The name and memory of a great statesman, who has led and ruled senates by the might of eloquence, carried measures beneficial to millions, or impressed immortal principles on public conviction, are generally, in spite of political disputes and disagreements, regarded by a free and favored people with feelings of respect, admiration, and gratitude. They are associated in the mind of a community with periods of peril or prosperity, and recalled by each succeeding generation with national pride. “Great men,” said Burke, “are the guide-posts and land-marks of the state;” and, assuredly, history presents few more spotless or splendid reputations than that of the son of Chatham, who came forth and signalized his prowess as a ripe politician, accomplished debater, and skillful tactician, prepared for the work and warfare of the senate by his comprehensive views in what have been termed the proper sciences of a statesman—those of government, politics, commerce, economics, history, and human nature—at an age when many are making their first and last crude efforts at public speaking, or expending their faculties in frivolous dissipation and enervating luxury.

Doubtless the name which Chatham had made immortal was a tower of strength; and his brilliant example could hardly fail to inspire with a love of kindred fame the son on whom his fondest hopes rested. Indeed, there were both interest and curiosity experienced as to whether the power of the Pitt family would be increased or diminished. And, moreover, there was not wanting that encouragement to noble and patriotic exertion which is usually given by a generous public to the sons of great and popular ministers of state. It may, therefore, be truly said, that

The family to which this illustrious man belonged was rich and respectable, though not patrician in origin or descent. The Pitts were for ages settled in Dorsetshire, but at length one of them became Governor of Madras, and brought home from the East that celebrated diamond, the largest then known to be in existence, which was sold to the Regent Orleans for more than three millions of livres, and took its place as the most precious of the crown jewels of France. The son of this fortunate functionary was a gentleman of Cornwall, and hereditary patron of some boroughs; for one of which, Old Sarum, his second son, a cornet in the Blues, was returned to Parliament. The talents of the latter were speedily exerted in such a way as to give offense to Sir Robert Walpole, who manifested the annoyance he felt by dismissing him from the army: but nothing could restrain the course of that terrible eloquence, which, in reality, was hardly under its possessor’s control. Instead of depending, as others had done, on oligarchies and “pocket-lists,” he relied for support on the middle classes, then struggling into importance, and, with their aid, ere long became the greatest war-minister who ever presided over the destinies of England. He married a daughter of the political house of Grenville, whose members played so conspicuous a part in the affairs of the eighteenth century, and had several children, of whom William Pitt, the second son, was born at Hayes, in the county of Kent, on the 28th of May, 1759.

The boy destined to exhibit so wonderful an instance of precocious statesmanship received the rudiments of his education under the paternal roof; and, although so delicate in health that he could only devote half the wonted time to study, his progress was remarkably rapid, and his talents evident to all who knew him. When eight years old, he was seen by the mother of Fox, who instinctively prognosticated the rivalry between her distinguished son and the young prodigy. The contention which had long existed between their sires no doubt suggested this idea to the anxious parent; and when she marked the singular cleverness of the little boy, and observed the wonderful propriety of his behavior, the maternal solicitude sharpening her penetration, enabled her to augur the fierce and bitter strife which was to shake senates and shatter parties. Lord Chatham was justly proud of his son, and predicted that he would add honor to the name; nay, more, he expressed a belief that he would some day be one of the first men in Parliament; and, if a minister of state, that he would arrive at the highest dignity. He therefore gave his utmost assistance in forming the future premier’s mind, and incited him to lofty and laudable aspirations. These labors were not in vain; and the Great Earl lived long enough to feel assured that a useful and brilliant career lay before the object of his tender care.

