the whole property of the church to the service of the state, reserving only a miserable pittance to the ministers of religion.

The third, to give a right of voting at elections for the legislature to every man in France who was major, not a pauper, and worth the produce of three days' labour.

The fourth, to abolish all titles of honour, and privileges attached to land of every description.

The fifth, to put all offices under government-judges, bishops, prefects, mayors, magistrates, officers in the national guard, into the immediate gift of the whole people.

The sixth, to confiscate the whole property of such of the emigrant nobles as failed, by a certain day, to return to France.

The seventh, to issue a paper currency on the credit of the confiscated landed property, which soon fell to a discount of one-fifteenth of the sum for which it was originally issued. In other words, an assignat, originally worth fifteen francs, fell to the value of one franc.

These violent convulsions produced, as their natural consequence, a prodigious embarrassment of the finances, and diminution of the public revenue. The national income, which in 1789 was L.24,000,000 sterling, fell in 1790 to L.17,000,000. It was found impracticable to continue paying the dividends on the public debt, notwithstanding the lavish confiscation of land which took place for behoof of the treasury; and some years after, the revolutionary government solved the difficulty, by striking off, at one blow, two-thirds of the national debt; in other words, destroying two-thirds of the uninvested capital of the kingdom.

It might have been imagined, that these concessions would have satisfied the warmest advocate for freedom in France. According to the argument of the conceders, tranquillity, unanimity, and happiness should have prevailed, for the people had got every thing for which they contended. Was this the case? Were the succeeding years of France distinguished by harmony, unanimity, and prosperity? The Constituent Assembly expired, and a new legislature, framed on the principle of universal suffrage, convened. The

whole corporations of France were dissolved, and the magistrates of every description chosen by the universal suffrage of the inhabitants. The freest discussion of every thing went forward-all restrictions were thrown down-the majestic body of the people installed in the full possession of sovereignty-and the fairest trial given to democracy which the world had ever beheld.

The first effect of this universal enfranchisement was to rouse the democratic spirit to the very uttermost through all France. The people would no longer brook any control or government from their superiors. To be in office, to hold power, was a sufficient ground for unpopularity; and all the ministers who were successively placed at the head of affairs were dismissed, after an unprosperous reign of a few months. Next, the legislature itself, the creature of public favour, the darling of the democracy-the assembly, purged of all aristocratic influence, in which neither the king nor the nobles had returned a single member, fell into universal obloquy. The whole history of the Legislative Assembly was that of a general conspiracy to overthrow the representatives of the people, by the very persons who had seated them in power.

This insurrection at length took place; the people broke loose on the governors they had chosen for themselves, and the 10th August overturned at once the throne, the legislature, and the altar. The municipality of Paris, albeit chosen by the universal suffrage of the householders of that great city, was dispossessed as not sufficiently democra tic, and a new and more determined set of men seated in their stead. The National Convention ensued, during which the very elements of society seemed to be falling to pieces. The new municipality of Paris, within three weeks after they had entered upon their functions, hired a band of murderers to massacre all the captives in the prisons; and within three days 6000 innocent victims were slain by the populace. The sovereign multitude would not delegate to others the holy work of extermination; with their own hands they hewed down the victims who were let loose from jail, to be baited

by the dogs of the Revolution. Shouts of joy rent the air as they fell, screaming, beneath the blows of the people; while benches were prepared for the neighbouring "gentlemen and ladies" to behold the spectacle, and bands of drunken cannibals danced like furies of hell round the dead bodies of the slain. Mounted on a pile of dead, Billaud Varennes exclaimed, "This day, illustrious citizens, you have risen above yourselves; continue your glorious work; a louis d'or is prepared for every one who joins in the holy enterprise; assert the majesty of the people, and let every blow which descends strike terror into the sanguinary despots who are preparing to enslave us."

