The privilege of representation in the House of Commons was early
conferred on different localities for a variety of reasons. Before
the end of the seventeenth century the constituency of the House had
come to be fixed. Seats were held by representatives of counties and
of such cities and boroughs as for one reason or another had been
admitted as a mark of royal favor. In the course of the eighteenth
century it came to be plainly seen that the development of the
country was constantly increasing the anomalies and inequalities
of representation. Boroughs which in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries had received the right of representation continued to send
one or two members, even though as in some localities the population
had entirely dwindled away; and large cities like Liverpool,
Manchester, and Leeds had grown up to a population of hundreds of
thousands without any representation whatever.
This system gave every encouragement to corruption. The smaller
boroughs were eagerly bought by those who desired to control the
politics of the Lower House; and consequently, before the end of the
last century it was found that so many of the boroughs were owned by
members of the House of Lords that both Houses of Parliament were
under the control of the nobility. Some of the peers, besides sitting
in person in the House of Lords, virtually appointed four, five,
six, or, in one instance, nine members of the House of Commons. Of
the decayed boroughs some were held by the government, some by peers,
and some by unscrupulous speculators who were in the habit of selling
the representation to the highest bidders. In times of political
excitement bribery became systematic, and in some cases assumed
colossal proportions. That the constitution was able to survive
the strain put upon it, is perhaps the most striking proof of its
remarkable vitality and strength.
The necessity of a fundamental reform in the methods of
representation was first publicly announced by Lord Chatham in his
speech on the right of taxing the American colonies. The younger
Pitt, in the early years of his administration, made several attempts
to bring the subject into parliamentary favor. But the excesses of
the French Revolution made even reformers timid; and the government
was so exclusively occupied with the Napoleonic wars that the
agitation made but slow progress. It happened, moreover, that for
several years the most eloquent and influential members of the House
of Commons were opposed to the measure. From 1807 to 1830 the Tories
were in power, and during this period, therefore, there was no reason
to hope that any thing could be done except in the way of creating
public opinion.
At the head of the movement in behalf of reform was Earl Grey. For
nearly half a century he devoted his great energies and his excellent
judgment to the subject with such skill and discretion that constant
inroads were made on public opinion. At length the subject took
so strong hold of the people that in spite of the fact that the
Tories were intrenched in power behind the old system, the Whigs
were victorious in the election of 1830. Earl Grey was appointed
Prime-Minister, and it was universally understood that the first
object of the government would be the passage of a reform bill.
The leader of the government in the House of Commons was Lord John
Russell, who had been scarcely second to Earl Grey in active sympathy
for reform. To him, therefore, was intrusted the introduction of
the measure. His speech explaining the provisions of the bill at
once placed it before Parliament and the country as a question of
the most momentous importance. The sweeping provisions of the act
aroused the most violent opposition and even the ridicule of the
Tories. It proposed to disfranchise fifty-six rotten boroughs and
to redistribute the 143 seats thus made vacant. It also changed the
basis of franchise in constituencies not otherwise disturbed. But
the country favored the movement, and soon the cry was raised that
nothing would satisfy the nation but “the whole bill and nothing but
the bill.”
When the measure, after a most able discussion on both sides, finally
came to a second reading, it was carried in the House of Commons,
amid unparalleled excitement, by a majority of 302 to 301. The
smallness of this majority made it doubtful whether the bill could
be finally carried even in the House of Commons. An amendment was
offered on which the government was defeated. As the subject was now
the all-absorbing question before the nation, the ministry determined
to dissolve Parliament, and thus bring public opinion to a definite
expression. The result showed the wisdom of the course; for more than
a hundred who had voted against the bill lost their seats. With some
trifling changes the measure was re-introduced into the House of
Commons, and speedily carried. It then went to the House of Lords,
where it was discussed perhaps with even greater ability than had
been shown in the Lower House. Grey and Brougham urged the measure
with great earnestness, while Eldon and Lyndhurst opposed it with
scarcely less skill and power. On coming to a final vote the bill was
defeated by a majority of forty-three.
The excitement in the country over this result was unparalleled.
