pace in a manner somewhat similar (though better executed) to what I
have imagined. But too often different is rational conjecture from
melancholy fact. This exordium, as contrary to all the rules of rhetoric
as to those more essential rules of policy which our situation would
dictate, is intended as a prelude to a deadening and disheartening
proposition; as if all that a minister had to fear in a war of his own
conducting was, that the people should pursue it with too ardent a zeal.
Such a tone as I guessed the minister would have taken, I am very sure,
is the true, unsuborned, unsophisticated language of genuine, natural
feeling, under the smart of patience exhausted and abused. Such a
conduct as the facts stated in the Declaration gave room to expect is
that which true wisdom would have dictated under the impression of those
genuine feelings. Never was there a jar or discord between genuine
sentiment and sound policy. Never, no, never, did Nature say one thing
and Wisdom say another. Nor are sentiments of elevation in themselves
turgid and unnatural. Nature is never more truly herself than in her
grandest forms. The Apollo of Belvedere (if the universal robber has yet
left him at Belvedere) is as much in Nature as any figure from the
pencil of Rembrandt or any clown in the rustic revels of Teniers.
Indeed, it is when a great nation is in great difficulties that minds
must exalt themselves to the occasion, or all is lost. Strong passion
under the direction of a feeble reason feeds a low fever, which serves
only to destroy the body that entertains it. But vehement passion does
not always indicate an infirm judgment. It often accompanies, and
actuates, and is even auxiliary to a powerful understanding; and when
they both conspire and act harmoniously, their force is great to destroy
disorder within and to repel injury from abroad. If ever there was a
time that calls on us for no vulgar conception of things, and for
exertions in no vulgar strain, it is the awful hour that Providence has
now appointed to this nation. Every little measure is a great error, and
every great error will bring on no small ruin. Nothing can be directed
above the mark that we must aim at: everything below it is absolutely
thrown away.

Except with the addition of the unheard-of insult offered to our
ambassador by his rude expulsion, we are never to forget that the point
on which the negotiation with De la Croix broke off was exactly that
which ha