One evening a member of Parliament proposed to take the veteran statesman’s two boys to hear a debate in the House of Commons; but he refused to allow the younger to go. “If William,” he is reported to have said, “heard any arguments of which he did not approve he would rise to controvert them; and, young as he is, he has not even in that assembly many equals in knowledge, reasoning, and eloquence.” He must indeed have been a “marvelous boy,” to be spoken of even by a fond father, at such an age and in such circumstances. At this date he is stated to have had a turn for poetry, and to have composed, along with his brothers and sisters, a play in rhyme, which was acted by them before some friends of the family. He subsequently, while at college, produced a tragedy, which, when at the head of public affairs he calmly committed to the flames in presence of a friend, by whom this emanation of his poetic faculty had just been eagerly perused and spoken of in terms of high admiration; though perhaps the merits of the piece might not altogether have justified the praise.

Pitt’s earlier education was conducted by a tutor, but, as has been stated, under the vigilant superintendence of his father, who noted his progress, and rejoiced at the constant indications he gave of superior endowments. Haughty, vehement, and despotic in his nature as that extraordinary minister—the pride of England and the terror of her enemies—was to foes and friends in public life, no such characteristics were allowed to interfere with the quiet and happiness of his domestic circle.

In his fourteenth year, young Pitt was sent to the University of Cambridge, and entered at Pembroke Hall, where Dr. Prettyman, afterward Bishop of Lincoln, was his tutor. In age and appearance, indeed, he was a mere boy; but he was by no means boyish in mind or intellect. His acquirements were wonderful, and he could converse on various subjects with all the seriousness of manhood. He was much liked by his youthful compeers for his lively and amiable disposition; and at the same time esteemed by the tutors on account of his decorum in conduct and diligence in study. His manners in private life were then, as ever, frank, easy, agreeable, and utterly devoid of the cold arrogance and unbending demeanor he exhibited in his senatorial capacity.

Lord Chatham had desired and intended that Pitt should become a candidate for academical honors, but the gifted youth was prevented by weak health from keeping the requisite terms. Nevertheless, he obtained the degree of A.M. in compliment to his illustrious parentage, without any public examination. His juvenile contemporaries on the occasion testified their approval of his being thus distinguished by interrupting the public orator with loud and vehement acclamations. One of his warmly-attached college friends was Wilberforce, who entered upon public life about the same date as himself.

When Pitt left Cambridge, he was accomplished in no ordinary degree. In Latin authors he rarely encountered a difficulty; and he had, even at his entrance, been capable of translating pages of Thucydides with scarcely an error. He was intimately acquainted with the beauties and defects of the works he had perused. Indeed those who observed the ease with which at first sight he read obscure books, state, that his facility would have appeared beyond the compass of human intellect, if they had not actually witnessed it. During his residence at college his diligence in learning was exemplary, and his success remarkable. His education was conducted with a view to the struggles of the bar as well as the conflicts of the senate; his attention to study was of the strictest kind; and he displayed eminent qualifications for entering on either path of life. He made himself intimately acquainted with the legal history of the country, studied the policy of modern nations as well as their constitutions and forms of government, and acquired much knowledge of the origin, prosperity, and decline of states that had existed and been influential in remote times. His peculiar quickness of conception rendered his progress in these branches of information comparatively easy; and when he left college, after an unusually long residence, his mind was as perfectly formed as mere theory could make it. He long retained his love for ancient learning; and even amid the bustle of politics and the devising of budgets and subsidies, was seldom without some work from which to refresh his mind with classical lore.

Lord Chatham’s letters written to his son about this period overflow with parental affection and judicious advice. After the too eager and ambitious youth had recovered from a severe illness, he was thus touchingly addressed by his justly gratified father:

“How happy the task, my noble, amiable boy, to caution you only against pursuing too much all those liberal and praiseworthy things to which less happy natures have perpetually to be spurred and driven. I will not tease you with too long a lecture in favor of inaction and a competent stupidity—your two best tutors and companions at present. You have time to spare; consider, there is but the Encyclopedia. And when you have mastered all that, what will remain? You will want, like Alexander, another world to conquer.”

After removing from the University the younger Pitt repaired to the Continent, and spent some time at Rheims, still resolutely pursuing his studies and adding to his stores of knowledge.