The attitude of the Lords was in evident opposition to the will of
the country; and there was much speculation as to the course which
ought to be pursued. At length the ministry determined not only to
re-introduce the measure, but also to advise the king to create
new peers in sufficient number to carry the bill through the Upper
House. A list of about eighty names was made out for this purpose.
The House of Lords, however, at the last moment gave way. The Duke of
Wellington and a knot of his followers, unwilling that so violent a
method should be resorted to, absented themselves from the House in
order that the bill might be carried in their absence, and without
any responsibility on their part. This most important measure of
modern English legislation became a law on the 7th of June, 1832.
The action taken has generally been considered as establishing an
important constitutional precedent. The significance of the method
resorted to has been well indicated by Bagehot in his brilliant work
on the English constitution. He says of the Lords: “Their veto is a
sort of hypothetical veto. They say: We reject your bill this once,
or these twice, or even these thrice; but if you keep sending it
up, at the last we won’t reject it. The House has ceased to be one
of latent directors, and has become one of temporary rejectors and
palpable alterers.”
The following speech of Macaulay was one of the first of those
delivered on the bill in the House of Commons. No other speech in
the whole course of the discussion gave a more comprehensive view
of the vast interests involved in the great measure. The day after
the delivery of the speech his sister wrote: “His voice from cold
and over-excitement got quite into a scream towards the last part. A
person told him that he had not heard such speaking since Fox. ‘You
have not heard such screaming since Fox,’ he replied.”
It is a circumstance, sir, of happy augury for the motion before
the House, that almost all those who have opposed it have declared
themselves hostile on principle to parliamentary reform. Two members,
I think, have confessed that, though they disapprove of the plan now
submitted to us, they are forced to admit the necessity of a change
in the representative system. Yet even those gentlemen have used, as
far as I have observed, no arguments which would not apply as strongly
to the most moderate change as to that which has been proposed by
his Majesty’s Government. I say, sir, that I consider this as a
circumstance of happy augury. For what I feared was, not the opposition
of those who are averse to all reform, but the disunion of reformers.
I knew that during three months every reformer had been employed
in conjecturing what the plan of the government would be. I knew
that every reformer had imagined in his own mind a scheme differing
doubtless in some points from that which my noble friend, the Paymaster
of the Forces (Lord John Russell), has developed. I felt, therefore,
great apprehension that one person would be dissatisfied with one part
of the bill, that another person would be dissatisfied with another
part, and that thus our whole strength would be wasted in internal
dissensions. That apprehension is now at an end. I have seen with
delight the perfect concord which prevails among all who deserve the
name of reformers in this House; and I trust that I may consider it as
an omen of the concord which will prevail among reformers throughout
the country. I will not, sir, at present express any opinion as to the
details of the bill; but having during the last twenty-four hours given
the most diligent consideration to its general principles, I have no
hesitation in pronouncing it a wise, noble, and comprehensive measure,
skilfully framed for the healing of great distempers, for the securing
at once of the public liberties, and of the public repose, and for the
reconciling and knitting together of all the orders of the state.
The honorable baronet who has just sat down (Sir Robert Peel) has
told us that the ministers have attempted to unite two inconsistent
principles in one abortive measure. Those were his very words. He
thinks, if I understand him rightly, that we ought either to leave
the representative system such as it is, or to make it perfectly
symmetrical. I think, sir, that the ministers would have acted unwisely
if they had taken either course. Their principle is plain, rational,
and consistent. It is this, to admit the middle class to a large and
direct share in the representation, without any violent shock to the
institutions of our country. [Hear! hear!] I understand those cheers;
but surely the gentlemen who utter them will allow that the change
which will be made in our institutions by this bill is far less
violent than that which, according to the honorable baronet, ought to
be made if we make any reform at all. I praise the ministers for not
attempting, at the present time, to make the representation uniform. I
praise them for not effacing the old distinction between the towns and
the counties, and for not assigning members to districts, according
to the American practice, by the Rule of Three. The government has,
in my opinion, done all that was necessary for the removal of a great
practical evil, and no more than was necessary.
I consider this, sir, as a practical question. I rest my opinion on
no general theory of government. I distrust all general theories of
government. I will not positively say, that there is any form of polity
which may not, in some conceivable circumstances, be the best possible.
