and their want of sense, the treachery of some, the piques of others, all had their operation, and not a single prejudice was removed to facilitate our attempts. I had surmounted my repugnance to Newcastle, and, though in truth to little purpose, had consented to advise with him. He was still the same; at once busy and inactive, fond of plotting, but impossible to be put in motion. Nor, indeed, propose what I would, could I obtain to have a single measure carried into execution. But what hampered us most was Mr. Pitt. He justly resented having been abandoned by Newcastle, Devonshire, and the Whigs. He despised both Charles Yorke and Charles Townshend; and though he expressed civil applause of Mr. Conway, would neither connect with him nor see him. He at once talked of an Administration to be composed of great Whig Lords, and of his own resolution not to force himself on the King; that is, he wished the great Lords should force him on the King without his concurrence, that he might have the merit of disavowing them, and of profiting of their weight. Conway was as difficult as Pitt, and too proud to make any advances to him. Thus, wherever I turned, there were no facilities. Even Lord Temple, accustomed to run and meet faction in the highways, seemed cold and indisposed to connection with us. At the same time I heard that a treaty was carrying on between him and his brother George; a report which, though true, greatly deceived me; for, concluding that Lord Temple was too firmly united with Mr. Pitt to negotiate without him, I imputed the coldness of both to an approaching league of the whole family; whereas the truth was, though then a secret to all the world, that Mr. Pitt and Lord Temple were on bad terms; the former disapproving the violence of Temple; and Temple being enraged that Mr. Pitt would not lend himself to all his passions. Perceiving so little hope of union amongst ourselves, I conceived a better prospect from the factions of the Court, which, by every art I could devise, I endeavoured to inflame. I soon learned how wide the breach was growing between Lord Bute and Grenville; and though I then looked on the former as the more dangerous of the two, and of all men was determined not to connect with him; yet to his friends I held a plausible language, insinuating that it was possible he might be forgiven by our great Lords, and left them to think that, if the Favourite withdrew his protection from Grenville and the Bedfords, his case would by no means be desperate with the Opposition. In the same kind of style I talked to the friends of Grenville; still imputing Mr. Conway’s disgrace alternately to the other faction, accordingly as I conversed with either. I saw that, hostile as they were, despair must cement their union. Both would be more prompt to quarrel if they thought themselves not proscribed by us.