of words, scarce uttering ten myself; and we parted with as little fruit as might be expected from a conversation so intemperate and disjointed; the result of all I said being to repeat my request that he would have patience, and assuring him that he would not find Mr. Conway engaged in any regular opposition.