I believe that there are societies in which every man may safely be
admitted to vote. [Hear! hear!] Gentlemen may cheer, but such is my
opinion. I say, sir, that there are countries in which the condition
of the laboring classes is such that they may safely be entrusted with
the right of electing members of the legislature. If the laborers of
England were in that state in which I, from my soul, wish to see them;
if employment were always plentiful, wages always high, food always
cheap; if a large family were considered not as an encumbrance but
as a blessing, the principal objections to universal suffrage would,
I think, be removed. Universal suffrage exists in the United States
without producing any very frightful consequences; and I do not believe
that the people of those States, or of any part of the world, are
in any good quality naturally superior to our own countrymen. But,
unhappily, the laboring classes in England, and in all old countries,
are occasionally in a state of great distress. Some of the causes of
this distress are, I fear, beyond the control of the government. We
know what effect distress produces, even on people more intelligent
than the great body of the laboring classes can possibly be. We know
that it makes even wise men irritable, unreasonable, credulous, eager
for immediate relief, heedless of remote consequences. There is no
quackery in medicine, religion, or politics, which may not impose even
on a powerful mind, when that mind has been disordered by pain or fear.
It is therefore no reflection on the poorer class of Englishmen, who
are not, and who cannot in the nature of things be, highly educated, to
say that distress produces on them its natural effects, those effects
which it would produce on the Americans, or on any other people; that
it blinds their judgment, that it inflames their passions, that it
makes them prone to believe those who flatter them, and to distrust
those who would serve them. For the sake, therefore, of the whole
society; for the sake of the laboring classes themselves, I hold it
to be clearly expedient that, in a country like this, the right of
suffrage should depend on a pecuniary qualification.
But, sir, every argument which would induce me to oppose universal
suffrage induces me to support the plan which is now before us. I am
opposed to universal suffrage, because I think that it would produce
a destructive revolution. I support this plan, because I am sure that
it is our best security against a revolution. The noble Paymaster of
the Forces hinted, delicately indeed and remotely, at this subject. He
spoke of the danger of disappointing the expectations of the nation;
and for this he was charged with threatening the House. Sir, in the
year 1817, the late Lord Londonderry proposed a suspension of the
habeas-corpus act. On that occasion he told the House that, unless the
measures which he recommended were adopted, the public peace could
not be preserved. Was he accused of threatening the House? Again,
in the year 1819, he proposed the laws known by the name of the Six
Acts. He then told the House that, unless the executive power were
reinforced, all the institutions of the country would be overturned by
popular violence. Was he then accused of threatening the House? Will
any gentleman say that it is parliamentary and decorous to urge the
danger arising from popular discontent as an argument for severity; but
that it is unparliamentary and indecorous to urge that same danger as
an argument for conciliation? I, sir, do entertain great apprehension
for the fate of my country; I do in my conscience believe that, unless
the plan proposed, or some similar plan, be speedily adopted, great
and terrible calamities will befall us. Entertaining this opinion,
I think myself bound to state it, not as a threat, but as a reason.
I support this bill because it will improve our institutions; but I
support it also because it tends to preserve them. That we may exclude
those whom it is necessary to exclude, we must admit those whom it may
be safe to admit. At present we oppose the schemes of revolutionists
with only one half, with only one quarter, of our proper force. We say,
and we say justly, that it is not by mere numbers, but by property and
intelligence, that the nation ought to be governed. Yet, saying this,
we exclude from all share in the government great masses of property
and intelligence, great numbers of those who are most interested in
preserving tranquillity, and who know best how to preserve it. We do
more. We drive over to the side of revolution those whom we shut out
from power. Is this a time when the cause of law and order can spare
one of its natural allies?
