purposely protracted; but I say that upon the retrospect we have good reason to rejoice that the war was not closed ingloriously and insecurely, when the latter events of it have been such as have established our security by our glory.

I say we have reason to rejoice that, during the period when the Continent was prostrate before France-that especially during the period when the continental system was in forcewe did not shrink from the struggle; that we did not make peace for present and momentary ease, unmindful of the permanent safety and greatness of this country; that we did not leave unsolved the momentous questions, whether this country could maintain itself against France unaided and alone, or with the Continent divided, or with the Continent combined against it? whether, when the wrath of the tyrant of the European world was kindled against us with sevenfold fury, we could or could not walk unharmed and unfettered through the flames?

I say we have reason to rejoice that throughout this more than Punic war, in which it has so often been the pride of our enemy to represent herself as the Rome, and England as the Carthage, of modern times (with at least the colour for the comparison that the utter destruction of the modern Carthage has uniformly been proclaimed to be indispensable to the greatness of her rival),—we have, I say, reason to rejoice that, unlike our assigned prototype, we have not been diverted by internal dissensions from the vigorous support of a vital struggle; that we have not suffered distress nor clamour to distract our counsels, or to check the exertions of our arms.

Gentlemen, for twenty years that I have sat in Parliament, I have been an advocate of the war. You knew this when you did me the honour to choose me as your representative. I then told you that I was the advocate of the war, because I was a lover of peace; but of a peace that should be the fruit of honourable exertion-a peace that should have a character of dignity—a peace that should be worth preserving, and should be likely to endure. I confess I was not sanguine

enough at that time to hope that I should so soon have an opportunity of justifying my professions. But I know not why six weeks hence, such a peace should not be made as England may not only be glad, but proud to ratify. Not such a peace, gentlemen, as that of Amiens,-a short and feverish interval of unrefreshing repose. During that peace, which of you went or sent a son to Paris, who did not feel or learn that an Englishman appeared in France shorn of the dignity of his country; with the mien of a suppliant, and the conscious prostration of a man who had consented to purchase his gain or his ease by submission? But let a peace be made tomorrow, such as the allies have now the power to dictate, and the meanest of the subjects of this kingdom shall not walk the streets of Paris without being pointed out as the compatriot of Wellington,-as one of that nation whose firmness and perseverance have humbled France and rescued Europe.

Is there any man that has a heart in his bosom, who does not find in the contemplation of this contrast alone a recompense for the struggles and the sufferings of years?

But, gentlemen, the doing right is not only the most honourable course of action,—it is also the most profitable in its result. At any former period of the war, the independence of almost all the other countries, our allies, would have been to be purchased with sacrifices profusely poured out from the lap of British victory. Not a throne to be re-established, not a province to be evacuated, not a garrison to be withdrawn, but this country would have had to make compensation out of her conquests for the concessions obtained from the enemy. Now, happily, this work is already done, either by our efforts or to our hands. The Peninsula free, the lawful commonwealth of European states already in a great measure restored, Great Britain may now appear in the congress of the world, rich in conquests, noble and rightfully won, with little claim upon her faith or her justice, whatever may be the spontaneous impulse of her generosity or her moderation,

RIGHT POLICY OF BRITAIN.1

The end which I have always had in view as the legitimate object of pursuit to a British statesman, I can describe in one word. The language of the philosopher is diffusely benevolent. It professes the amelioration of the lot of all mankind. I hope that my heart beats as high towards other nations of the earth as that of any one who vaunts his philanthropy; but I am contented to confess that the main object of my contemplation is the interest of England. Not that the interest of England can stand isolated and alone. The situation that she holds forbids an exclusive selfishness: her prosperity must contribute to the prosperity of other nations, her stability to the safety of the world. But it does not follow that we are called upon to mix ourselves on every occasion with a meddling activity in the concerns of the nations around us. There are men, actuated by noble principles and generous feelings, who would rush forward at once from the sense of indignation at aggression, and deem that no act of injustice should be perpetrated from one end of the universe to the other, but the sword of Great Britain ought to leap from its scabbard to avenge it. But as it is the province of law to control the excess even of laudable feelings in individuals, so it is the duty of Government to restrain within due bounds the ebullition of national impulses which it cannot blame.

But while we thus control our feelings by our duty, let it not be said that we cultivate peace because we fear, or because we are unprepared for war; on the contrary, if eight months ago the Government proclaimed this country to be prepared for war, every month of peace that has since passed has but made us so much the more capable of exertion. The resources created by peace are the means of war. In cherishing these resources we accumulate our means. Our present repose is no more a proof of inability, than the state of inactivity in which I see those mighty ships float in these waters is a proot 1 Delivered at Plymouth in 1823.

that they are devoid of strength and incapable of being fitted out for action. You well know how soon one of those stupendous masses, now reposing on their shadows in perfect stillness how soon, upon any call of patriotism, it would assume the likeness of an animated thing, instinct with life and motion-how soon it would ruffle up its swelling plumagehow quickly it would put forth all its beauty and its bravery, collect its scattered elements of strength, and awake its dormant thunder. Such as is one of those magnificent machines springing from inaction into a display of its might-such is England herself-while, apparently passive, she silently concentrates the power to be put forth on an adequate occasion. But God forbid that that occasion should arise! After a war of a quarter of a century, sometimes single-handed, England now needs a period of tranquillity. Long may we be enabled to improve the blessings of our present situation, to cultivate the arts of peace, to give to commerce greater extension, and new spheres of employment, and to confirm the prosperity now diffused throughout this island.

YDNEY SMITH was born in 1771, at the village of Woodford, in Essex. He was educated at Winchester, was elected a scholar of New College,

Oxford, in 1780, and a fellow in 1790. After some continental travel, he obtained the curacy of Nether Avon, near Amesbury, Wiltshire, which he held for two years, and afterwards became travelling tutor to the son of a country gentleman. He intended going to Weimar with his pupil, but the German war altered his plans, and he came to Edinburgh. In Edinburgh he assisted the set who founded the Edinburgh Review, and became a frequent contributor to its pages. In 1804 he went to London, and in 1806 Lord Erskine gave him the rectory of Foston-le-Clay, in Yorkshire. In 1828 Lord Lyndhurst presented him to a stall in Bristol Cathedral, and in a year or two afterwards he left Foston for the rectory of Combe-Florey, in Somersetshire. In 1831 he was appointed one of the canons residentiary of St. Paul's Cathedral by Earl Grey. He died in London, February 21, 1845. The speech which follows was delivered at Taunton during the agitation which succeeded the rejection of the Reform Bill by the House of Lords in 1831.

THE HOUSE OF LORDS AND THE REFORM BILL.

Mr. Bailiff, I have spoken so often on this subject, that I am sure both you and the gentlemen here present will be