In 1778 his famous father died, under circumstances which rendered him dearer than ever to the country, of whose honor and interest he was ever so vigilant a guardian, and whose name he made so great, and dreaded among the nations of the earth. Pitt, who had been present when Lord Chatham fell down in the House of Lords while raising his enfeebled voice to cheer the drooping spirits of Englishmen, appeared at the public funeral as chief mourner, and ere long proved the inheritor of his father’s popularity. Between them had existed the strongest affection and the most complete confidence.

Having duly kept his terms at Lincoln’s Inn, Pitt was called to the bar in 1780, and went the western circuit with sufficient encouragement to justify expectations of success in his legal pursuits. Lord Mansfield, indeed, declared, that if he persevered in the profession he would be regarded as one of its chief ornaments. But it was perfectly natural that he should rather aspire to parliamentary distinction; and accordingly he engaged in an unsuccessful contest for the representation of Cambridge University. It was, however, for Appleby, a borough under the influence of the Lowthers, that he was first, through the friendship of the Duke of Rutland, returned to that house, which was so often stilled into silence as he rose to speak, delighted as his grand voice swelled in every ear, and filled with thunders of applause as he, with a coolness and self-possession unfelt by all listeners, resumed his place with a look of lofty contempt for his foes.

Pitt was not in any way bound by the political tenets of the patron of the constituency which he represented. He was free to act on his own convictions. He took his seat in January 1781, and next month made his first speech to the House, in support of Burke’s motion for an economical reform in the Civil List. He was eminently successful, and displayed an ease, fluency, and accuracy of language which riveted attention and sustained public hope. It is related, that when he had accomplished this his first parliamentary success, Fox hurried up to express his warm congratulations. As they were conversing, an honorable, gallant, and experienced member passed them, and remarked, “You may well praise his speech, for, excepting yourself, no man in the House could have made such another; and, old as I am, I expect to see you both battling it within these walls, as I’ve seen your fathers before you.” Fox looked rather sheepish and disconcerted at this somewhat blunt and embarrassing compliment; but Pitt answered with happy promptitude, “I’ve no doubt, General, you would like to live to the age of Methuselah.”

At the close of the session some one having remarked to Fox that Pitt promised to be one of the first orators ever heard in the House, that great man unhesitatingly answered, “He is so already.”

Pitt still continued to practice his industry and exercise his intellect at the bar, and was highly complimented for his ability by more than one legal sage; while in Parliament he was receiving the highest marks of admiration for his speeches against the ministers of the day, and their conduct in regard to the American War. At length Lord North was compelled to retreat from power, and Lord Rockingham empowered to form an administration. Pitt would have been a valuable auxiliary; but, from not belonging to what Lord Chatham had called “the Great Revolution families,” he was disqualified, like Burke, from sitting in the cabinet, and prudently declined taking office. He soon after submitted his motion for an inquiry into the representative system, with the view of lessening the influence of the dominant aristocracy. His efforts in this respect were unsuccessful, and he afterward endeavored circuitously to accomplish his object by creating a host of plebeian peers. Whatever opinions he may have subsequently entertained in regard to the necessity of Parliamentary Reform, were rendered vain and impracticable by the startling events which speedily changed the face of Europe. Meantime his family rapidly increased; he was described as a greater orator even than his father, and as possessing the full vigor of youth, with the wisdom and experience of the maturest age. Gaming—the vice of the period—he resolutely refrained from.

On the death of Lord Rockingham his administration fell to pieces; and Lord Shelburne became First Minister of the Crown. The latter nobleman was eminent for his intelligence, knowledge, and variety of information; a great linguist, fond of science and letters, and actuated by popular principles. He appointed Pitt Chancellor of the Exchequer, and intrusted him with the management of the House of Commons, within eighteen months of the young statesman’s having obtained a seat in Parliament. In this most responsible position he displayed consummate powers in debate, and proved himself entirely worthy of the confidence reposed in his ability and discretion. The opposition leaders conceived that they had been injured by Lord Shelburne, and showed no mercy to his chief colleague, either on account of his youth or hereditary claims to public respect; but Pitt faced their embattled host with haughty defiance. It certainly required no ordinary courage to do so.