My noble friend, the Paymaster of the Forces, happily described the
effect which some parts of our representative system would produce
on the mind of a foreigner, who had heard much of our freedom and
greatness. If, sir, I wished to make such a foreigner clearly
understand what I consider as the great defects of our system, I
would conduct him through that immense city which lies to the north
of Great Russell Street and Oxford Street, a city superior in size
and population to the capitals of many mighty kingdoms; and probably
superior in opulence, intelligence, and general respectability, to
any city in the world. I would conduct him through that interminable
succession of streets and squares, all consisting of well-built and
well-furnished houses. I would make him observe the brilliancy of the
shops and the crowd of well-appointed equipages. I would show him that
magnificent circle of palaces which surrounds the Regent’s Park. I
would tell him that the rental of this district was far greater than
that of the whole kingdom of Scotland at the time of the Union. And
then I would tell him, that this was an unrepresented district.[2] It
is needless to give any more instances. It is needless to speak of
Manchester, Birmingham, Leeds, Sheffield, with no representation, or
of Edinburgh and Glasgow with a mock representation.[3] If a property
tax were now imposed on the principle that no person who had less than
a hundred and fifty pounds a year should contribute, I should not be
surprised to find that one half in number and value of the contributors
had no votes at all; and it would, beyond all doubt, be found that one
fiftieth part in number and value of the contributors had a larger
share of the representation than the other forty-nine fiftieths. This
is not government by property. It is government by certain detached
portions and fragments of property, selected from the rest, and
preferred to the rest, on no rational principle whatever.
To say that such a system is ancient is no defence. My honorable
friend, the member for the University of Oxford, challenges us to
show that the constitution was ever better than it is. Sir, we are
legislators, not antiquaries. The question for us is, not whether the
constitution was better formerly, but whether we can make it better
now. In fact, however, the system was not in ancient times, by any
means, so absurd as it is in our age. One noble Lord [Lord Stormont]
has to-night told us that the town of Aldborough, which he represents,
was not larger in the time of Edward the First than it is at present.
The line of its walls, he assures us, may still be traced. It is now
built up to that line. He argues, therefore, that as the founder of
our representative institutions gave members to Aldborough when it
was as small as it now is, those who would disfranchise it on account
of its smallness have no right to say that they are recurring to the
original principle of our representative institutions. But does the
noble Lord remember the change which has taken place in the country
during the last five centuries? Does he remember how much England
has grown in population, while Aldborough has been standing still?
Does he consider, that in the time of Edward the First the kingdom
did not contain two millions of inhabitants? It now contains nearly
fourteen millions. A hamlet of the present day would have been a town
of some importance in the time of our early Parliaments. Aldborough
may be absolutely as considerable a place as ever, but, compared with
the kingdom, it is much less considerable, by the noble Lord’s own
showing, than when it first elected burgesses. My honorable friend, the
member for the University of Oxford, has collected numerous instances
of the tyranny which the kings and nobles anciently exercised, both
over this House and over the electors. It is not strange that, in
times when nothing was held sacred, the rights of the people, and of
the representatives of the people, should not have been held sacred.
The proceedings which my honorable friend has mentioned no more prove
that, by the ancient constitution of the realm, this House ought to be
a tool of the king and of the aristocracy, than the benevolences and
the shipmoney prove their own legality, or than those unjustifiable
arrests, which took place long after the ratification of the Great
Charter, and even after the Petition of Right, prove that the subject
was not anciently entitled to his personal liberty. We talk of the
wisdom of our ancestors; and in one respect at least they were wiser
than we. They legislated for their own times. They looked at the
England which was before them. They did not think it necessary to give
twice as many members to York as they gave to London, because York
had been capital of Britain in the time of Constantius Chlorus; and
they would have been amazed indeed if they had foreseen that a city
of more than a hundred thousand inhabitants would be left without
representatives in the nineteenth century, merely because it stood on
ground which, in the thirteenth century, had been occupied by a few
huts. They framed a representative system, which, though not without
defects and irregularities, was well adapted to the state of England
in their time. But a great revolution took place. The character of the
old corporations changed. New forms of property came into existence.
New portions of society rose into importance. There were in our rural
districts rich cultivators, who were not freeholders. There were in
our capital rich traders, who were not livery men. Towns shrank into
villages. Villages swelled into cities larger than the London of the
Plantagenets. Unhappily, while the natural growth of society went on,
the artificial polity continued unchanged. The ancient form of the
representation remained, and precisely because the form remained, the
spirit departed. Then came that pressure almost to bursting, the new
wine in the old bottles, the new society under the old institutions.
