Commons Sitting of 4 February 1823

ADDRESS ON THE KING'S SPEECH AT THE OPENING OF THE SESSION.
The Speaker having reported the Speech of the Lords Commissioners, and read it to the House,
Mr. Childerose to move an Address to his majesty. He said, he could safely declare, that it seldom fell to the lot of an individual to stand in a situation of greater embarrassment than he did at that moment—a situation which strongly called for that patience and favour, which he was taught to believe the House never denied to an individual addressing them for the first time. He rejoiced that the Speech of his majesty contained so frank and so satisfactory a declaration of those principles which admitted the right of self government on the part of other nations. He was sure that that admission would give satisfaction to all descriptions of his majesty's subjects. He was sure that it was, that it had been, and that it ever would be, the wish of this country to maintain the dignity and the honour of the crown; but, after the long hostilities in which it had been engaged, the House, he was persuaded, would feel with him, that it would be the height of impolicy to rush into a war, unless on a question mainly and deeply affecting the interests of the country. A war was to be avoided, on account of the fresh burthens it would necessarily impose, and on account of the injurious
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effect it would have on our improving commerce. All interference against Spain was to be avoided, on account of those principles of equity and of justice which should actuate one free nation in its conduct towards another: and here he could not forbear expressing his opinion, that the interference against Spain would be most disgraceful to this country, were she to become, in any degree, a party to it. It was not for him to enter into a discussion of the merits or demerits of the Spanish constitution. The Spaniards alone ought to determine that question; but he believed that there existed on the part of Spain a power to preserve that liberty and that honour, so necessary to its support. This spirit was, he hoped, sufficient, unless the pressure of external affairs should unfortunately lead to a military government. He wished not to be misunderstood upon this important point; for he did not mean to assert, that there might not exist a case in which one government might interfere with another: but that particular case ought to be founded on principles to which all would give their support, and when the very existence of the country was at stake. He confessed he saw nothing in the case of Spain, which would justify any such interference—nothing that would justify either France, Austria, or Russia, in interfering. Deeply impressed with these feelings, he could not but sincerely rejoice at the course which his majesty's government had adopted; and he hoped the efforts of his majesty would be effectual to prevent a war, which would have the effect of disturbing the peace of Europe.—He could not but sincerely congratulate the House upon that portion of his majesty's Speech which expressed his majesty's hopes, that peace would be preserved in the east of Europe; and he hoped that it might be restored by granting rational liberty to Greece. He was convinced the House would derive satisfaction from the prospect held out by his majesty, of preventing further depredations in the West Indian seas, and obtaining indemnity to British subjects. But it was still more satisfactory, that these just demands had been pressed upon the Spanish government in such a conciliatory tone and spirit, as to convince that government itself, that they had not been brought forward with any desire to add to its embarrassments. It was not less pleasing to hear, that further measures

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had been taken by our government, for the suppression of that nefarious traffic, the slave-trade. He regretted that doubts had been entertained by foreign governments of the sincerity of this country; but he hoped that the steps which had now been taken, for the more effectual suppression of that trade, would tend to the attainment of that object which this country had so much at heart.—He might also be permitted to congratulate the House upon the reduction in the estimates, and the satisfactory state of the revenue. The former circumstance was an evidence of the laudable attention of government to the wishes of the people; and the latter was a satisfactory proof of the prosperity of the country in the aggregate, and held out a strong hope of the continuance of this state of gradual amelioration, and of the further assistance to be afforded. Whether this assistance could be best obtained by one application of the surplus of the revenue, or by another, was a point which it would be premature in him to discuss; but it was most satisfactory to know, that a surplus to a considerable amount did actually exist; and the great question hereafter would be, in what manner that surplus could be best applied.—He next alluded to the distress under which the agriculturists had laboured, and still continued to labour. They had submitted with such patience and fortitude to these sufferings, that they were entitled to every degree of indulgence which could possibly be extended to them. When he called to mind the gloomy forebodings of many intelligent individuals, with regard to our commercial and agricultural interests, and contrasted them with the present admitted prosperity, he could not help doubting the propriety of the gloomy ideas so entertained, and was induced to believe that great hopes of amelioration might be entertained by every owner and occupier of land.—When he called to mind the reductions that were made in the last session, as well as those intended reductions of which they received an intimation that day, he saw reason to believe, that government were inclined, as far as it was in their power, to lighten the burthens of the people. The reduction of rents that had been so generally made, would of itself have given relief to the occupier, were it not for that great load of debt, which had been contracted in another currency. Notwithstanding the
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difficulties of their situation, he yet hoped for better times for the agriculturists. He looked forward to an equalization of the growth of produce, and of the consumption of the country, by which means the agriculturists would derive that fair profit, which every member, as well on private as on public grounds, would wish to see them receive.—The state of Ireland, to which the Speech of his majesty adverted, required the utmost attention from the government and parliament. No one who looked at the newspapers of the day, could fail to see the state of disorganization which existed in that country, or could help feeling for its sufferings. He had the utmost respect for the distinguished nobleman at the head of the government of that country, but he, unassisted by parliament, could do but little. He believed that it was the anxious wish of the ministers and of parliament, to ameliorate the condition of Ireland: he believed both were anxious to afford her every practical relief; and he had reason to think, that the present session would not be suffered to pass by without extending a gradual amelioration of her state to that interesting part of the empire, so that she might be truly incorporated with this country, and that an end might be put to those civil and religious feuds, which had been the great source of her misfortunes. He now hoped that he had fulfilled the duty imposed upon him; and that he had done so in no war unbecoming a gentleman generally attached to the principles of his majesty's government.—The hon. gentleman concluded by thanking the House for the indulgence which had been shown to him, and by moving,
"That an humble Address be presented to his majesty, to return to his majesty the thanks of this House for the gracious Speech which he has commanded to be made to us from the throne:
"To acknowledge with gratitude the unremitting efforts which his majesty has, since his majesty last met us in parliament, exerted for the preservation of the peace of Europe:
"To assure his majesty that we learn with the highest satisfaction that, faithful to the principles which his majesty has promulgated to the world, as constituting the rule of his conduct, his majesty declined being party to any proceedings at Verona, which could be deemed an interference in the internal concerns of Spain, on the part of foreign powers:

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"To express our anxious hope, that the endeavours and good offices which his majesty has used, and continues to use, for the purpose of allaying the irritation which unhappily exists between the French and Spanish governments, may vet be successful, in averting the calamity of war between France and Spain:
"That we are gratified by the information that his majesty flatters himself that peace will be preserved in the east of Europe, and that his majesty continues to receive from his allies, and generally from other powers, assurances of their unaltered disposition to cultivate with his majesty those friendly relations which it is equally his majesty's object on his part to maintain:
"That we rejoice to hear that the discussions which had been long pending with the court of Madrid, respecting depredations committed upon the commerce of his majesty's subjects in the West Indian seas, and other grievances of which his majesty had been under the necessity of complaining, have terminated in an admission by the Spanish government of the justice of his majesty's complaints, and in an engagement for satisfactory reparation:
"That we return our humble thanks to his majesty for the assurance that his majesty, in pursuance of the addresses presented to him by the two Houses of Parliament with respect to the foreign slave trade, directed propositions for the more effectual suppression of the evil to be brought forward by his plenipotentiary in the conferences at Verona: and for the information that articles have been added to the treaties on this subject already concluded between his majesty and the governments of Spain and the Netherlands, which will extend the operation of those treaties, and greatly facilitate their execution:
"To thank his majesty for having directed the estimates of the current year to be laid before us; and to express the satisfaction with which we learn that their amount will he found materially below that of last year, and that this diminution of charge, combined with the progressive improvement of the revenue, has produced a surplus exceeding his majesty's expectation:
"To assure his majesty that we shall feel the utmost gratification in availing ourselves of the opportunity further considerably to reduce the burdens of the
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people, after making due provision for the services of the year, and without affecting public credit:
"To express our full participation in the impression made upon his majesty by the manifestations of loyalty and attachment to his person and government which his majesty received in his late visit to Scotland:
"That it gives us the greatest pleasure to learn that the provision made in the last session for the relief of the distresses in considerable districts in Ireland, has been productive of the happiest effects: and to assure his majesty that he may rely upon our willing and careful consideration of such measures of internal regulation as may be calculated to promote and secure the tranquillity of Ireland, and to improve the habits and condition of the people:
"That we concur with his majesty in deeply regretting the continued depression of the agricultural interest; and that while we share the satisfaction with which his majesty contemplates the increasing activity which pervades the manufacturing districts, and the flourishing condition of our commerce in most of its principal branches, we trust, with his majesty, that the progressive prosperity of so many of the interests of the country cannot fail to contribute to the gradual improvement of that great interest which is the most important of them all."
Mr. Wildmanrose to second the Address, and after alluding to his own embarrassed feelings, observed, that it was to him a matter of great consolation, that there were so many points in his majesty's Speech which afforded him an opportunity of congratulating honourable members upon the happy prospect of improvement held out to the country. He adverted to the course which his majesty's government had wisely thought fit to adopt in the councils at Verona, and felt convinced that every honourable member would agree with him, that it would have been highly derogatory from the dignity of this country to have interfered with the internal affairs of Spain. He sincerely hoped that the anxious endeavours of his majesty to avert the calamity of war between France and Spain would be successful. He entertained sanguine expectations, that in the east of Europe the mediation of his majesty would have a beneficial effect. He then shortly alluded to the steps which had been taken with the British go-

