Although America was almost in a state of open rebellion, and England itself, with Ireland, were rent with faction, yet the parliament did not assemble till the 9th of January. This delay naturally excited surprise, and this was still further heightened by the tenor of the king’s speech. Taking no notice of the public discontents, though it feelingly lamented the general distress, it chiefly adverted to a general distemper which had broken out among the horned cattle, which the king gravely assured the lords and commons, he had, by the advice of his privy-council, endeavoured to check. And this was solemnly uttered when wits and scoffers abounded on every hand--when Junius had his pen in his hand full fraught with gall, and Wilkes was bandying about his bon-mots and sarcasms. “While the whole kingdom,” says Junius, in a letter to the Duke of Grafton, “was agitated with anxious expectation upon one great point, you meanly evaded the question, and instead of the explicit firmness of a king, gave us nothing but the misery of a ruined grazier.” Never was a speech from the throne more unfortunate, indeed, than this, for though it slightly adverted to the disturbances in America, yet the subject of the disease existing among horned cattle was its prominent feature. It was no wonder, therefore, that it became the jest of the whole nation. Newspapers, pamphlets, and periodicals teemed with biting sarcasm on this most extraordinary circumstance. The king’s love of farming was bitterly descanted upon, and he was represented as attending to cows, stalls, dairies, and farms, while his people were misgoverned and discontented, and his empire, like a ship in a furious storm, in danger every minute of being dashed to pieces. In fine, to show the most profound contempt of such a speech from the mouth of the monarch, at such a season, the session was nicknamed “the horned cattle session.”
Before the opening of parliament, one day the Earl of Chatham stalked into the drawing-room of St. James’s, and after the levee had some private conversation with the king. What passed between them is unknown, but Horace Walpole says, that his reception was most flattering, and the king all condescension and goodness. It does not appear, however, that the interview satisfied Chatham, for it by no means tended to soften his opposition. When parliament met, indeed, he took his place in the house of lords, vigorous and more eloquent than ever, and the administration was doomed to feel his power, like that of a giant refreshed with wine.