It is now time for us to pay a decent, a rational, a manly reverence
to our ancestors, not by superstitiously adhering to what they, in
other circumstances, did, but by doing what they, in our circumstances,
would have done. All history is full of revolutions, produced by
causes similar to those which are now operating in England. A portion
of the community which had been of no account, expands and becomes
strong. It demands a place in the system, suited, not to its former
weakness, but to its present power. If this is granted, all is well.
If this is refused, then comes the struggle between the young energy
of one class and the ancient privileges of another. Such was the
struggle between the Plebeians and the Patricians of Rome. Such was
the struggle of the Italian allies for admission to the full rights of
Roman citizens. Such was the struggle of our North American colonies
against the mother country. Such was the struggle which the Third
Estate of France maintained against the aristocracy of birth. Such was
the struggle which the Roman Catholics of Ireland maintained against
the aristocracy of creed. Such is the struggle which the free people of
color in Jamaica are now maintaining against the aristocracy of skin.
Such, finally, is the struggle which the middle classes in England
are maintaining against an aristocracy of mere locality, against an
aristocracy, the principle of which is to invest a hundred drunken
potwallopers in one place, or the owner of a ruined hovel in another,
with powers which are withheld from cities renowned to the farthest
ends of the earth for the marvels of their wealth, and of their
industry.
But these great cities, says my honorable friend, the member for the
University of Oxford, are virtually, though not directly, represented.
Are not the wishes of Manchester, he asks, as much consulted as those
of any town which sends members to Parliament? Now, sir, I do not
understand how a power which is salutary when exercised virtually can
be noxious when exercised directly. If the wishes of Manchester have as
much weight with us as they would have under a system which should give
representatives to Manchester, how can there be any danger in giving
representatives to Manchester? A virtual representative is, I presume,
a man who acts as a direct representative would act; for surely it
would be absurd to say that a man virtually represents the people of
Manchester, who is in the habit of saying No, when a man directly
representing the people of Manchester would say Aye. The utmost that
can be expected from virtual Representation is, that it may be as good
as direct representation. If so, why not grant direct representation
to places which, as everybody allows, ought, by some process or other,
to be represented?
If it be said that there is an evil in change as change, I answer
that there is also an evil in discontent as discontent. This, indeed,
is the strongest part of our case. It is said that the system works
well. I deny it. I deny that a system works well, which the people
regard with aversion. We may say here that it is a good system and a
perfect system. But if any man were to say so to any six hundred and
fifty-eight respectable farmers or shop-keepers, chosen by lot in
any part of England, he would be hooted down and laughed to scorn.
Are these the feelings with which any part of the government ought
to be regarded? Above all, are these the feelings with which the
popular branch of the legislature ought to be regarded? It is almost
as essential to the utility of a House of Commons, that it should
possess the confidence of the people, as that it should deserve that
confidence. Unfortunately, that which is in theory the popular part
of our government, is in practice the unpopular part. Who wishes to
dethrone the king? Who wishes to turn the Lords out of their House?
Here and there a crazy Radical, whom the boys in the street point at as
he walks along. Who wishes to alter the constitution of this House? The
whole people. It is natural that it should be so. The House of Commons
is, in the language of Mr. Burke, a check, not on the people, but for
the people. While that check is efficient, there is no reason to fear
that the king or the nobles will oppress the people. But if that check
requires checking, how is it to be checked? If the salt shall lose its
savor, wherewith shall we season it? The distrust with which the nation
regards this House may be unjust. But what then? Can you remove that
distrust? That it exists cannot be denied. That it is an evil cannot be
denied. That it is an increasing evil cannot be denied. One gentleman
tells us that it has been produced by the late events in France and
Belgium;[4] another, that it is the effect of seditious works which
have lately been published. If this feeling be of origin so recent,
I have read history to little purpose. Sir, this alarming discontent
is not the growth of a day, or of a year. If there be any symptoms by
which it is possible to distinguish the chronic diseases of the body
politic from its passing inflammations, all those symptoms exist in
the present case. The taint has been gradually becoming more extensive
and more malignant, through the whole lifetime of two generations. We
have tried anodynes. We have tried cruel operations. What are we to
try now? Who flatters himself that he can turn this feeling back? Does
there remain any argument which escaped the comprehensive intellect
of Mr. Burke, or the subtlety of Mr. Windham? Does there remain any
species of coercion which was not tried by Mr. Pitt and by Lord
Londonderry? We have had laws. We have had blood. New treasons have
been created. The press has been shackled. The habeas-corpus act has
been suspended. Public meetings have been prohibited. The event has
proved that these expedients were mere palliatives. You are at the end
of your palliatives. The evil remains. It is more formidable than ever.