Burke’s great soul was at that time heavy; he was not insensible of the humiliation he had recently experienced; and, like the Northumbrian Hotspur before breakfast, he was ready to vent his hoarded wrath on any one who appeared as an antagonist. Besides, he little relished the spectacle of the assembly, whose brightest ornament he was, being ruled by a lad who had not donned manly garments, when he was achieving conversational triumphs over Dr. Johnson, and contesting the palm of eloquence with “the great Commoner.” Sheridan even went the length of comparing the ministerial leader to one of Ben Jonson’s characters, “the angry boy in the ‘Alchymist;’” and Fox relentlessly poured forth against him the terrible torrent of his stirring and impetuous eloquence.

There is something touching in the idea of a struggle against such men having been maintained by a youth of twenty-three. It must, indeed, have been a marvelous sight to mark that young minister, with his plumes thus scattering on the Parliamentary gale, rise from the Treasury bench to do battle against his puissant foes. His form was tall, thin, and stately; his eyes blue, but bright with pride and intelligence; and on his wide brow, and in his disdainful air, were legibly written that proud and lofty scorn which had deeply struck its root in his imperial mind. Facing the Opposition with a glance of stern indignation, he gravely rebuked the untimely levity of the sage champion of oppressed India, and declared that he could not approve of the indiscretion which so unseasonably ran away with good sense and sober judgment. Then he chilled the spirit of the defiant author of the “School for Scandal,” by a contemptuous allusion to his theatrical pursuits, than which, perhaps, no thrust would have been more likely to tell with the gifted, but graceless and eccentric, senator’s patrician coadjutors. And ere his enemies had recovered from their surprise at a stroke, which the extreme and peculiar difficulty of his situation alone could justify, he turned indignantly upon the eminent rival of his life, branded him with sarcastic reprobation, and defended his noble colleague in another place from the strictures passed upon him. Then rising, for a time, above party strife and personal considerations, he denounced the coalition which was being formed as an event stretching to a point of political apostasy, that not only astonished so young a man as he was, but amazed and confounded the most veteran observers of the human heart; and he exclaimed with glowing eloquence and fervent patriotism, “If this baneful alliance is not already formed, if this ill-omened marriage is not already solemnized, I know a just and lawful impediment; and, in the name of the public safety, I here forbid the bans.” His high spirit sustained him in all attacks; and he delivered one of his most splendid orations at this period. But all his efforts were in vain; the Shelburne ministry had been weak from its formation; and it fell, after a brief but not inglorious tenure of power, during which Pitt had been gratified with the opportunity of proving his capacity for administration, and the power to defend what he did. Indeed, so clearly had his talent for government been shown, that the king was desirous that he should himself undertake the duties of prime-minister; but feeling that the strength of the party to which he belonged was as yet unequal to sustain him in the fierce struggle which, in such a case, would inevitably have ensued, he wisely refrained from grasping prematurely at a prize so flattering and fascinating to young ambition. However, it came into his hands much sooner than he could have contemplated. Having declined to lend his support to the administration of Lord North and Mr. Fox, and suffered a second defeat at Cambridge, he spent several months in France, and returned with the intention of resuming his legal pursuits. But events soon occurred which led him to abandon this resolution. His rivals had incurred much unpopularity; and their India bill was regarded with such dislike and apprehension, that the Peers thought fit to reject it, and by their vote terminate the official existence of its authors. On this taking place, Pitt was again requested to assume the reins of power; and he bravely consented. The position was arduous and difficult in the extreme; and he had scarcely completed his twenty-fifth year. He had to encounter, almost single-handed, an opposition conducted by men whose powers, genius, and eloquence might well have daunted the heart of the boldest, and appalled the imagination of the most experienced ministers; and they were supported by a party infinitely superior in numbers to that which followed him. Though they had formerly sought his services with eagerness, yet when a motion was made for the issue of a writ on his acceptance of the premiership, they met it with a loud and general shout of derisive laughter and provoking ridicule; many, who might otherwise have hastened to proffer their support, hesitated to enlist under a leader so young and inexperienced in affairs of state; and they confidently predicted his immediate fall from the dangerous eminence to which he had ascended at so early an age. Under such circumstances, Pitt was not upheld by the family or political connection which other ministers had used; but he had much confidence in his own resources, and in the support of the crown and people, who, whenever an opportunity was presented, proved that he had not erred in his calculations. His opponents it must be admitted, had no slight reason to predict his speedy retirement and his inability to conduct the public business; for in a House of Commons decidedly hostile to his pretensions, he had not a single ally capable of making himself formidable, with the exception of his chosen friend Dundas, better known as Lord Melville. With such aid as that skillful and sagacious debater could render, the tall, slender, stern, and dauntless minister, struggled with credit through a session against an enraged majority and a host of terrible foes, panting for a swift revenge. Their desire, however, was not destined to be gratified. Several resolutions, declaratory of the incompetence of ministers to conduct the business of the realm, were, indeed, carried; their speedy resignation frequently seemed inevitable; but the king encouraged them to persevere against the difficulties with which they were encompassed; the country, on being appealed to, ejected a hundred and sixty of Pitt’s opponents from their seats; and he received the thanks and the freedom of the city of London for the uprightness and disinterestedness he had exhibited. Pitt was, as he might well be, proud of, and emboldened by, his immense popularity; and when the new Parliament assembled in the month of May, 1784, he had to encounter an opposition so numerically feeble, that his arduous duties were entered upon with some degree of satisfaction. He was now in a position to maintain his ground; and that he could do so against the fierce and unsparing attacks of such potent adversaries as Burke, Fox, and Sheridan, amply proves the care, attention, and industry with which, by hard and continuous study, he had fitted and prepared himself to enact so great and heroic a part.