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vernment with regard to the depredations in the West Indian seas. He next called the attention of the House to the improving state of the revenue, and offered his sincere congratulations, that a surplus had been produced, exceeding the expectation of government. The system of economy which had been pursued in former years would, he doubted not, produce a similar improvement in the revenue accounts of the present year. Without in any degree injuring the public credit, every hope was held out that the burdens of the people would be considerably lessened, by a further reduction of taxation. He adverted to the provisions which had been made by parliament for the relief of Ireland, and expressed his great satisfaction that the prompt assistance so afforded had had a beneficial effect. He hoped that further measures would be adopted, which would have the effect of rendering the industry and energy of that country advantageous to themselves and to surrounding nations. With respect to the manufacturing and commercial interests, he might be allowed to congratulate the House upon their gradual state of improvement. From this smiling prospect of amelioration, he drew the happiest auguries; and, after having but lately been engaged in those long and arduous struggles which had conferred a lasting honour upon the British nation, it was a proud satisfaction to reflect, that this country had recovered from her difficulties, and was now in a most prosperous state. He then adverted to the propositions which had been brought forward by his majesty's plenipotentiary at Verona, for the more effectual suppression of the slave trade; and trusted, that the interference of this country would prove ultimately beneficial. This government had acted upon the best and wisest principles, and had gone so far as even to sacrifice her own colonies, rather than suffer other nations to carry on that nefarious traffic. Other nations had enjoyed the credit of having abolished the slave trade equally with this country; but he deeply regretted, that the declarations of some of the foreign powers had been merely nominal, and that they had carried on the trade with redoubled energy, and with a tenfold degree of cruelty. He hoped that ministers would continue to exert every effort to suppress this iniquitous traffic, and thus prevent the total destruction of the British colonies. In considering the distresses endured by the
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agricultural interests, he could not but sympathize with the regret so feelingly expressed by his majesty. He however trusted, that as the commercial interests of the country were in such an improving state, the agriculturists would derive benefit there from, and gradually recover their former prosperity. He thought that a good understanding between landlord and tenant would greatly tend to promote the desired object. He felt, too, that a portion of their sufferings might be alleviated, by adopting a different system of agriculture: he particularly alluded to the too general production of wheat by farmers. If other grain were brought to market in larger, and wheat in smaller quantities, the effect, he thought, would be extremely advantageous to the grower. If the tenants could be induced to return to those habits of economy with which their forefathers conducted their concerns, it would also tend to an alleviation of the burdens now weighing so heavily upon them. As connected with this important subject, a revision of the poor laws, he conceived, could not fail to be most beneficial. This was a question which called for the immediate consideration of the House, and he hoped that the session would not be allowed to be passed over, without a minute investigation of the subject. He concluded by seconding the Address.
Sir Joseph Yorkesaid, he was afraid he should be accused of great presumption in offering himself thus early to the notice of the House, after the two speeches which they had just heard; but though not called upon, he should still offer a few words, not to move or second, but to third the Address. He would not, however, detain the House by going over the general topics to which it referred. It was only upon that part of it which related to the foreign policy of the country, that he would raise his feeble voice. It was with real satisfaction that he found ministers following the good old feelings of the country, and not advocating an interference in the internal concerns of another state. He was glad to find that the instructions given to our ambassador at Verona were to be silent on the occasion when the other states raised their voices in support of an interference with Spain. By silence, he meant not acquiescence in, but opposition to, that interference. He thought this country was bound to show to France and the world, the absurdity,

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impolicy, and injustice of a declaration of war against Spain at the present moment. For his own part, he would say, that a more outrageous act of violence never was, and never could be committed, than the present meditated attack upon that brave nation. It should be recollected, that these Spaniards were the very men who placed the Bourbons on the throne—who seated Ferdinand himself at the head of the government; at a period when no power could have forced him against their will. And, was it against such men that the Bourbons of France were now going to war? He trusted the evil might be yet averted; for who could say, when blood was once shed, and when cannon were fired on this side of the Bidassoa—who could say, that this country could long remain neuter? Circumstanced as we were, it might indeed be wished that ours should be a neutral station; but with a commerce extending from pole to pole; with interests which must be more or less affected by every hostile movement between the powers of Europe, and particularly between those two powers he had named, he would ask any man, whose breast beat with honest feelings of independence, how, situated as we were, we could keep long out of such a war, if once commenced? It was for this reason, and because he was anxious to avert the evil if possible, by a strong declaration of the feelings of this country, that he would wish every member of that House to rise in his place, and state his opinion, as to whether France was right in her present course or not. He would wish even that every member was required to get up in alphabetical order, and state what were his sentiments on this occasion. His hon. friend, the mover of the Address, had expressed himself strongly and warmly against all interference, and had come to the House in full military attire, as if war had been already declared. It was not, however, and he trusted it would not; for he thought the best course which we could take was, if possible, to be strictly and honourably neuter.
Mr. Brougham* rose, he said, in consequence of the appeal made to every member of the House by the gallant officer who had just sat down, to declare his sentiments. He answered to that appeal, which did credit to the honour, to the English feeling, of that gallant officer;
* From the original edition, printed for J. Ridgway.
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and he joined with him, and with every man who deserved the name of Briton, in unqualified abhorrence and detestation of the audacious interference to which he had alluded; or, if that detestation was qualified, it could only be by contempt and disgust at the canting hypocrisy of the language in which the loathsome principles of the tyrants were promulgated to the world. He had risen to make this declaration, called upon as he was, in common with every member; but he should ill discharge his duty, if he did not mark his sense of the candour of the two hon. gentlemen who had moved and seconded the address, and express his satisfaction at what, in the House, however divided upon other points, would be almost, and in the country certainly would be quite, unanimously felt to be, the sound and liberal view which they had taken of this great affair. Indeed, he knew not, circumstanced as they were, that they could go farther; or even that his majesty's ministers, in the present state of this very delicate question, ought to have gone beyond the communication of to-day. That communication, coupled with the commentary of the honourable mover, would be the tidings of joy, and a signal for exultation to England—it would spread joy and exultation over Spain,—would be a source of comfort to all other free states,—but would bring confusion and dismay to the allies, who, with a pretended respect for, but a vile mockery, of religion and morality, made war upon liberty in the abstract, and endeavoured to crush national independence wherever it was to be found; and were now preparing, with their armed hordes, to carry their frightful projects into execution. That Spain would take comfort from the principles avowed in the House this evening, he was certain; and he was not less clear, that the handful of men at present surrounding the throne of our nearest and most interesting neighbour, (who, by the way, had, some how or other, been induced to swerve from the prudent counsels which had till of late guided his course) would feel astonished and dismayed with the proceedings of this day, in proportion as others would be encouraged. Cheering, however, as was the prevalence of such sentiments; highly as they raised the character of the nation; and much as might be augured from their effects, still he thought no man could deny, that the country was at present ap-

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proaching to a crisis such as had not occurred perhaps for above a century, certainly not since the French revolution. Whether he viewed the internal condition of the kingdom, and the severe distress which pressed upon that most important and most useful branch of the community, the farmers; or cast his eyes upon our foreign relations, the circumstances of this country appeared, to the mind of every thinking man, critical and alarming. They might, it was true, soon wear a better aspect, and we might escape the calamities of war; but he must be a bold and possibly a rash man, certainly not a very thoughtful one, who could take upon him to foretell that we should have so happy a fortune. It was the deep consideration of these circumstances which induced him to come forward and make a declaration of his principles; and to state, that with a strict adherence to the most rigid economy in every department—the reduction of establishments which he was at all times, if not the first, at least amongst the foremost, to support, and which was so necessary, under the ordinary circumstances of the country, must now be recommended, with a certain modification, in order to adapt our policy to the present emergence. He was guilty of no inconsistency whatever, in thus qualifying the doctrine of unsparing retrenchment; indeed, the greater the chance of some extraordinary demands upon our resources, from the aspect of affairs abroad, the more imperious was the necessity of sparing every portion of expense not absolutely requisite. Economy to its utmost extent, he still recommended as politic, and urged as due to the people of right, and every useless expense was now to be regarded as more inexcusable than ever, both because the country was suffering more severely, and because it might become necessary to increase some parts of our establishment. He said he was certainly not prepared to propose, or to suffer, as far as his voice went, any the least reduction of our naval force, to the extent even of a single ship or seaman; on the contrary, he feared the time might not be far distant, when its increase would be required. Any such augmentation of the army, he could not conceive justifiable in almost any circumstances; for, happen what would, a war on our part, carried on with the wasteful and scandalous profusion of the last, and upon the same vast scale, or any
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thing like it, was wholly out of the question.—Mr. B. here entered at some length into the internal state of the country; the indications of distress at the various meetings; the inconsistency of the violent attacks made upon the Norfolk petition, by those who had passed the Gold Coin bill of 1811, which enacted the parts of the Norfolk plan most liable to objection—the inadequacy of any relief, to be obtained from repeal of taxes that only affected small districts,—the absolute necessity of repealing a large amount of the taxes pressing generally on all classes—and, for this purpose, urged the necessity of a saving wherever it could be effected with safety; and, at any rate, of giving up the sinking fund. He then proceeded:—He thought that if war was once commenced, we should soon be compelled to take some part in it, one way or other, and that for such an emergency, every shilling which could be saved by the most rigid economy, should be reserved. He thought our intervention in some shape would become unavoidable. We were bound, for instance, to assist one party, our old ally Portugal, if she should be attacked; and it was not likely that she could remain neuter, if the present hateful conspiracy against Spain ended in open hostility. It was in this view of the question that he differed from the gallant officer who last spoke; and he was glad that he could not collect from the honourable mover or seconder, the ominous words "strict neutrality," as applied to this country, in the threatened contest. A state of declared neutrality on our part would be nothing less than a practical admission of those principles which we all loudly condemned, and a licence to the commission of all the atrocities which we were unanimous in deprecating. He would say, therefore, that it was the duty of his majesty's ministers (with whom he should rejoice to co-operate on the occasion—and so, he was certain, would every one who then heard him, waving for a season all differences of opinion on lesser matters) to adopt and to announce the resolution, that when certain things shall take place on the continent, they will be ready to assist the Spaniards—a measure necessary to avert evils, which even those the least prone to war (of whom he avowed himself one) must admit to be inevitable, should a wavering or pusillanimous course be pursued. Our assistance would be necessary to resist the wicked enforcement of

