The days of Chatham were far nearer their close than was suspected. One more sudden blaze of his high intellect, and he was gone. Whilst the subject of America continued to be discussed in both Houses with much acrimony and little result, the Duke of Richmond, seeing that Chatham did not come forward, took a decided step. He gave notice, on the 7th of April, of an address to the king, entreating him to withdraw both his fleets and armies from the United States, and make peace with them on such terms as should secure their goodwill. Chatham was roused effectually by this notice. Wrapped in flannel, pale and emaciated, he was supported into the House by his son William, and his son-in-law, Lord Mahon. His large wig seemed to bury his worn, shrunken face, except the still piercing eye and the aquiline nose. When the Duke of Richmond had made his motion, and Lord Weymouth, one of the Secretaries of State, had replied to it, Chatham arose. Lord Camden says that in speaking "he was not like himself: his speech faltered, his sentences were broken, and his mind not master of itself. His words were shreds of unconnected eloquence; and flashes of the same fire, which he, Prometheus-like, had stolen from heaven, were then returning to the place whence they were taken." All was deep attention, and even in bosoms antagonistic in principle were profound interest and respect. His words, weak and halting at first, grew, as he warmed with his subject, into much of the power and harmony of former days, and battling with his feebleness of frame he put forth, in one last great effort, the power of his spirit.

"My lords," he said, "I rejoice that the grave has not closed upon me; that I am still alive to lift up my voice against the dismemberment of this ancient and most noble monarchy. Pressed down as I am by the hand of infirmity, I am little able to assist my country in this most perilous conjuncture; but, my lords, whilst I have sense and memory, I will never consent to deprive the royal offspring of the House of Brunswick, the heirs of——" here he faltered for some moments, whilst striving to recall the name—"of the Princess Sophia, of their fairest inheritance. My lords, his Majesty succeeded to an empire as great in extent as its reputation was unsullied. Shall we tarnish the lustre of that empire by an ignominious surrender of its rights and fairest possessions? Shall this great kingdom, which has survived whole and entire the Danish depredations the Scotch inroads, and the Norman conquest—that has stood the threatened invasion of the Spanish Armada, now fall prostrate before the House of Bourbon? Surely, my lords, this nation is no longer what it was! Shall a people that fifteen years ago were the terror of the world now stoop so low as to tell this ancient, inveterate enemy—'Take all we have, only give us peace'? It is impossible! I wage war with no man or set of men; I wish for none of their employments; nor would I co-operate with men who persist in unretracted error—who, instead of acting on a firm, decisive line of conduct, halt between two opinions where there is no middle path. In God's name, if it is absolutely necessary to declare either for peace or war, and the former cannot be preserved with honour, why is not the latter commenced without hesitation? I am not, I confess, well informed of the resources of this kingdom; but I trust it has still sufficient to maintain its just rights, though I know them not. But, my lords, any state is better than despair. Let us, at least, make one effort, and if we must fall, let us fall like men!"

The Duke of Richmond made a feeble reply, and then Chatham rose, in the deepest indignation, to answer the Duke, but the violence of his feelings overcame him; he staggered and fell in a swoon, and would have been prostrated on the floor but for the assistance of some friendly hands. He lay apparently in the agonies of death. The whole House was agitated; the Peers crowded round him in the greatest commotion; all except the Earl of Mansfield, who beheld the fall of his ancient rival almost as unmoved, says Lord Camden, "as the senseless body itself." His youngest son, John Charles Pitt, was there, and exerted himself to render all possible assistance. The insensible orator was carried in the arms of his friends to the house of Mr. Sargent, in Downing Street. By the prompt aid of a physician, he was in some degree recalled to consciousness, and within a few days was conveyed to his own dwelling at Hayes. There he lingered till the morning of May 11th, when he died in the seventieth year of his age.

On the day of Chatham's death, his friend and disciple, Colonel Barré, announced the melancholy event in the House of Commons, and moved that his funeral should be conducted at the public charge, and his remains be deposited in Westminster Abbey. This was seconded by Thomas Townshend, afterwards Secretary of State, and Lord Sydney. All parties consented, with many praises, to this suggestion; and two days afterwards, Lord John Cavendish introduced the subject of a further testimony of public regard for the departed. It was well known that Chatham, notwithstanding the ten thousand pounds left him by the Duchess of Marlborough, notwithstanding the emoluments of his places and pensions, and the noble estate bequeathed to him by Sir William Pynsent, was still in debt. Lord John Cavendish put to the score of disinterestedness what ought probably to have been placed to the account of free living and little care of money, and called on Parliament to reward the descendants of the Earl for the great addition which he had made to the empire as well as to its glory. Lord North cordially assented.

An address, founded on this resolution, was carried to the king, who faithfully kept the word he had given nearly three years before. Chatham had then, through Lord North, sought to get his own pension continued to his second son, William Pitt, afterwards the celebrated Minister. On that occasion, George III. had declared that the conduct of Chatham of late had totally obliterated any sense of gratitude for his former merits; but that, when decrepitude or death should put an end to him as a trumpet of sedition, he would not punish the children for the father's sins, but would place the second son's name where Chatham's had been. He now consented to that; an annuity bill settled four thousand pounds a-year on the heirs of Chatham to whom the title should descend, which received the sanction of Parliament; and the Commons, moreover, voted twenty thousand pounds to pay the deceased Earl's debts. Both these motions passed the House of Commons unanimously; but, in the Upper House, the Duke of Chandos attacked the grants, and condemned severely the custom of loading the country with annuities in perpetuity. The bill was, however, carried by forty-two votes to eleven, though four noble Lords entered a protest against it, namely, Lord Chancellor Bathurst, the Duke of Chandos, Lord Paget, and Markham, Archbishop of York.

The funeral was but poorly attended. Few members of either House were there, except those of the Opposition. Gibbon says that "the Government ingeniously contrived to secure the double odium of suffering the thing to be done, and of doing it with an ill grace." Burke and Savile, Thomas Townshend, and Dunning, were pall-bearers; Colonel Barré carried the banner of the barony of Chatham, supported by the Marquis of Rockingham and the Dukes of Richmond, Northumberland, and Manchester; William Pitt, in the place of his elder brother, who was gone to Gibraltar, was the chief mourner, followed by eight Peers, as assistant mourners, amongst whom were Lord Shelburne and Lord Camden. The tomb of Chatham is in the north transept of the Abbey, distinguished by the monument soon afterwards erected to his honour.

DEATH OF THE EARL OF CHATHAM. (From the Painting by J. S. Copley, R.A., in the National Gallery, London.)

[[See larger version]]