Pitt, as has been stated, was the pupil of Lord Shelburne, first Marquis of Lansdowne; and at that distinguished nobleman’s house he became acquainted with Dr. Price, a clever Dissenting Minister, who furnished him, among other suggestions, with his original scheme of redeeming the National Debt by means of a Sinking Fund, which, in 1786, he developed and submitted to the House, in a speech of six hours’ duration; and it was accepted without a division.

But the aspiring and ambitious statesman, however austere and absorbed he might be, had other arrangements to make, besides re-organizing a party, and, as the head of it, devising vast financial operations. It was necessary to find fair and bewitching ladies of rank to smile upon his efforts, and render his side attractive; and there can be no doubt that in this important respect Fox was much more propitiously situated. He had also to countervail the advantage which his great antagonist derived from troops of aristocratic friends, by arraying under his banner the adventurous genius and rising intellect of the country. His bearing in public was peculiar, and certainly not such as to attract the affectionate sympathies of his contemporaries; he displayed little of “the soft green of the soul,” and his manner was utterly unbending. Yet so enormous was his influence out of doors at this early period that he was solicited to represent numerous constituencies; but he preferred being returned, by a large majority, for the University of Cambridge, which had twice previously shut the door in his face, and of which he was afterward chosen High Steward.

On entering the House, he was in the habit of stalking along to the Treasury bench with a severe aspect and a scornful air, scarcely acknowledging the presence of even his most intimate friends and devoted adherents. When he rose to speak every tongue was hushed; his tones were lofty and arrogant; his sentences rolled forth fluently, and swelled with delightful harmony; and every word was heard with amazing distinctness. His speech delivered in 1791, on the slave-trade, is stated to have been the finest effort of his oratorical faculties; and his unreported war-speech, in 1803, was so surprisingly excellent that Fox, in replying, said that the orators of antiquity would have heard it with admiration, probably with envy. He had the power of speaking with the utmost clearness, though when the process of mystification was necessary no one could perform it with more skill or effect. That eloquence of which Lord Chatham had been too often the slave seems to have been completely under the control of his favorite son.