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principles, contrary to the law of nations, and repugnant to every idea of national independence. To judge of the principles now shamelessly promulgated, let any man read patiently, if he could, the declarations in the notes of Russia, Prussia, and Austria; and, with all due respect to those high authorities, he would venture to say, that to produce any thing more preposterous, more absurd, more extravagant, better calculated to excite a mingled feeling of disgust and derision, would baffle any chancery or state-paper office in Europe. He should not drag the House through the whole nauseous details; he would only select a few passages by way of sample, from those notable productions of legitimacy. In the communication from the minister of his Prussian majesty, the constitution of 1812, restored in 1820, and now established, was described as a system which, "confounding all elements, and all power, and assuming only the single principle of a permanent and legal opposition against the government, necessarily destroyed that central and tutelary authority which constitutes the essence of the monarchical system." Thus far the king of Prussia, in terms, which, to say the least, afforded some proof of the writer's knowledge of the monarchical system, and of the contrast which, in his opinion, it bore to the present government of Spain. The emperor of Russia, in terms not less strong, called the constitutional government of the cortes, "laws which the public reason of Europe, enlightened by the experience of all ages, stamped with its disapprobation;" and complained of its wanting the "conservative principle of social order." Where, in the conservative character of keeper of the peace of Europe, did his imperial majesty discover that the constitution of Spain had been stamped with the disapprobation of the public reason of Europe? Let the House observe, that the "public reason of Europe, enlightened by the experience of all ages," happened to be that of his imperial majesty himself for the last ten years exactly, and no more; for, notwithstanding that he had the "experience of all ages" before his eyes, he did, in the year 1812, enter into a treaty with Spain, with the same cortes, the same constitution, not one iota of which had been changed, up to that very hour. In that treaty, his imperial majesty the emperor of all the Russias, speaking of the
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then government, did use the very word by which he and his allies would themselves be designated—the word, by the abuse of which they were known—he did call the Spanish government of the cortes "a legitimate government," that very government, of the constitution of which, the Spaniards had not changed one word; and God forbid they should change even a letter of it, while they had the bayonet of the foreign soldier at their breast! He hoped, if it had faults—and some faults it might have—that when the hour of undisturbed tranquillity arrived, the Spaniards themselves would correct them. If they would listen to the ardent wish of their best friends—of those who had marked their progress, and gloried in the strides they had made towards freedom and happiness, and would go to the world's end to serve them in their illustrious struggle—of those, above all, who would not have them yield an iota to force—it would be to disarm the reasonable objections of their friends, but not give up any thing to the menaces of their enemies.—He should not go more into detail at the present moment, for ample opportunities would occur of discussing this subject; but he would ask, in the name of common sense, could any thing be more absurd, more inconsistent, than that Spain should now be repudiated as illegitimate by those, some of whom had, in treaties with her, described her government, in its present shape, by the very term "legitimate government?" In the treaty of friendship and alliance, concluded in 1812 between the emperor of all the Russias and the Spanish cortes, Ferdinand being then a close prisoner in France, his imperial majesty, by the third article, acknowledged in express terms, the cortes "and the constitution sanctioned and decreed by it."—But not only was the conduct of the allies towards Spain inconsistent with the treaties of some among them with Spain,—he would show that their principle of interference, was wholly at variance with treaties recently made amongst themselves. He would prove, that one of the fundamental principles of a late treaty, was decidedly opposed to any discussion whatever amongst them, respecting the internal situation of that country. By the 4th article of the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, dated Nov. 1818, it was laid down, that a special congress might be held, from time to time, on the affairs of Europe:

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or, to use the words, and borrowing the hypocritical cant of their predecessors, the three powers who basely partitioned Poland—who, while they despoiled a helpless nation of its independence, kept preaching about the quiet of Europe, the integrity of its states, and the morality and happiness of their people—who talked daily about their desire of calm repose, the atmosphere, he well knew, in which despotism loved to breathe, but which an ancient writer had eloquently painted, when he said, that they mistook for peace, the stillness of desolation—following the vile cant of their ancestors, the allies declared, at Aix-la-Chapelle, that their object was to secure the tranquillity of Europe—that their fundamental principle should be, never to depart from a strict adherence to the law of nations: "faithful to these principles," (continued this half-sermon, half-romance, and half-state paper) "they would only study the happiness of their people, the progress of the peaceful arts, and attend carefully to the interests of morality and religion, of late years, unhappily too much neglected"—Here, again, following the example of the autocratrix Catherine—the spoiler of Poland, who, having wasted and pillaged it, province after province, poured in hordes of her barbarians—which hewed their way to the capital through myriads of Poles, and there, for one whole day, from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof, butchered its unoffending inhabitants, unarmed men and women, and infants; and, not content with this work of undistinguishing slaughter, after the pause of the night had given time far cooling, rose on the morrow, renewed the carnage, and continued it throughout that day; and after this, ordered a Te Deum to be sung, to return thanks for her success over the enemies of Poland!—That mild and gentle sovereign, in the midst of these most horrible outrages upon every feeling of human nature, issued a proclamation, in which she assured the Poles, that she felt towards them, "the solicitude of a tender mother, whose heart is only filled with sentiments of kindness for all her children." Who could, or who dared, doubt, that she was all she so described herself; and who could, after the experience of the last year, dispute the legitimate descent of the allied powers, and the purity of their intentions towards Spain? But, along with this declaration of the object of
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future congresses, came the stipulation which he should like to see some German statist, some man versed in the manufactory of state-papers, compare with, and reconcile to, the notes fashioned at Verona, not unlikely by the very hands which had produced the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle. The stipulation was this:—"Special congresses concerning the affairs of states not parties to this alliance, shall not take place, except" (and here he should like to know how Spain, which was no party to the alliance, had brought herself within the exception)—"except in consequence of a formal invitation from such states;" "and their ambassador shall assist at such congresses." How would any German statist reconcile these contradictions? Here the interference in the internal affairs of Spain was not only not "by special invitation" from, but was in downright opposition to, the will of Spain. Thus stood the conduct of those holy allies diametrically opposed to their own professions and engagements; and by such means was the attempt now made to crush the independence of a brave people!—But it was not in the case of Spain alone, that the consideration of these papers was important—they furnished grounds of rational fear to all independent governments; for he should be glad to learn, what case it was (upon the doctrines now advanced) to which this principle of interference might not be extended—on which the authority to comment, criticise, and dictate, might not be assumed? The House was not aware of the latitude to which the interference of those armed legislators might be, nay actually was, extended. The revolt of the colonies was distinctly stated as one ground of interposition. The allies kindly offered their "intervention," to restore this great branch of "the strength of Spain." There was no end of the occasions for interfering which they took. One was rather alarming—the accident of a sovereign having weak or bad ministers. Russia, forsooth, was anxious to see Ferdinand surrounded with "the most enlightened, most faithful of his subjects"—men "of tried integrity and superior talents"—men, in a word, who should be every way worthy of himself. So that, according to these wise men of Verona (and this was a consideration which should be looked to, in some other countries as well as Spain) the existence of an inefficient or unprincipled adminis-