What is to be done?
Under such circumstances, a great plan of reconciliation, prepared by
the ministers of the crown, has been brought before us in a manner
which gives additional lustre to a noble name, inseparably associated
during two centuries with the dearest liberties of the English people.
I will not say that this plan is in all its details precisely such
as I might wish it to be; but it is founded on a great and a sound
principle. It takes away a vast power from a few. It distributes that
power through the great mass of the middle order. Every man, therefore,
who thinks as I think, is bound to stand firmly by ministers who are
resolved to stand or fall with this measure. Were I one of them, I
would sooner, infinitely sooner, fall with such a measure than stand by
any other means that ever supported a cabinet.
My honorable friend, the member for the University of Oxford [Sir
Robert Inglis] tells us that if we pass this law England will soon be a
republic. The reformed House of Commons will, according to him, before
it has sat ten years, depose the king and expel the Lords from their
House. Sir, if my honorable friend could prove this, he would have
succeeded in bringing an argument for democracy infinitely stronger
than any that is to be found in the works of Paine. My honorable
friend’s proposition is in fact this: that our monarchical and
aristocratical institutions have no hold on the public mind of England;
that these institutions are regarded with aversion by a decided
majority of the middle class. This, sir, I say, is plainly deducible
from his proposition; for he tells us that the representatives of the
middle class will inevitably abolish royalty and nobility within ten
years; and there is surely no reason to think that the representatives
of the middle class will be more inclined to a democratic revolution
than their constituents. Now, sir, if I were convinced that the great
body of the middle class in England look with aversion on monarchy
and aristocracy, I should be forced, much against my will, to come to
this conclusion, that monarchical and aristocratical institutions are
unsuited to my country. Monarchy and aristocracy, valuable and useful
as I think them, are still valuable and useful as means and not as
ends. The end of government is the happiness of the people, and I do
not conceive that, in a country like this, the happiness of the people
can be promoted by a form of government in which the middle classes
place no confidence, and which exists only because the middle classes
have no organ by which to make their sentiments known. But, sir, I am
fully convinced that the middle classes sincerely wish to uphold the
royal prerogatives and the constitutional rights of the peers. What
facts does my honorable friend produce in support of his opinion? One
fact only, and that a fact which has absolutely nothing to do with the
question. The effect of this reform, he tells us, would be to make the
House of Commons more powerful. It was all-powerful once before, in the
beginning of 1649. Then it cut off the head of the king, and abolished
the House of Peers. Therefore, if it again has the supreme power, it
will act in the same manner. Now, sir, it was not the House of Commons
that cut off the head of Charles the First; nor was the House of
Commons then all-powerful. It had been greatly reduced in numbers by
successive expulsions. It was under the absolute dominion of the army.
A majority of the House was willing to take the terms offered by the
king. The soldiers turned out the majority; and the minority, not a
sixth part of the whole House, passed those votes of which my honorable
friend speaks,—votes of which the middle classes disapproved then, and
of which they disapprove still.