In private life Pitt was, as has been already stated, amiable in disposition, buoyant in spirits, and warm in friendship. He was not insensible to the charms of female grace, but office was “the pride of his heart and the pleasure of his life.” When a match between him and Mademoiselle Necker was proposed by her father, he is said to have answered, half jestingly, that he was already wedded to his country.

The schemes of Pitt for raising Great Britain to a state of high material prosperity were frustrated by the outbreak of the French Revolution, whose causes appear to have baffled the comprehension of the most sagacious, and whose consequences defied the foresight of the most prophetic. His entrance upon official life had been signalized by a treaty of peace, and his policy was founded on its maintenance; but he was urged by his new allies, who followed Burke and Windham, to support the war against France, and thus gratify the propensity of “an old and haughty nation, proud in arms.” The philosophy of Burke threw a halo around ancient institutions, and Pitt formed the great league for their defense. The spirit of Englishmen was roused; they clamored for war; and forthwith that long, terrible, and momentous contest, which was brought to a glorious close on the field of Waterloo, was entered upon.

Pitt continued to administer the affairs of the empire till 1801. He had been successful in accomplishing the Union with Ireland, and was anxious to carry a measure for the relief of the Roman Catholics of that country. However, he was foiled in this intention by the determination of the king and the feelings of the public. He then, suddenly and unexpectedly, retired from the helm of the state, and gave a guarded support to the ministry of his successor, who had formerly filled the Speaker’s chair, and who was subsequently raised to the peerage as Lord Sidmouth. That personage and his colleagues concluded, in 1802, the Peace of Amiens, which was of short duration; and they, being found inadequate to the functions they had, at a dark, awful, and perilous period, undertaken, were forced to retire in 1804. Then Pitt returned to power, and “bade the conqueror go forth,” nor in vain; but his situation was perplexing in the extreme. With shattered health and depressed spirits he was exposed to attack from every species of assailant, though unaided, except by the ardent genius of Canning—his most gifted, eloquent, and distinguished disciple. He was not destined much longer to endure the struggle. The news of the defeat of the allied armies at Austerlitz came with a most crushing effect upon his great and proud soul, and he sunk with rapidity. He was cheered in his last hours by the intelligence of the glorious victory at Trafalgar, but all hopes of recovery had passed away. His old tutor, who had now been promoted to the bishopric of Lincoln, attended his dying couch, and solicited him to join in devotional prayer. Then answered the expiring statesman, with that voice that had often thrilled listening audiences, and taught them that they were in presence of a ruler of mankind—“I fear that I have, like many others, neglected my religious duties too much to have any ground to hope that they can be efficacious on my death-bed. But,” he added, with fervor, “I throw myself entirely on the mercy of God.” He then joined in religious exercises with piety, calmness, and humility. On the morning of the 23d of January, 1806, he breathed his last, at his residence on Putney Heath.

A public funeral to his mortal remains, a national monument to his memory, and a sum of money to discharge the debts contracted by him while toiling in the service of the state, were voted; and he was interred in that corner of Westminster Abbey where the ashes of so many famous statesmen, who have shaken senates with the fierce conflict of oratory, repose in peace together. He was, indeed, well worthy of every token of respect which a great and enlightened nation could thus bestow; for though men may and do differ as to his genius for legislation, his success in administration, and the propriety and effects of his achievements, there are few who can contemplate without admiration his high talents, his majestic eloquence, and the zeal he ever manifested to serve the country which he loved so well, without reference to pecuniary gain or the gratification of mere vulgar ambition.

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