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tration, would be of itself a just ground of interference. The principle did not stop here: "ruinous loans," formed another ground, and "contributions unceasingly renewed;" "taxes which, for year after year, exhausted the public treasures and the fortunes of individuals." All these were instances, in which the principle of interference might apply to other countries beside Spain; and he had no doubt that when the same doctrines were extended to certain countries, the preparatory manifesto would make mention of agricultural distress and the sinking fund. But to complete all the charges against Spain, the Russian emperor finished his invective with the awful assertion, that, on the 7th of July, "blood was seen to flow in the palace of the king, and a civil war raged throughout the peninsula." It was true, that a revolt had been excited in some of the provinces. But by whom? An ally. It was produced by those cordons of troops, which were posted on the Spanish frontier, armed with gold and with steel, and affording shelter and assistance by force, to those in whose minds disaffection had been excited by bribery. It was also true, that blood had been shed. But, would it not be supposed, by any person unacquainted with the fact, and who only read the statement in the manifesto, that this was blood shed in an attempt to dethrone Ferdinand, and introduce some new and unheard-of form of government? At any rate, did not this statement plainly intend it to be supposed, that the constitutional party had made the onset, and shed royalist, if not royal blood? But, what was the fact? A few persons were killed who had first attacked the constitutionalists, in other words, mutinied against the established government, the government which the emperor Alexander himself had recognized as legitimate in 1812; and this he had now the audacity to call the shedding of blood by Spaniards in the palace of the king! As well might he accuse the people, the parliament, and the crown of England, of causing "blood to flow it the palace of the king," for ordering their sentinels to fire on some person whom they might find attempting to assassinate the sovereign, as accuse the Spaniards of such a crime, for the events which happened in July 1822.—He should pass over many other heavy charges levelled at the Spaniards, in phrases of terrible import, as harbouring a "disor-
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ganized philosophy," "indulging in dreams of fallacious liberty," and the want of "venerable and sacred rights," with which the Prussian note was loaded to repletion: and should proceed to the Russian, which objected to the Spaniards their want of the "true conservative principle of social order;" or, in other words, of despotic power, in the hands of one man, for his own benefit, at the expense of all mankind besides; and to their not falling within the scope of those "grano truths," which, though they were ever in their mouths, were no where explained by any one of the three sovereigns. The Austrian note discoursed largely of "the solid and venerable claims" which the Spanish nation had upon the rest of Europe: prayed it to adopt a better form of government than it had at present; and called upon it to reject a system which was at once "powerful and paralized." It would be disgusting to enter at any length into papers, at once so despicable in their execution, and in their plan so abominably iniquitous. There was but one sentiment held regarding them out of the House; and his excuse for taking notice of them now, was his desire to call forth a similar expression of feeling from the House itself. Monstrous and insolent and utterly unbearable, as all of them were, he considered that of Russia to be more monstrous, more insolent, and more prodigiously beyond all endurance, than the rest. It was difficult to determine which most to admire—the marvellous incongruity of her language and conduct now, with her former most solemn treaties; or the incredible presumption of her standing forward to lead the aggression, upon the independence of all free and polished states. Gracious God! Russia!—a power that was only half civilized—that, with all her colossal mass of physical strength, was still quite as much Asiatic as European—whose principles of policy, foreign and domestic, were completely despotic, and whose practices were almost altogether oriental and bar-barons! In all these precious documents, there was, with a mighty number of general remarks, mixed up a wondrous affectation of honest principles—a great many words covering ideas that were not altogether clear and intelligible; or, if they happened to be so, only placing their own deformity in a more hideous and detestable light: but, for argument, or any thing like it, there was none to be found

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from the beginning to the end of them.—They reasoned not, but spoke one plain language to Spain and to Europe, and this was its sum and substance "We have hundreds of thousands of hired mercenaries, and we will not stoop to reason with those whom we would insult and enslave." He admired the equal frankness with which this haughty language had been met by the Spanish government: the papers which it had sent forth were plain and laconic; and bluntly spoke this language:—"We are millions of freemen, and will not stoop to reason with those who threaten to enslave us." They hurled back the menace upon the head from which it issued, little caring whether it came from Goth, or Hun, or Calmuck; with a frankness that outwitted the craft of the Bohemian, and a spirit that defied the ferocity of the Tartar. If they found leagued against them the tyrants by whom the world was infested, they might console themselves with this reflection, that wherever there was an Englishman, either of the old world or of the new—wherever there was a Frenchman, with the miserable exception of that little band which now, for a moment, swayed the destinies of France, in opposition to the wishes and interests of its gallant and liberal people—a people which, after enduring the miseries of the revolution, and wading through its long and bloody wars, were entitled, if ever any people were, to a long enjoyment of the blessings of peace and liberty—wherever there breathed an Englishman or a true born Frenchman—wherever there existed a free heart or a virtuous mind, there Spain had a natural ally, and an inalienable friend. For his own part, he could not but admire the mixture of firmness and for bearance which the government of Spain had exhibited. When the allied monarchs were pleased to adopt a system of interference with the internal policy of Spain—when they thought fit to deal in minute and paltry criticisms upon the whole course of its domestic administration—when each sentence in their manifestoes was a direct personal insult to the government, nay, to every individual Spaniard, and when the most glaring attempts were made, in all their state papers, to excite rebellion in the country, and to stir up one class of the community against the other, it would not have surprised him, if, in the replies of the Spanish government, some allusion had been made to the domestic policy of the
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allied sovereigns; or if some of the allegations which had been so lavishly cast upon it, had been scornfully retorted upon those who had so falsely and so insolently called them forth. What could have been more pardonable, nay, what more natural, than for the Spanish government to have besought his Prussian majesty, who was so extremely anxious for the welfare and good government of Spain—who had shown himself so minute a critic on its laws and institutions, and who seemed so well versed in its recent history—to remember the promises which he had made some years ago to his own people, by whose gallant exertions, on the faith of those promises, he had retrained his lost crown? What would have been more natural than to have suggested, that it would be better, aye, and safer too in the end, to keep those promises, than to maintain, at his people's cost, and almost to their ruin, a prodigious army, only safely employed when in the act of ravaging the territories, or putting down the liberties, of his neighbours? The government of Spain would have had a right to make such representations; for his Prussian majesty owed much, very much, to its exertions: indeed, the gallant resistance which it made to the invasion of Buonaparté, had alone enabled Prussia to shake off the yoke; while, on the other hand, the Spaniards owed a debt of gratitude to the brave and honest people of Prussia, for beginning the resistance to Buonaparté in the north. Could any thing, he would also ask, have been more natural for the Spanish government, than to have asked the emperor of Austria, whether he, who now pretended to be so scrupulously fond of strict justice in Ferdinand's case, when it cost him nothing, or must prove a gain, had always acted with equal justice towards others, when he was himself concerned? Could any thing have been more natural, than to have suggested to him, that before he was generous to Ferdinand, he ought to be just to George;—that he ought to return to him the whole, or, at any rate, a considerable part of the twenty millions which he had borrowed of him?—a debt which, remaining unpaid, wasted the resources of a faithful ally of Spain, and tended mightily to cripple his exertions in her behalf? He wished likewise to know, what could have been more natural—nay, if the doctrine of interference in the internal concerns of neigh-

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bouring nations were at all admitted,—what could have been more rightful, in a free people, than to have asked him how it happened, that his dungeons were filled with all that was noble, and accomplished, and virtuous, and patriotic in the Milanese?—to have called on him to account for the innocent blood which he had shed in the north of Italy?—to have required at his hands satisfaction for the tortures inflicted in the vaults and caverns where the flower of his subjects were now languishing—to have demanded of him some explanation of that iron policy by which he has consigned fathers of families, the most virtuous and exalted in Europe, not to exile or death, but to a merciless imprisonment for ten, fifteen, and twenty years—nay, even for life, without a knowledge of the charge against them, or the crime for which they were punished? Even the emperor Alexander himself, tender and sensitive as he was at the sight of blood flowing within the precincts of a royal palace—a sight so monstrous, that, if his language could be credited, it had never before been seen in the history of the world—might have been reminded of passages in history, calculated to lessen his astonishment, at least, if not to soothe his feelings; for the emperor Alexander, if the annals of Russian story might be trusted, however pure in himself, and however happy in always having agents equally innocent, was nevertheless descended from an illustrious line of ancestors, who had, with exemplary uniformity, dethroned, imprisoned, and slaughtered, husbands, brothers, and children. Not that he could dream of imputing those enormities to the parents, or sisters, or consorts; but it did happen, that those exalted and near relations had never failed to reap the whole benefit of the atrocities, and had always failed to bring the perpetrators to justice. In these circumstances, if he had had the honour of being in the confidence of his majesty of all the Russias, he should have been the last person in the world to have counselled his imperial master to touch upon so tender a topic: he should humbly have besought him to think twice or thrice, nay, even a third, and a fourth time, before he ventured to allude to so delicate a subject: he should, with all proper deference, have requested him to meddle with any other topic: he should have directed him by preference to every other point of the compass: he should have implored him
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rather to try what he could say about Turkey, or Greece, or even Minorca, on which he had of late been casting many an amorous glance—in short, any thing, and every thing, before he approached the subject of "blood flowing within the precincts of a royal palace," and placed his allusion to it, like an artful rhetorician, upon the uppermost step of his climax. He found, likewise, in these self-same documents, a topic, for which the Spanish government, had it been so inclined, might have read to the holy alliance another severe lecture: he alluded to the glib manner in which the three potentates now talked of an individual, who, let his failings, or even his crimes be what they might, must always be regarded as a great and a resplendent character—who, because he was now no longer either upon a throne or at liberty, or even in life, was described by them, not merely as an ambitious ruler—not merely as an arbitrary tyrant, but as an upstart and an usurper. This was not the language which those potentates had formerly employed; nor was it the language which they were now entitled to use, rewarding this astonishing individual. Whatever epithets England, for instance, or Spain, might have a right to apply to his conduct, their mouths at least were stopped: they could have no right to call him usurper—they who, in his usurpations, had been most greedy accomplices, or willing tools. What entitled the king of Prussia to hold such language now?—he who had followed his fortunes with the most shameless subserviency, after the thorough beating he received from him, when trampled upon and trodden down in the year 1806? No sooner had he risen again and recovered the upright attitude of man, than he fell upon his knees, and crouching before him who had made him crawl in the dust, kissed the blood-stained hand of Buonaparté for leave to keep his Britannic majesty's foreign dominions, the electorate of Hanover, which he had snatched hold of while at peace with England. So the emperor Alexander, after he had also undergone the like previous ceremony, did not disdain to lick up the crumbs which fell from the table of his more successful rival in usurpation. Little, it was true, was left by the edge of Buonaparté's appetite; but, rather than have nothing,—rather than desert the true Russian principle of getting something on every occasion, either in Europe, or in Asia,