The dissolution of every other tie in society tends to strengthen the last and greatest, that of terror. Anarchy leads to despotism; amidst the strife of contending multitudes, a few men of iron arise, who rule with bloody sway their trembling subjects. Danton, St Just, and Robespierre, were the natural result of the Revolution-of that universal frenzy, which, dissolving all other ties, brings men back to the unerring and unextinguishable instinct of self-preservation. The Reign of Terror, the establishment of five hundred Bastiles in France, the daily execution of an hundred victims in Paris, the immuring of two hundred thousand captives in the revolutionary dungeons, were the natural and inevitable consequences of the sudden and fatal concession of power to the people.

Well might Sabatier exclaim, they had changed his States-General at nurse. But if he said this in 1790, when the ferment was beginningwhen every thing was as yet couleur de rose, when philanthropy was in every mouth, when the people were exulting in their new-born sovereignty, when the regeneration of society was still fondly anticipated, when no blood had as yet been shed, what would he have said in 1794, when darkness, thick as midnight, had settled over France, when her best and bravest had perished on the scaffold, when her people, in sullen despair, writhed under the famine which their violence had created, or sunk under the agony which their passions had produced. "The strongest of all human instincts,"

says Freron, himself one of the warmest of the republicans, " was fast giving way under the protracted suspense of the Reign of Terror. Death itself seemed preferable to the incessant apprehension of it."

Symptoms of this terrible progress being about to commence may already be seen in this country. Since the question of reform was agitated as a party measure in November last, what extraordinary progress the principles of anarchy have made in the minds of the people! How easily proposals are entertained, and projects canvassed, which, a year ago, would have excited the well-founded alarm of every thinking man! The vote by ballot is demanded with loud cries in all the popular meetings; a reform which does not, at the very least, disfranchise the rotten boroughs, and give a vote to every householder in every great town, is spoken of as worse than nothing. The property of the church is already marked out as the first victim; and hints, not obscure, are thrown out, that no relief can be effectual till the fundholder is cut down. All these wild and extravagant ideas have been set afloat within three months by the mere prospect of concession to the people. Till that was held out, no such ideas were prevalent. The nation was thinking nothing about reform in June last. History will not fail to record that remarkable fact. All the subsequent outcry has arisen from the acquisition of power by the populace in Paris, and the prospect of its acquisition by the levellers in this country.

It is a total mistake to suppose, as the reformers all endeavour to represent, that the fall of the Duke of Wellington's ministry was owing to his declaration against reform. That, no doubt, stirred up a host of newspaper writers against him; but the vote in the House of Commons was occasioned by very different and many concurring causes. The first of these was the original and fatal secession of a large portion of the Tories at the time of Mr Canning's elevation to power. This divided them into distinct bodies, actuated by no small rancour at each other, at the very time when the antagonists were hourly increasing in vi

gour, and indefatigable in their endeavours to gain proselytes. The second was the emancipation of the Catholics; a measure which, as it jarred on the strongest feelings of our nature, excited the most vehement animosities among the partisans of administration. The third, the successful issue of the Paris revolt, which awakened the revolutionary ardour of the democratical, and blinded the eyes of a large proportion of the conservative party.

These causes, but especially the fatal schism consequent on the emancipation of the Catholics, had so much weakened the supporters of the Wellington administration, that it was foreseen by all persons at all acquainted with Parliamentary tactics, that it could not stand the first shock of a new parliament. Indeed, it is well known, that, in the preceding session, they had existed on a kind of tolerance only; and that, in the divisions on the King's speech in spring 1830, they would have been thrown into a minority, but for the desertion of Mr Hobhouse and a large portion of the Whigs, avowedly done to prevent Ministers being outvoted. Every member of Parliament knew, before the reform question was ever agitated, that Ministers would be in a minority on the first important division. Such were the consequences of the divisions among the Tories, and the heart-burnings consequent on the adoption of a measure hostile to the feelings of a large and respectable part of their number.

"Il ne faut pas nous fâcher," said Napoleon," des choses passées." We refer to these facts merely as disproving the assertion, that it was the popular wish for Reform which overturned the Duke of Wellington's ministry. It fell owing to very different causes: prior concession was its original bane; grasping at popularity its inherent vice; the division among its friends the immediate cause of its overthrow.

