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vote on the other side, this night, lay his hand upon his heart, and make the same declaration? I hope so-it will be well for his own peace-the indignation and abhorrence of his countrymen will not accompany him through life, and the curses of his children will not follow him to his grave.



I will, for the moment, put out of consideration all question of danger to ourselves. I will suppose Buonaparte to feel the truth of what he himself has declared, namely, that he despaired of success in attempting a dissent. I will suppose that all parts of our empire are at present secure, and that even in a protracted war, there will be no probability, no possibility (if gentlemen will take it so) of affecting us in any quarter by invasion. Even in this state of security, however, what is our situation? Have we forgotten the last two years of the last war? Have we forgotten the condition of the middle classes of society in this island; of every country gentleman of a limited income; of every tradesman; indeed, of every man in it who did not possess a very large fortune ;— have we already forgotten how the late war pressed upon them?

Let us recollect these things; let us recollect the circumstances which occurred in the course of that

war; what we all suffered by the immense loads that were laid upon us to support it-their grievous and most intolerable weight, and the cruel and grinding measures of every description, under which this country has groaned during so many years. Can ministers, with these recollections in their minds, bring themselves again to precipitate their country into miseries, which, after all, might so easily be avoided? What have we now to expect? I have heard, indeed, some talk of an economical war. But even this economy (difficult as the word is at all times to understand, when so applied) is now explained to consist in the adoption of measures leading to an immense and immediate enlargement of our expenses. We are told that we must make great exertions. And what exertions? Exertions beyond any thing we have ever yet known; far beyond what were found necessary during the glorious war of Queen Anne; far beyond those by which we obtained that pre-eminence, which has immortalized the memory of the late Earl of Chatham; far beyond even those of the late war itself.

And by whom are we told all this? If by some gentlemen who have had no experience in politics, and under whose guidance we had not already suffered; if by some orator, as a mere figure of speech, without a meaning, and by way of a flourish in debate,—for such a purpose it might do well; but we are told this, not by a novice in the art of extortion, but by an artist! If a man without experience or reputation examines my case when I am ill, and tells me, 'You must have a limb cut off, to save your life,' I might still hope for a

cure, without having recourse to so dreadful a remedy; but if the skilful practitioner, the regular doctor himself tells me so, after consultation,-if the experienced operator under whose prescriptions and directions I have already suffered, tells me so, I know what I must endure. If he tells me, 'I must pull out all your teeth; I must cut off part of the extremities, or you will die,' I have only to prepare for the operation. I know the alternative is death or torture. This great artist, this eminent doctor (Mr. Pitt) has told us, that, much as we have already been distinguished for exertion, what we have hitherto done is nothing. We have hitherto only been fighting for morality and religion, for the law of nations, for the rights of civil society, and in the cause of God. Resources fully adequate to such minor objects, the right honorable gentleman assures us, we have already employed; but now, we have a contest to sustain of a higher order—a contest which will compel us to strain every remaining nerve, and to call for sacrifices new and extraordinary, such as have never before been heard of in this country. We are told, that within a month, within a fortnight, perhaps, a plan must be formed for raising many millions of money, in a mode different from any that has hitherto been attempted. It is not to be a pitiful expedient for a single year; it is not to be an expedient similar to those adopted by Lord North, during the American war; or by the right honorable gentleman himself for nearly the whole of the last war; but it is to be a plan which will last forever, or at least, until two or three hundred millions be raised by it. Severe measures for

general defence too are announced to us, as necessary within a fortnight; plans of which no man can as yet form a conception, but which ministers are to reveal to us in due time, and when they shall have reached their full maturity of wisdom.

The income tax was felt heavily by most of the members of this house; heavily, indeed, by all descriptions of persons in the country. I am speaking of the poor old income tax, not the tax now about to be imposed.—I speak of that mild and gentle operation, which seized only upon one-tenth of a man's income, and not of a measure which may exact a fifth and possibly a half; a measure, too, which must be improved in the mode of its execution, since the greater the sum to be raised by it, the more rigorous must be the inquisition. Let no man now look to his holding a pound without giving possibly fifteen shillings of it to government towards the support of the war; let no man be too confident that an inquisitor may not be empowered to break open his desk, in order to search for the other five.

And all this for what? For Malta! Malta! plain, bare, naked Malta, unconnected with any other interest! What point of honor can the retention of Malta be to you? Something of that nature may be felt by France; but to you, I aver, it is, as a point of honor, nothing. 'But it may be prudent to keep it.' Is the keeping it worth a contest? Does the noble Lord think it so? On the contrary, is he not of opinion that it is not? Oh! but we are to oppose the aggrandizement of France, the ambition of Buonaparte, which will destroy us like a liquid fire.' We


have, indeed, heard some splendid philippics on this subject; philippics which Demosthenes himself, were he among us, might hear with pleasure, and possibly with envy; philippics which would lead us directly to battle, without regard to what may follow but then comes the question.-What shall we have to pay for them? What is the amount of the bill? I remember an old French proverb, and I am not afraid of being deemed too much of a Frenchman if I should quote it; the proverb seems almost an answer to one in English, which says that things are good, because they are dear.' The author of the French one, however, tells us that, let things be ever so good, yet if they are dear, he has no pleasure in eating them. Now so it is with me, when I hear the harangues of the right honorable gentleman, in favor of war, I think the articles drest up are exquisite, but that the cost spoils the relish.' While I listen to all these fine and eloquent philippics, I cannot help recollecting what fruits such speeches have generally produced, and dreading the devastation and carnage which usually attend them.


The right honorable gentleman, when he appears before us in all the gorgeous attire of his eloquence, reminds me of a story which is told of a barbarous prince of Morocco, a Muley Molock, or a Muley Ishmael, who never put on his gayest garments, or appeared in extraordinary pomp, but as a prelude to the murder of thousands of his subjects. Now, when I behold splendor much more bright—when I perceive the labors of an elegant and accomplished mind— when I listen to words so choice, and contemplate

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