My honorable friend, and almost all the gentlemen who have taken the
same side with him in this debate, have dwelt much on the utility of
close and rotten boroughs. It is by means of such boroughs, they tell
us, that the ablest men have been introduced into Parliament.[5] It
is true that many distinguished persons have represented places of
this description. But, sir, we must judge of a form of government by
its general tendency, not by happy accidents. Every form of government
has its happy accidents. Despotism has its happy accidents. Yet we are
not disposed to abolish all constitutional checks to place an absolute
master over us, and to take our chance whether he may be a Caligula or
a Marcus Aurelius. In whatever way the House of Commons may be chosen,
some able men will be chosen in that way who would not be chosen in any
other way. If there were a law that the hundred tallest men in England
should be members of Parliament, there would probably be some able men
among those who would come into the House by virtue of this law. If the
hundred persons whose names stand first in the alphabetical list of
the Court Guide were made members of Parliament, there would probably
be able men among them. We read in ancient history that a very able
king was elected by the neighing of his horse, but we shall scarcely,
I think, adopt this mode of election. In one of the most celebrated
republics of antiquity, Athens, senators and magistrates were chosen
by lot; and sometimes the lot fell fortunately. Once, for example,
Socrates was in office. A cruel and unjust proposition was made by a
demagogue.[6] Socrates resisted it at the hazard of his own life. There
is no event in Grecian history more interesting than that memorable
resistance. Yet who would have officers appointed by lot, because the
accident of the lot may have given to a great and good man a power
which he would probably never have attained in any other way? We must
judge, as I said, by the general tendency of a system. No person can
doubt that a House of Commons, chosen freely by the middle classes,
will contain many very able men. I do not say that precisely the same
able men who would find their way into the present House of Commons
will find their way into the reformed House; but that is not the
question. No particular man is necessary to the state. We may depend
on it, that if we provide the country with popular institutions, those
institutions will provide it with great men.
There is another objection, which, I think, was first raised by the
honorable and learned member for Newport [Mr. Horace Twiss]. He tells
us that the elective franchise is property; that to take it away from a
man who has not been judicially convicted of malpractices is robbery;
that no crime is proved against the voters in the closed boroughs; that
no crime is even imputed to them in the preamble of the bill; and that
therefore to disfranchise them without compensation would be an act of
revolutionary tyranny. The honorable and learned gentleman has compared
the conduct of the present ministers, to that of those odious tools
of power who, toward the close of the reign of Charles the Second,
seized the charters of the Whig corporations. Now, there was another
precedent, which I wonder that he did not recollect, both because it is
much more nearly in point than that to which he referred, and because
my noble friend, the Paymaster of the Forces, had previously alluded to
it. If the elective franchise is property, if to disfranchise voters
without a crime proved, or a compensation given, be robbery, was
there ever such an act of robbery as the disfranchising of the Irish
forty-shilling freeholders?[7] Was any pecuniary compensation given
to them? Is it declared in the preamble of the bill which took away
their franchise, that they had been convicted of any offence? Was any
judicial inquiry instituted into their conduct? Were they even accused
of any crime? Or if you say it was a crime in the electors of Clare to
vote for the honorable and learned gentleman who now represents the
County of Waterford [Mr. O’Connell], was a Protestant freeholder in
Louth to be punished for the crime of a Catholic freeholder in Clare?
If the principle of the honorable and learned member for Newport be
sound, the franchise of the Irish peasant was property. That franchise
the ministers under whom the honorable and learned member held office
did not scruple to take away. Will he accuse those ministers of
robbery? If not, how can he bring such an accusation against their
successors?
Every gentleman, I think, who has spoken from the other side of
the House, has alluded to the opinions which some of his Majesty’s
ministers formerly entertained on the subject of reform. It would be
officious in me, sir, to undertake the defence of gentlemen who are so
well able to defend themselves. I will only say that, in my opinion,
the country will not think worse either of their capacity or of their
patriotism, because they have shown that they can profit by experience,
because they have learned to see the folly of delaying inevitable
changes. There are others who ought to have learned the same lesson. I
say, sir, that there are those who, I should have thought, must have
had enough to last them all their lives of that humiliation which
follows obstinate and boastful resistance to charges rendered necessary
by the progress of society and by the development of the human mind.