In truth, nothing has so completely demonstrated the appalling danger of Reform, as the effect which has resulted from the prospect even of obtaining it. The vehemence of the democratic faction, the vigour of the revolutionary press, the extravagance of the levelling party, have been qua

drupled since it was announced as a Cabinet question by the present Ministry. We are much mistaken if Lord Grey has not already found that his Reform has been changed

at nurse.

The mania for Reform is now quite equal to the rage for joint-stock companies five years ago. We all recollect the mischief done by the warm and enthusiastic colouring which Lord Goderich, then Chancellor of the Exchequer, gave to the prospects of the nation at the commencement of 1824. Similar and greater disasters are threatened by the vigorous exertions made in favour of Reform at this time by the radical faction. It is not now individual fortunes which are likely to be ruined, but the institutions of society which are threatened with overthrow

the whole capital of the kingdom which is likely to become the victim of spoliation. If the measure be at all successful, no prudence or moderation on the part of Government will be able to prevent its consequences. They will speedily fall under the tempest they have excited, the moment they attempt to moderate its fury.

No argument is more frequently urged by the Reformers, and none is more utterly unfounded, than that the concession of Reform is the only way to prevent a revolution. In truth, there is no danger whatever of such a catastrophe but from its adoption.

We would widely err if we estimated the opinion of the really influ ential and respectable portion of the community, from the speeches at public meetings, or the intemperate discussions of the daily press. The quiet and inoffensive citizens do not frequent such assemblies; they detest the strife of the forum, and form their opinion by their firesides, from the obvious tendency of the proposed measure upon their interests and fortunes. The speeches of the violent reformers have fortunately unfolded their views: they see, that though a moderate and rational reform is contemplated by Ministers, most immoderate and irrational changes are looked for by the great bulk of their followers. They see, moreover, that even if the wisdom of the Cabinet were to reject all such extravagant projects at this time, the evil is only

postponed, not removed;-that the ground now gained by the levelling party would immediately be intrenched, and made the point from which future attacks would be directed against the constitution;-and that within a few years, every outwork would successively be lost, and the bulwark of order assailed from the very posts which had been established for its defence.

It is a trite observation, but not the less true, that the inroads of popular ambition are like the letting out of the waters: a child's hand can at first repair the chink in the dyke; but when the aperture is enlarged, and the flood has begun to rush through, the strength of a nation is unequal to the task. We need not turn to the French Revolution for a proof of this eternal truth. The history of the last three months demonstrates it in this country. The theme of all the reform meetings, the boast of all the democratic press, that "the cause of reform is making such rapid progress, that it is advancing with unheard of velocity, that you might as well stop the fall of Niagara as arrest its course," only demonstrates the extreme peril of agitating such subjects, and the inundation of revolutionary changes with which we would be overwhelmed if the projects of the reformers, even to the smallest extent, were carried into execution.

Of all the errors which are boldly put forth by the democratical party, and which, by constant repetition, impose upon the uninformed, there is none more extraordinary than the assertion, that the French Revolution was owing to the resistance made to popular reform. The fact is diametrically the reverse: its horrors were not owing to resistance, but concession. "The life of Louis XVI," says Mignet, the ablest of the republican historians, was one uninterrupted course of ameliorations, without any good result. He fell under his projects of reform, as another monarch might have been expected to do from their refusal."* History will record," said Tronchet, in the eloquent peroration of his speech in defence of Louis," that the king ascending the throne at 20 years of age, gave a shi

*Mignet, i. 13.

ning example of morality, justice, and economy: he dishonoured it by no weakness, no corrupt passion, and he was the constant friend of the people. The people wished that a destructive tax should be removedhe removed it: they wished the abolition of servitude-he abolished it: they demanded reforms-he granted them: they wished to change the laws -he consented to it: they wished that millions of Frenchmen should recover their rights-he restored them: they demanded freedom-he gave it: no one can dispute that he had the glory of anticipating his people in sacrifices, and now he is himself demanded as such!-Citizens! I add no more; I pause before the Genius of history; but recollect that she will judge of your decision, and that hers will be the voice of ages." Well might the historian add, "it was all in vain: the passions were deaf, and incapable of foresight."+