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(and of late years they had even laid claim to an almost indefinite naval dominion in America)—rather than forego the Calmuck policy, of always adding something, be it ever so little, to what was already acquired, be it ever so great—he condescended to receive from the hand of Buonaparté a few square leagues of territory, with an additional population of some two or three thousand serfs. The object was trifling indeed, but it served to keep alive the principle. The tender heart of the father, overflowing, as his imperial grandmother had phrased it, with the milk of human kindness for all his children, could not be satisfied without receiving a further addition to their numbers; and therefore it was not surprising, that on the very next occasion, he should be ready to seize, in more effectual exemplification of the principle, a share of the booty, large in proportion as his former one had been small. The emperor of Austria, too, who had entered before the others into the race for plunder, and had continued in it till the very end—he who, if not an accomplice with the Jacobins of France in the spoliation of Venice, was at least a receiver of the stolen property—a felony, of which it had been well said at the time in the House, that the receiver was as bad as the thief—that magnanimous prince, who, after twenty years alternation of truckling and vapouring—now the feeble enemy of Buonaparté, now his willing accomplice—constantly punished for his resistance, by the discipline invariably applied to those mighty princes, in the tenderest places, their capitals, from which they were successively driven—as constantly after punishment joining the persecutor, like the rest of them, in attacking and plundering his allies—had finished, by craving the honour of giving Buonaparté his favourite daughter in marriage. Nay, after the genius of Buonaparté had fallen under the still more powerful restlessness of his ambition—when the star of his destiny had waned, and the fortune of the allies was triumphant, through the roused energies of their gallant people, the severity of the elements, his own turbulent passions, and that without which the storms of popular ferment, and Russian winters, and his own ambition, would have raged in vain, the aid of English arms, and skill, and gallantry—strange to tell, these very men were the first to imitate that policy against which they had inveighed and struggled, and to
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carry it farther than the enemy in all its most detestable points. He maintained that it was so; for, not even by his bitterest slanderers had Buonaparté been ever accused of actions so attrocious as was the spoliation of Norway, the partition of Saxony, the transfer of Genoa, and the cession of Ragusa, perpetrated by those in whose mouths no sound had been heard for years, but that of lamentation over the attacks upon national independence. It was too much, after such deeds as these—it was too much, after the allies had submitted to a long course of crouching before Buonaparté, accompanied by every aggravation of disgrace—it was too much for them now to come forth and calumniate his memory, for transactions, in the benefits of which they had participated at the time as his accomplices, and the infamy of which they had since surpassed. He rejoiced that the Spaniards had only such men as these to contend with; he knew that there were fearful odds when battalions were arrayed against principles; but it was some consolation to reflect, that those embodied hosts were not aided by the merits of their chiefs, and that all the weight of character was happily on the contrary side. It gave him, however, some pain to find, that a monarch so enlightened as the king of France had shown himself on various occasions to be, should have yielded obedience, even for a time, to the arbitrary mandates of this tyrannical junto. He trusted, however, that it would only prove a temporary aberration, on his part, from the sounder principles on which he had hitherto acted. He trusted that the men who appeared to have acquired his confidence only to abuse it, would soon be dismissed from it; or, if not, that the voice of the country, whose interests they were ready to sacrifice, and whose rising liberties they seemed anxious to destroy, would compel them to pursue a more manly and more liberal policy. Indeed, the king of France had been persuaded, by the parasites by whom he was at present surrounded, to go even beyond the principles of the Holy Alliance. He had been persuaded to tell the world, that it was from the hands of a tyrant alone that a free people could hold a constitution. That accomplished prince—and all. Europe acknowledged him to be at once a most finished gentleman and most able scholar—could not but be aware that all the wise and good men of former times

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differed with him in opinion upon this point; and if he (Mr. B.) reminded him of a sentence which he had found in a recently recovered work, of one whose eloquence wan only to be surpassed by his wisdom, and whose skill as a statesman was only to be rivalled by his observation as a philosopher—if he reminded him of an opinion of Cicero, in direct variance with the doctrines which he had recently promulgated, it was in the sincere hope that he would consider it with all the attention that was due to such high authority. That great man had said, "Non in ulla civitate, nisi in quâ summa potestas populi est, ullum domicilium libertas habet." He recommended to his most catholic majesty to reflect, not only on the wisdom of so great a philosopher, but also on the experience of so great a statesman. He recommended him to consider, that he was one of the greatest statesmen of the old world—that, like himself, he lived in times of great danger and of great difliculty—that he had had to contend with the most formidable conspiracy to which the life and liberty of social man had ever been exposed—that, under such circumstances, he had recourse only to the Roman constitution—that he threw himself on the good will of his patriotic countrymen—that he only put forth the vigour of his own genius and the vigour of the law, and that he never thought of calling to his assistance the Allobroges, the Teutones, or the Scythians of his day, "and I now say," (continued Mr. Brougham), "that if the king of' France calls either on the modern Teutones or the modern Scythians to assist him in this unholy war, judgment will that moment go forth against him and his family, and the dynasty of Gaul will be changed at once and for ever."—The hon. and learned gentleman then asked, what were the grounds on which the necessity of this war was defended? It was said to be undertaken, because an insurrection had broken out with success at Madrid. He denied this to be the fact. What was called an insurrection, was an attempt to restore the lawful constitution of the country—a constitution which had been its established constitution, till Ferdinand overthrew it, by means of a mutiny in the army; and therefore, when a similar mutiny enabled the friends of liberty to recover what they had lost, it was an error in language to call such recovery by the name of insur-
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rection, and an abuse of terms, which could only be intended, to hoodwink the reason or conciliate the prejudices of the honest part of mankind. Let the pretext, however, for the war be what it might, the real cause of it, it was not hard to conjecture. It was not from hatred to Spain or Portugal, considered simply as Spain and Portugal, that the allied sovereigns were for marching their hordes into the peninsula—it was not against freedom on the Ebro, or freedom on the Mincio, that they were making war: no, it was against freedom in the abstract—it was against freedom wherever it was to be found—it was against freedom by whatever men it was possessed—it was against freedom by whatever checks it was secured, and by whatever safeguards it was guaranteed. Freedom was the object of their most inveterate hate; and against freedom they were ready to employ every species both of fraud and of force. They dreaded its institutions—they abhorred its spirit. All the benefits which it has conferred upon mankind, all the monuments which have been raised in its honour, all the miracles which have been effected by its influence, they hated with the malignity of demons, for they were compelled to fear and tremble at the very sound of its name. It was on this account that, disguise it as they might, they could feel no real friendship for the people of this country. As long as England remained the country that she was at present; as long as parliament formed a free and open tribunal, to which the oppressed of all nations under heaven could appeal against their oppressors, however mighty and however exalted—and with all its abuses (and no man could lament them more feelingly than he did), and with all its imperfections, (and no man could be more anxious to remove and amend them, because no man wished more heartily to make it worthy of the love and admiration of the country), it was still too free to please the taste of the continental despots—so long would England be the object of their hatred and machinations, sometimes carried on ill secret, sometimes carried on openly, but always carried on with the same unremitting vigour and activity. It was idle to suppose that these armed critics could be bounded in their views by any limits of time or of country. Could the House suppose, that if there were any portion of territory in the neighbourhood of the emperor Alex-

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ander which appeared peculiarly suited to his views, that he would not soon be able to discover some fault or flaw in its political institutions requiring his intervention—supposing it even to be a part of the Turkish government? Nay, if his imperial majesty were met, with his consistory of tyrants and armed critics, he believed that it would be in vain for the Ulemah, with all his tribe of learned muftis, to plead to him that their government was of the most sacred and venerable description—that it had antiquity in its favour—that it was in full possession of "the conservative principle of social order,"—that it was "replete with grand truths,"—that it had never listened to "the fatal doctrines of a disorganized philosophy," and that it had never been visited by any such things as "dreams of fallacious liberty" [immense cheering and laughter]—he believed that if the learned Ulemah were to argue the point just as if it was the holy Koran, still these "three gentlemen of Verona" would not turn away, in disgust, as he (Mr. B.) should do,—but would pry about for an avenue, by which to enter into the territory in question; and, if they could not find a way, would not be very scrupulous about making one; and the result, in one point of view, would be, that in three mouths from the time of deliberation, the emperor Alexander would be at Constantinople, or at Minorca—for he had long shown a desire to have some western provinces; and that Austria and Prussia would be invited to look for an indemnity in any thing that England, or the king of England, might have on the continent to suit them. The principles on which this band of congregated despots had shown their readiness to act, were dangerous in the extreme, not only to free states, for reasons which he had before explained, but also to the states over which the very members of this unholy junto presided. Resistance to them was a matter of duty; and the duty of this country was in consequence plain. It behoved us, however, to take care that we did not rush blindly into a war. An appeal to arms ought to be the last alternative we should try, but still it ought never to be so foreign to our thoughts as to be conceived impossible, or so foreign from our counsels as to take us unprepared. Already, if there was any force in language, or any validity in public engagements, were we committed by the
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defensive treaties into which we had entered. We were bound by various engagements to prevent Portugal from being overrun by a foreign enemy. If Spain were to be overrun by foreign invaders, what would be the situation of Portugal? Her frontiers on the side of Spain could scarcely be said to exist at present: there was no defence in them; they were a mere imaginary line, and had no existence except in the map of the geographer: her real frontiers were in the Pyrenees—her real defence was in their fastnesses; and whenever their passes were crossed, the same danger which threatened Spain would also threaten Portugal. If we were bound by the force of treaties, though we might not be bound to send an army of observation to watch the motions of the French army, we were at least bound to send a naval armament to Portugal, in order that we might have the earliest information of what was occurring there, and might be ready at any moment to give assistance to our ancient ally. Above all things, we ought to repeal, without delay, the Foreign Enlistment bill—a measure which, in his opinion, we ought never to have enacted. He would not, however, look back to measures, on the propriety of which all of them might not agree; but he would look forward, in order to avoid all subject of vituperation; reserving his blame for the foreigners whose tyrannical conduct obliged this nation to hate them, and his co-operation for whatever faithful servant of the crown, would, in the performance of his duty to his country, to freedom and to the world, speak a language that was truly British—pursue a policy that was truly free—and look to free states as our best and most natural allies against all enemies whatsoever; quarrelling with none, whatsoever might be the form of their government;—keeping peace wherever we could, but not leaving ourselves unprepared for war;—not afraid of the issue, but calmly resolved to brave it at all hazards;—determined, at the same time, to support, amid every sacrifice, the honour and dignity of the crown, the independence of the country, and every principle that was considered most valuable and sacred amongst civilized nations.—The hon. and learned gentleman sat down, amidst loud cheers from all parts of the House.
Sir Francis Burdettrose, but the cheering which followed Mr. Brougham's speech, rendered the commencement of