Is it possible that those persons can wish again to occupy a position
which can neither be defended nor surrendered with honor? I well
remember, sir, a certain evening in the month of May, 1827. I had not
then the honor of a seat in this House; but I was an attentive observer
of its proceedings. The right honorable baronet opposite [Sir Robert
Peel], of whom personally I desire to speak with that high respect
which I feel for his talents and his character, but of whose public
conduct I must speak with the sincerity required by my public duty, was
then, as he is now, out of office. He had just resigned the seals of
the Home Department, because he conceived that the recent ministerial
arrangements had been too favorable to the Catholic claims. He rose to
ask whether it was the intention of the new cabinet to repeal the Test
and Corporation Acts, and to reform the Parliament. He bound up, I
well remember, those two questions together; and he declared that, if
the ministers should either attempt to repeal the Test and Corporation
Acts, or bring forward a measure of Parliamentary reform, he should
think it his duty to oppose them to the utmost. Since that declaration
was made, four years have elapsed; and what is now the state of the
three questions which then chiefly agitated the minds of men? What
is become of the Test and Corporation Acts? They are repealed. By
whom? By the right honorable baronet. What has become of the Catholic
disabilities? They are removed. By whom? By the right honorable
baronet.[8] The question of parliamentary reform is still behind. But
signs, of which it is impossible to misconceive the import, do most
clearly indicate that, unless that question also be speedily settled,
property, and order, and all the institutions of this great monarchy,
will be exposed to fearful peril. Is it possible that gentlemen long
versed in high political affairs cannot read these signs? Is it
possible that they can really believe that the representative system of
England, such as it now is, will last till the year 1860? If not, for
what would they have us wait? Would they have us wait merely that we
may show to all the world how little we have profited by our own recent
experience?
Would they have us wait, that we may once again hit the exact point
where we can neither refuse with authority nor concede with grace?
Would they have us wait, that the numbers of the discontented party
may become larger, its demands higher, its feelings more acrimonious,
its organization more complete? Would they have us wait till the whole
tragi-comedy of 1827 has been acted over again; till they have been
brought into office by a cry of “No Reform,” to be reformers, as they
were once before brought into office by a cry of “No Popery,” to be
emancipators? Have they obliterated from their minds—gladly, perhaps,
would some among them obliterate from their minds—the transactions
of that year? And have they forgotten all the transactions of the
succeeding year? Have they forgotten how the spirit of liberty in
Ireland, debarred from its natural outlet, found a vent by forbidden
passages? Have they forgotten how we were forced to indulge the
Catholics in all the license of rebels, merely because we chose
to withhold from them the liberties of subjects? Do they wait for
associations more formidable than that of the Corn Exchange, for
contributions larger than the Rent, for agitators more violent than
those who, three years ago, divided with the king and the Parliament
the sovereignty of Ireland? Do they wait for that last and most
dreadful paroxysm of popular rage, for that last and most cruel test
of military fidelity? Let them wait, if their past experience shall
induce them to think that any high honor or any exquisite pleasure is
to be obtained by a policy like this. Let them wait, if this strange
and fearful infatuation be indeed upon them, that they should not see
with their eyes, or hear with their ears, or understand with their
heart. But let us know our interest and our duty better. Turn where
we may, within, around, the voice of great events is proclaiming to
us: Reform, that you may preserve. Now, therefore, while every thing
at home and abroad forebodes ruin to those who persist in a hopeless
struggle against the spirit of the age; now, while the crash of the
proudest throne of the continent is still resounding in our ears; now,
while the roof of a British palace affords an ignominious shelter to
the exiled heir of forty kings; now, while we see on every side ancient
institutions subverted, and great societies dissolved; now, while
the heart of England is still sound; now, while old feelings and old
associations retain a power and a charm which may too soon pass away;
now, in this your accepted time, now, in this your day of salvation,
take counsel, not of prejudice, not of party spirit, not of the
ignominious pride of a fatal consistency, but of history, of reason,
of the ages which are past, of the signs of this most portentous time.
Pronounce in a manner worthy of the expectation with which this great
debate has been anticipated, and of the long remembrance which it will
leave behind. Renew the youth of the state. Save property, divided
against itself. Save the multitude, endangered by its own ungovernable
passions. Save the aristocracy, endangered by its own unpopular power.
Save the greatest, and fairest, and most highly civilized community
that ever existed, from calamities which may in a few days sweep away
all the rich heritage of so many ages of wisdom and glory. The danger
is terrible. The time is short. If this bill should be rejected, I pray
to God that none of those who concur in rejecting it may ever remember
their votes with unavailing remorse, amidst the wreck of laws, the
confusion of ranks, the spoliation of property, and the dissolution of
social order.