In all his actions was discernible an imitation of his model, Ximenes; a model ill-suited to a free government, and worse to a man whose situation and necessities were totally different. Was the poor monk thwarted or disgraced, the asylum of his convent was open; and a cardinal, who was clothed in a hair-cloth at Court, missed no fine linen, no luxury, in his cloister. Lord Chatham was as abstemious in his diet; but mixed Persian grandeur with herbs and roots. His equipages and train were too expensive for his highest zenith of wealth, and he maintained them when out of place and overwhelmed with debts: a wife and children were strange impediments to a Ximenes. Grandeur, show, and a pension could not wrestle with an opulent and independent nobility, nor could he buy them, though he had sold himself. His services to his country were far above those of Ximenes, who trampled on Castilian pride but to sacrifice it to the monarch of Castile. Lord Chatham had recalled the spirit of a brave nation, had given it victory and glory, and victory secured its liberty. As Ximenes had no such objects, the inflexibility of Ximenes was below the imitation of Camillus. It was mean ambition to stoop from humbling the crowned heads of France and Spain, to contend with proud individuals and the arrogance of factions--at least, would a real great man have doated on a coronet, who prided himself in lowering the peerage? Lord Chatham had been the arbiter of Europe; he affected to be the master of the English nobility: he failed, and remained with a train of domestics whom he could not pay. More like Nicholas Rienzi than Ximenes, the lord of Rome became ridiculous by apeing the tawdry pageant of a triumph. Yet, as what is here said is the voice of truth, not the hiss of satire, British posterity will ever remember that, as Lord Chatham’s first Administration obtained and secured the most real and substantial benefits to his country, the puerilities of his second could not efface their lustre. The man was lessened, not his merits. Even the shameful peace of Paris, concluded in defiance of him, could not rob the nation of all he had acquired; nor could George the Third resign so much as Pitt had gained for George the Second. Half the empire of Indostan, conquered under his Administration by the spirit he had infused, still pours its treasures into the Thames. Canada was subdued by his councils, and Spain and France--that yet dread his name, attest the reality of his services. The memory of his eloquence, which effected all these wonders, will remain when the neglect of his cotemporaries, and my criticisms, will be forgotten. Yet it was the duty of an annalist, and of a painter of nature, to exhibit the varying features of his portrait. The lights and shades of a great character are a moral lesson. Philosophy loves to study the man more than the hero or the statesman; and whether his qualities were real