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the hon. baronet's observations completely inaudible. When we first heard him, he was observing that he rose to make his acknowledgments to the hon. and learned gentleman, for a speech as able as ever he had heard delivered, or as he believed ever had been delivered within the walls of parliament—a speech that went fully to support those principles on which the honour and interest of England, and he might also add, of Europe, materially depended, and which, if acted up to, would enable government to perform with spirit, efficiency, and promptitude, the part from which they ought not to shrink, under any circumstances. He would put aside, for the present, all considerations of agricultural distress, all questions of mere temporary interest, and would come forward for the single purpose of maintaining those valuable principles, on which the independence and happiness of nations must ever rest. He rose for the purpose of saying of the hon. and learned gentleman, that which had been previously said of a great and worthy man—"Nil non laudandum, aut sensit ant dixit." He was unable to pay the tribute which he felt to be due to the wisdom, to the virtue, to the patriotism, and to the force of reasoning, which the hon. and learned gentleman had that night displayed. Sure he was, that there was no English heart that would not feel what he had that night done to avert from the civilized world the greatest danger which had threatened it for many years. He also had received great pleasure from the manly and ingenious speech of the hon. gentleman who had that day moved the Address; and he trusted that the House would come to an unanimous vote upon it. In conclusion, he informed ministers, that if they acted up to the principles laid down by the hon. and learned gentleman that evening, the despots of the continent would, in case things came to the worst, witness that which they had riot witnessed for a number of years; namely, the opposition of a united parliament and a united people.
Mr. Secretary Peelexpressed his satisfaction, that there was such a desire in the House to concur with the sentiments contained in the Speech from the throne, and also with the sentiments which it was proposed to embody in the Address in answer thereto. After complimenting the hon. mover and seconder for the ability they had displayed, he proceeded to state,
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that as the hon. and learned gentleman, and also the hon. baronet who had followed him, had confined their observations to one point, he thought he should best consult the feelings of the House, by postponing any remarks which he had to make upon other matters to a future opportunity. There had, however, been some observations made of such immense importance, that he should be guilty of a dereliction of duty, if he allowed them to pass entirely unnoticed. The greater part of the speech of the hon. and learned member for Winchelsea, related to the policy, not of this country, but of the allied sovereigns. With regard to our own conduct, a time would come when a full explanation would be given of it; and he was sanguine enough to hope, that that explanation would be satisfactory to all parties. His majesty had repeated his determination to adhere to the principles which this government had laid down, first in 1793, and subsequently in 1821, respecting the right of one nation to interfere in the concerns of another. He conceived those principles to be, that every state was sovereign and independent, and was the only judge of the reforms and modifications which were necessary in its government; that, whatever course it might pursue in its internal concerns, of that course it was the sole and only judge; and that every other doctrine was as subversive of national independence, as the attempt of one individual to force upon another any specific line of conduct would be subversive of individual independence. The rights of states, however, like those of individuals, were subject to the interference of other states, if the exercise of them tended to the general injury. That injury, however, ought not to be of an imaginary or speculative kind—it ought to be of a nature clear to the feelings and palpable to the sight of every man; and of the necessity of making such an interference, each state, for the reasons he had before mentioned, ought to be the chief judge. With regard to the affairs of Spain, he could only observe, that as far as we were concerned, there was nothing in her present institutions that could warrant our interference with them. He trusted, however, that Spain would admit some changes in what was called the Spanish constitution; because he believed that such changes would tend to the advancement of her best interests, and the promotion of her best rights. It was his opinion,

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that it was not only an act of justice, but also an act of duty, for one friendly state to represent to another, the expediency of such changes; but, in making that statement, he by no means intended to say, that, the grounds stated by the king of France for interfering in the affairs of Spain were such as warranted his interference; on the contrary, he meant to say, that he thought them not adequate. It was clear, that those who opposed the principle on which he interfered, could not approve of the mode of his interference. Still he thought, that the House ought to cherish the hope of peace; for no man could doubt what the real interest of England was, under the present circumstances. If he spoke with reserve of the line of policy which England was likely to follow, it was because he still indulged a hope that peace would be preserved; and if it was not, he still thought that every man would be satisfied that every effort, consistent with the independence of the country, would be made for its preservation. In the speech of the king of France, war was not stated to be certain. The expression was, "if war be inevitable." The hon. and learned gentleman said, that the condition attached to that "if" rendered it so; for it was "unless Ferdinand VII. be free to give his people institutions." Now, it appeared to him, that two meanings might be attributed to those expressions; and it was only fair to give France the benefit of them. They might mean that no institutions would be considered legitimate, unless they were derived from a king in the full possession of absolute power, at liberty to give, and absolutely giving them, with his own free will, to the mass of his subjects. Now, if this were the meaning of the words, they contained doctrines to which no Englishman could agree, even for a moment. Personal freedom, freedom from restraint, was absolutely necessary on the part of the monarch. Whatever construction the terms of the speech of the king of France might bear, he (Mr. P.) was anxious that it should not he misconstrued. As an Englishman, he should undoubtedly say, that the king of France had no sufficient authority to interfere: as a Spaniard, he should of course contend, the same; but, if he were a Frenchman, he could not at all tell in what view the question might present itself. He did not lay it down, that the principle adopted by France
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warranted her interference as a foreign power, in the internal affairs of Spain as an independent kingdom. Great Britain was, therefore, no party to any proceedings, direct or indirect, at Verona, that had this object. He was confident, that the House would excuse him from entering into further details, both on account of the absence of his right hon. friend, who presided over this department of the affairs of the state; and because, while, as he had before said, there was a chance of maintaining peace—while there was a hope that the irritation unfortunately subsisting might be allayed—he should repent, to the last moment of his life, if he dropped a single word by which that chance could be lessened. The rooted conviction of his mind was, that it was the policy of Europe that peace, general peace, should be preserved. After the devastation of the late thirty years war, subjects and sovereigns ought to have an opportunity of directing their attention to internal affairs. A war must now be injurious to Europe at large; but especially to this country. Our great object ought to be, at such a moment, to maintain a strict neutrality. Undoubtedly, it was not for Great Britain to rejoice in the deterioration of other states. On the contrary, instead of viewing the growing prosperity of neighbouring kingdoms with jealousy or alarm, she had opened her eves to a more liberal and just doctrine: she found that her interests were not incompatible with theirs, and that their increasing consumption gave to her an increasing demand. The most dignified position she could assume was that of a mediator, not between contending (for they were not yet contending), but between angry parties. The highest duty she could discharge was, to the utmost of her power, to prevent the commencement of a new war, the termination of which no man could foresee. He could not avoid expressing his regret, that the hon. and learned gentleman, in the heat of argument, had been betrayed into the use of too strong expressions with respect to powers, the allies of this country. As our allies, we might protest against any principle of their policy; but, in stating our feelings regarding their personal character, caution ought to be observed, and certainly opinions ought not to be expressed which, he believed, were without foundation. It ought not to be forgotten, that those whom the hon. and