In truth, whoever attentively considers the influence of passion on human conduct, and the history of revolutions, will be at no loss to perceive, that such consequences must necessarily result from the sudden concession of power to the people. On the verge of a revolution, and for years preceding it, the passions of all classes are roused, and of course the

voice of reason is unheard. We have only to look, therefore, to the causes which inflame the passions of the individual, to discover what will convulse the frame of society in such circumstances. Now, what inflames the passion of love, or hope, or revenge? The prospect of success, and the near approach of gratification. The desire for reform with which all revolutions are more or less allied, is influenced by the same causes. It is repressed by the absence, and stimulated by the presence of hope. Meet it manfully, shew a determined front to the designs of the innovators, and the passion for change which, like love, lives only on hope, speedily dies. Concede any thing, rouse expectation of future acquisition, and the tempest of anarchy is at hand.

Let no one delude himself with the opinion, that there is no danger of a revolution in this country, be

+ Ibid. 1. 23.

cause we have not the real grievances to complain of which weighed down the French peasantry prior to the first revolution. He is but a novice in history who imagines that real grievances have much influence in producing revolutions. It is not experienced evil which excites the passions, but anticipated power. In no part of the world is oppression so severe as in Turkey; but in none is a revolution less likely in none is it felt so little as in England, but in none is the revolutionary spirit in a certain class more powerful. France had not, for centuries, enjoyed such general prosperity as from 1815 to 1830; but the government under which all these advantages had been experienced, was annihilated, without any practical evil being felt, the moment it attempted to invade the influence of the people.

The state into which society has grown in Great Britain, in consequence of the immense extent of our manufacturing establishments, renders our population in a peculiar manner open to the seduction of revolutionary principles. Hundreds of thousands of men are assembled within a narrow compass, incessantly kept in communication with each other, and fed by the intemperate discussions of the public press. When they are told that all their distress is owing to the borough-mongers-that justice, equality, and universal prosperity, would immediately follow reform-that the public burdens would be instantly reduced by a popular parliament, is it surprising, if they imbibe revolutionary principles, and become ripe for any convulsion? In England, property is more unequally divided than in any other country in the world: 1,800,000 persons are stated by Colquhoun to be vagrants and paupers, while the great bulk of the national property is in the hand of a comparatively small number of individuals. The land is almost entirely engrossed by a few hundred great proprietors, and the labourers have seldom any fixed interest in the soil. This is a most dangerous state of society; at least as likely to lead to a convulsion as the old régime in France.

But if the condition of a large portion of the people renders the spread of revolutionary principles unavoid

able, the state of another affords the best security against their excesses. All that is necessary, is to rouse this great but inert mass into action. The higher and more enlightened classes possess a vigour and determination, a habit of acting for themselves, and combining for the public security, which do not belong to the aristocracy of any other country. The moment property is endangered, the most respectable part of the middling ranks will join them. The most unthinking must perceive, that if the property of the freeholders is menaced, (and reform, notwithstanding all the efforts of Ministry, would speedily lead to that,) public credit is gone: that every bank in the island would break-every man's creditors be instantly brought upon him, and universal bankruptcy deprive the lower orders of their only means of subsistence. The only danger consists in this powerful body being disunited: in timidity paralysing their ranks, and division of opinion rendering them incapable of any exertions for the common cause. Now, therefore, is the time: this is the moment to come forward, and steadily resist all those projects which, commencing with reform, would terminate with revolution. As yet, they are the ruling party; a powerful demonstration of strength, a triumphant vote in Parliament, would at once dispel the danger: if they are absent from their posts, or disunited, all the efforts of patriotism may hereafter be unable to avert unheard of public calamities.

It is worthy of especial consideration, what would be the consequence of any sudden accession, however small, to the influence of the popular party in the House of Commons. If twenty boroughs, now in the hands of the aristocracy, are disfranchised, and the representations given to twenty considerable unrepresented towns, there will be forty votes added to the popular, and forty subtracted from the aristocratic side. This, of itself, is sufficient to overturn the constitution. No one can doubt, that the whole, or nearly the whole, members returned by these great towns would be on the popular side. Every one knows with what difficulty the aristocracy maintain their ground against the encroach