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learned gentleman had arraigned with such sarcastic severity, had joined with us, by a common effort, to repel a common danger. When, too, the hon. and learned gentleman spoke of that "great and resplendent character" Bnonaparté, he confessed he had heard him with regret. Let him remember the exertions we had made with our allies against the atrocious violence of that individual. When the hon. and learned gentleman was speaking of Spain—when he was reprobating so strongly the interference of foreign powers—it was strange indeed that he should call that man "a great and resplendent character," who, with regard to Spain, had notoriously been guilty of the basest duplicity. Had the hon. and learned gentleman forgotten, while attempting to fasten on our allies all the crimes to which he had adverted, that the individual he had so panegyrised had been guilty of every one of them? Had he forgotten that he had broken all promises, disregarded all treaties, murdered princes, and subjected independent states to the most unjust oppression? Above all, had he forgotten that this "great and resplendent character" had borne a most ferocious enmity towards this country, which had ultimately been the cause of his downfall? The hon. and learned gentleman had said, that the whole object of the congress of Verona was to take into consideration the affairs of Spain. He begged leave to remind him, that other great questions had also occupied its attention,—the affairs of Italy, the slave trade, and the subsisting relations between Russia and Turkey. The recent conduct of Russia towards Turkey proved the injustice of the accusation respecting the spirit of aggression by which she was animated. Nothing could now he more manifest than that the policy of Russia of late had been marked by the greatest forbearance, and a desire rather to avoid than to promote war. With respect to the interference of Austria in the affairs of Italy, a stipulation had been entered into for the withdrawing of her troops. In his opinion, the step taken by Austria, in the first instance, was clearly justifiable. But, whether it were or were not, the conduct of Great Britain, both in the cases of Naples and Spain, had been perfectly consistent. Her conduct had been regulated, in both instances, by the same principle. She had left it to Austria to
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determine on the propriety of interposition on the grounds she had assigned; and at least she had shown, that her object was what she had stated—not territorial aggrandizement, but to prevent danger to her own dominions. One purpose of the congress was to decide the time when the troops of Austria should be removed—The hon. and learned gentleman had directed but little of his attention to the internal affairs of this kingdom; no doubt reserving himself for some future occasion, when he would observe upon them more at large. The House must have heard with the utmost satisfaction, both that there would be a reduction in the estimates, for the service of the year, and that his majesty would be enabled, consistently with the maintenance of public credit, to recommend a further and a larger remission of taxation. Although, perhaps, rather irregular, he would now give notice, that it was the intention of the chancellor of the exchequer, after his return as a member, to take the earliest opportunity of entering into a general exposition of the financial state of the country, in order to explain to the House those details of reduction and remission of taxation, which he was satisfied would meet with the warmest approbation. It might not he anticipating too much to add, that a considerable part would apply to a diminution of the assessed taxes. He agreed, that it was most desirable to afford relief to the agricultural interest; but he did not concur in the notion, that that relief could be afforded by a remission of taxation. To the increasing prosperity of the manufacturing and commercial interests, he looked for the most material improvement. When so much new activity had been given to commerce—when such an increase had taken place in the manufacturing districts—it was impossible that ere long agriculture should not feel the benefit of the change, and in the end recover from its depression. As it was the wish of the House to come to a vote, he should abstain from further explanations, trusting that perfect unanimity would prevail.
Sir James Mackintoshsaid, it was not his intention at all adversely to meet and discuss the speech just delivered, as he applauded many of the just principles it contained, and commended the reserve which ministerial prudence dictated, as to the application of future measures adapted to particular circumstances. As

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to the incidental questions introduced by his hon. and learned friend, he could not observe upon them without occupying a larger portion of time than was at present desirable. He should, perhaps, have been contented to rest his opinion upon the excellent speech of the hon. mover of the Address, the principles it contained having been expressed in terms, such as neither he nor any man could improve. They had been further enforced by the eloquent, the irresistible speech, of his hon. and learned friend who had adverted, he would not say with sarcastic severity, but with sarcastic justice, to the conduct and character of those who claimed a monopoly of all civil and religious principles, and who, without scruple, felt themselves at liberty to violate those principles whenever it suited their convenience. He should not now have risen, after all that had been so well said, had he not been influenced by the generous appeal of the gallant officer to all members, to deliver their opinions on the state of Europe at the present critical and awful moment—at a moment when a war was about to be commenced subversive of the law of nations—subversive of all the rights of independent states—a war tending to involve all Europe in general hostility, and most especially affecting the security of his majesty's dominions, the honour of his crown, and the prosperity of his people. On one point only he differed from his hon. and learned friend; for he must deny that his most christian majesty had carried the principle of foreign interference beyond his allies at the congress of Verona. They had all laid down what had been called a monarchical principle. From the beginning of their alliance, or rather of their conspiracy, they had declared, that no institution could be good, or ought to exist, that did not flow from the will of the sovereign. This principle, which was avowed, contained in itself a declaration of war against the character of this country—against all its best and noblest institutions: it was a libel upon all the generations of our ancestors, a slander upon the very title to the crown. It declared, that those who secured and established British liberty were conspirators against the holy rights of kings: that George IV. himself was a usurper, and king William only the chief of a lawless banditti. It proclaimed as traitors those who had extorted Magna Charta from a
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tyrant, rendered the privileges of the House a mere assumption, and the occupation of the throne of these realms a violation of that great, just, profound, liberal, and enlightened monarchical principle which was to be applied to the affairs of Spain. He was sorry to hear such potentates called the allies of Great Britain: he could not conceive how any alliance could subsist between the government which advised the royal Speech of to-day, and those who held doctrines destructive of the hitherto acknowledged law of nations, and inconsistent with the rights of every state of civilized Europe. On this monarchical principle, war was to be declared against Spain; and it was contended, that three or four great states of Europe might combine to put down all amended institutions, not flowing from the mere will of the sovereign, and to make war upon a free people, because it thought fit, in the height of its arrogance, to frame its own constitution, without first consulting the combined wisdom of the crowned heads of the north. Let it be remembered too, that this war was to be declared without a pretence of danger to the dominions of any one of these great dictators of mankind. Governments adopting such a principle were, in point of fact and justice, at war with all independent states: they were the enemies of all who did not choose to submit to any yoke they thought tit to impose; and it then became only a question of policy and prudence with independent states, what time they would choose for asserting their rights, in defiance of a band of haughty and overbearing conspirators against the liberties of the world. He was sorry not to see the hon. member for Bossiny in his place, who, on a former occasion, spoke upon this subject with a degree of force and zeal which could not be forgotten, when he alluded to the overt acts of hostility by the sovereigns against the freedom of mankind at large, and compared them with the effects of the decree of the Convention of 1792, which had been held the grand authority for the resistance of other nations to the proceedings of France. The hon. gentleman had then applied this doctrine to the case of Naples. In reference to what had just been said, he must tell the right hon. secretary, that he was inconsistent in approving of the aggression of Austria in the case of Naples, and disapproving of the present interference of France, in the affairs of Spain. It was

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a mistake to suppose that Austria had rested her justification on the ground of danger from vicinage. She had claimed the right of overrunning Naples as one of the lords paramount of Europe; because Austria saw Naples adopting institutions which were at variance with the system she chose her to possess. In proof of this, he referred the right hon. secretary to the declaration of the sovereigns, who proclaimed in terms, that they would "strike rebellion wherever they could reach it;" and, if they then confined themselves to Naples and Piedmont, it was only because they could reach no further. It was not then their intention, as they professed, to march any troops into what, in the new Muscovite geography, was called "the western territory of Europe," those obscure and semi-barbarous realms of France and Spain. It was not, however, through moderation, abstinence, or mercy, that they did not pour their hordes of Calmucs and Croats into those kingdoms, to subdue and civilize them to northern notions of liberty and happiness. They adjourned this beneficent project for two years, and allowed Spain and Portugal the privilege of being the last to be devoured. The king of France had now adopted that principle; and on that principle he was about to carry on the war against Spain. He, like Austria, complained of no danger from juxtaposition: he did not condescend to pay the public the compliment of conjuring up some imaginary peril, as an excuse for his aggression. According to his speech, the only object of his hostility was to enable the sovereign of Spain to give his people such institutions as he thought best for them. The ultra royalists of France of late had been very fond of reminding Europe of Louis XIV., and of saying, that the work which he had begun was now to be completed; in fact, that the object of the war, under the pretence of preserving social order, was to finish the subjugation of Spain, which that monarch had contemplated. He trusted that the House would hear with due reverence, and that Europe would mark with becoming attention, the dying words of William III., in his last speech from the throne, in which he exposed clearly the designs of Louis XIV. The significant threats of that ambitious king were at this moment revived by his restored successor, who was about to attempt to imitate the example o his ancestor, the oppressor of Europe,
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whose whole life had been devoted to the establishment of the principle of universal monarchy. The words of king William were delivered within two months of his death: they related to Spain and her relations with this country, and might be looked upon as almost prophetic of the situation in which Great Britain was now placed. They were these: "By the French king's placing his grandson on the throne of Spain, he is in a condition to oppress the rest of Europe, unless speedy and effectual measures be taken. Under this pretence, he is become the real master of the whole Spanish monarchy; he has made it to be entirely depending on France, and disposes of it as of his own dominions; and by that means he has surrounded his neighbours in such a manner, that, though the name of peace may be said to continue, yet they are put to the expense and inconveniences of war. This must affect England in the nearest and most sensible manner in respect to our trade, which will soon become precarious in all the variable branches of it; in respect to our peace and safety at home, which we cannot hope should long continue; and in respect to that part which England ought to take in the preservation of the liberty of Europe." Thus it appeared that king William placed above all other considerations and interests the glorious duty peculiarly incumbent upon this nation, of preserving the liberty of Europe. If he were asked for more, he would request the House to call to mind the unanimous address of both Houses not long after the death of king William. It should be borne in mind, that the dissolution of the parliament before that by which the address was voted, was resolved upon in 1707, for the purpose of more clearly ascertaining the sentiments of the people of England, as to the propriety of endeavouring to rescue Spain from France. The representatives, therefore, came directly fresh from their constituents, and they enabled the successor of king William to complete that alliance which might have effected the deliverance of Europe. Yet, in our day, the authority of Louis XIV., the common enemy and oppressor of Europe, was cited in favour of a successor of the house of Bourbon—restored for his.lmoderation—replaced upon his throne on account of his pacific character, so well calculated to repress the military spirit and love of aggrandizement prevalent in his newly

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recovered kingdom. That successor seemed now resolved to make a perilous experiment, to ascertain whether he could not accomplish by conquest what was yet incomplete, by indulging that military spirit and love of aggrandizement which he was reinstated for the purpose of repressing. The unanimous address of both Houses to which he had referred, contained the following expressions:—"Your majesty is pleased to give us warning of the danger of being so far deluded as to depend again on the faith of treaties with an enemy, who has never yet had any other regard to them, than as they served the purposes of his interest and ambition; and to inform us, that no peace can be lasting, safe, and honourable, till the Spanish monarchy be fixed in the house of Austria, and France reduced to such a degree, that the balance of power in Europe be again restored. We humbly concur with your majesty in these your wise and noble sentiments. And we faithfully promise, that no dangers shall deter us, nor any artifices divert us, from doing all that is in our power to assist your majesty in carrying on the war, till you shall be enabled to procure such a peace for Europe." Did he say, that this recommendation was now to be complied with to the letter? Certainly not: experience, from the peace of Utrecht to the family compact, was against it: but, as soon as the family compact was concluded, the very evil foreseen by king William was revived, and, for all military purposes, Spain became a province to France. The only temperament the case admitted—the only event that could possibly check the absolute power of France, through a prince of the house of Bourbon, was the establishment of a national legislature. The application of the word "legitimate" was not confined, as the emperor of Russia and his coadjutors confined it, to sovereigns; for in 1812, the late lord Londonderry stated it as a sine qua non, that the authority of Ferdinand VII. and of the cortes, the legitimate government of Spain (Ferdinand being at that time a prisoner at Valencey, and all the powers of sovereignty being vested in the cortes) should be acknowledged. All Europe, excepting Buonaparté, had acknowledged the legitimate government of the cortes in 1812. And did not the events of 1820 restore it? Without dwelling longer on this point, he should content himself with stating, that, for his
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own part, he considered the meditated aggression by France against Spain and Portugal, in a geographical, military, national, and every other sense, upon the principle promulgated by the king of France, as the most unrighteous, unprovoked, wanton, lawless, and flagitious attack ever made by one state upon the liberties of another. The people of Spain had shown the most magnanimous forbearance. He prayed to God that they might continue a line of conduct that reflected so much honour on their national character; and he hoped that they would not be betrayed into excesses, which would only serve the cause of their bitterest enemies. Upon this subject he felt the strongest interest. He looked upon the deliverance of Spain as the noblest monument of British valour, and he saw that the object of this ungenerous invasion was to rob this country, if possible, of the laurels of Talavera, Vittoria, and Salamanca. It was an attempt, on the part of France, to steal from Great Britain the triumph which the one had gloriously gained, and the other ignobly lost. It was an attack upon the honour and character of this country. He knew, and was ever ready to acknowledge, that in the late war much was to be attributed to the invincible spirit and noble courage of Spaniards; but he knew also, that no nation had contributed more than Great Britain to their happiness and independence. He felt strongly and he spoke strongly; he sought for no qualification of his language, no retreat from responsibility. He had embarked his powers and his heart in the cause of Spain; it was his most ardent hope that the people might triumph over the detestable combination against their liberties; but, whatever might be the fate or fortune of their arms, he should never regret the part he had taken, the sentiments he laid expressed. Bitter, indeed, would be his grief, if he saw this fine, this brave, this generous nation compelled to submit to the haughty dictation of a conqueror; for, in the history of the world, there never was a holier struggle against a more degrading tyranny. On the one side, was all that was dear to man, his best rights, his noblest privileges; on the other, all that was unjust, detestable, and flagitious. In what he had said, he believed he had spoken the undivided sentiments of the whole people of Great Britain: from one end of the kingdom to

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the other, all impartial men felt alike—sympathy for Spain, disgust at her conspiring enemies. As his hon. and learned friend had already remarked, there was scarcely an enlightened individual in all Europe, out of the councils of these self-elected arbiters of the fate of millions, who did not join hand and heart in the resistance the Spaniards were prepared to make. His hon. and learned friend had already made a beautiful quotation from a fragment of a recently recovered tract by Cicero; and he (Sir J. M.) would refer the House to another passage from the same author, most admirably adapted to a situation like that he had been contemplating, in which Scipio African us was made to draw a happy distinction between the condition of a people "qui sub lege est et sub justo domino," and of a people exposed to all the miseries of a cruel tyranny. Yet such were the sentiments which an aristocratical writer of the Roman republic put into the mouth of the leader of the senatorial party, during the sedition of the Gracchi, when passions were most inflamed, and life was exposed to the fury of the plebeian faction. He should conclude by repeating his regret at hearing powers entertaining the projects attributed to them, nay, which they had avowed and boasted, called the allies of England. Having over-run Naples and Piedmont, they were merciful enough to give a respite of two years to Spain: they might still, perhaps, give a further respite to Portugal, in order to lull that nation into security, and to deter them from aiding their ancient and near ally; but, by parity of reasoning, Portugal must be invaded, because she had followed the example of England in obtaining a charter of their rights. All eyes must see that the three powers of the north, by withdrawing their ministers from Madrid, and by their declarations, had made themselves parties to the war, and were ready to pour their myriads into "the western territory of Europe," should the troops of Louis XVIII. be unsuccessful, or should discontents break out in the interior of France. It was high time, therefore, for all men to contemplate the importance of the crisis, and to be prepared to see a Muscovite army lining the shores of the continent, from Amsterdam to Cadiz.
Mr. Denmansaid, that if peace come be maintained, consistently with the honour and security of the country, in God's name let it be preserved; but if
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not, though it was enough to break the heart of any man to reflect that the horrors and calamities of war were likely to be renewed, we had but one course left—that of manly and unanimous exertion. They had been assured, in the Speech from the throne, that his majesty's government had declined to interfere with Spain; but he could have wished for further assurances, that they had solemnly protested against the conduct of the allied powers, and that every effort, remonstrance, and threat, had been used to deter France from issuing that manifesto, the import of which it was impossible for any ingenuity to misconstrue. Could the intentions of the French government be doubted, when they declared they had 100,000 men ready to take the field? He was unwilling to enter into any topic which might provoke discussion; yet he could not help thinking that the House ought to be informed under what instructions his majesty's plenipotentiary had acted at Verona. What countenance could that plenipotentiary have assumed, when he was told that the allied powers were about to over-run Spain, because the Spaniards had extorted from their monarch those institutions which could only be obtained by extortion? He could not help thinking that such remonstrances ought to have been made as would have prevented the appearance of that disgusting speech which had issued from the mouth of the king of France. If the congress had, in fact, been the scene of remonstrance on the part of England, the aggression of France against Spain, in the teeth of that remonstrance, was of itself an act of hostility against England. He hoped that war might be averted; but he did not wish to see it averted at the expense of those principles upon which the happiness and security of the country depended. This was the single question which ought now to occupy their attention. He hoped the opinion of that House would be unanimously expressed. The details of those measures which public economy required, and all the facts connected with the severe sufferings of a most important body in the community, must all come before that House; but he wished it to go forth to the world, that the British house of parliament, on the first day of its meeting, was ready to go all lengths for the maintenance of the rights of their country, threatened in the person of its nearest and

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best ally. It was not to be, forgotten, that the language of the French speech had been used by the emperor of Russia in 1820:—"institutions for the people ought only to emanate from the crown:" in other words, the crown was to allow its subjects only just as much liberty as suited its arbitrary dogmas. The allied monarchs, therefore, at least, deserved credit for consistency. They had over-run the fertile plains of Naples, and on the same principle they were preparing to tame down the haughty pride of Spain. He remembered having said long since, though rebuked for it at the time, that if the war in Italy had lasted long enough for the Russian army to march down from the north, Spain would have been the next object of attack. The allies had availed themselves of the earliest opportunity of invading. Spain, and we could not shut our eyes to the fact, that Great Britain was in principle at this moment involved in the struggle. The whole people of this country must feel that there was but one side to this question. The least faltering at this momentous juncture might be fatal. The effect of any hesitation on our part might be most injurious to the interests of Spain. Let the House look narrowly to the present proceeding. The question which the continental powers now put to Spain, they would next put to England. It had been said again and again, that if the war did break out, England would, somehow or other, be dragged into it. Then, if the country was to go to war, let it go to war for some purpose. Let it now shun the contest at the expense of sacrificing its allies, and afterwards strike for some trivial point of form—some breach of diplomatic arrangement or decorum. If England must go to war, let her choose her own time. Let government speak out upon the present crisis, and be ready to back its honest remonstrance with the power of this great and free country. In such a cause, there was no sacrifice which the country would not be prepared to make; and as the course he recommended was the just, so, eventually, it would be found to be the economical one. He thought that the rebuke his honourable and learned friend had received for calling a great man now no more a "great and resplendent character," might well have been spared, when the conduct of the present ruling powers was looked at—men who, without the excuse of the warlike motives, if he might so ex-
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press himself, which had seemed to impel that individual, out stepped his injustice, upon a cold blooded calculation of their strength. Let France recollect her own struggles for independence; let her recollect the declaration in which, at the commencement of those struggles, she had offered assistance to all nations willing to follow her example. He should say no more, than that he much regretted he was not enabled to thank the crown for more active efforts to avert the crisis which the conduct of our allies threatened to bring upon us.
The Address was then agreed to, nem. con.