CONSERVATIVE REASCENDANCY CONSIDERED.
Ours is an age of peculiar importance. Events seem to be crowded into a small space of time which, if, spread over half a century, would yet mark the time as one of peril, action, and renown. In the political world we view a rapid succession of exciting scenes. The calm of peace yields to the turmoil of war, and Europe, but lately placid, is now rocked to its very base, and every nation on the Continent seems torn with present evils or convulsed in the contemplation of those to come. The strife of nations has doubtless called forth all the energies of mankind; and though England is removed from the sphere of action, and the immediate influence of the war, yet it cannot be said but that she, too, lies in peril, and partakes the general restlessness of the times. It becomes her, then, to consider in what lies her safety, and into whose hands she should commit the guidance of her affairs at this moment of danger.
Is not England, too, a sharer in this general convulsion? Let us look to her senate, the heart of this great nation, where all the movements by which she is agitated can be seen and analysed. First, we see the Whigs quarrelling amongst themselves, and their consequent fall from power. Next, we see the Conservative party, with the general acquiescence of the country, installed in power. Ten short months have elapsed, and we see that Government, after having conferred, in its short tenure of office, lasting benefits upon the country, now falling, though by a slight majority, before a combination of all those various sects, panting for office, which range between conservatism and turbulent democracy—between Popery on the one hand, and practical atheism on the other; at war amongst themselves, yet combined together against a Government which seemed determined to legislate for the country, and not for the exclusive interests of any one party. Well might the Minister exclaim, as he fell before the machinations of his enemies, prescient of the future, while contemplating the events of the present—“England has not loved coalitions.” Well might he “appeal from that coalition to that public opinion which governs this country,” and before whose searching tribunal that unprincipled combination must soon be brought. If he desired revenge, he has it now. A government of “all the talents,” containing, as we are told, within its ranks all the men of official experience, administrative ability, of parliamentary renown, and so forth, calling down upon them the contempt of Parliament and the scorn of the country, succeeds the Derby administration. Forced to abandon measure after measure, fairly vanquished in those with which they proceed, obliged to fall back upon their own imagined talent and ability, which must at any sacrifice of character be preserved at the service of the country, they are evidently, to all men but themselves, and a few of their own devoted adherents, eliciting the pity of their friends and the derision of their enemies. But, then, we are told that it is the war which prevents them from carrying their measures; that last session they carried their budget, India bill, &c., with large majorities, which they regard as a sign that they possess the confidence of Parliament, and that now Parliament and the country, with their attention distracted by the war, simply refuse to legislate. We protest against such arguments as these. It is introducing a dangerous principle, though it may serve as an excuse for clinging to office with a disgraceful pertinacity. But does it not occur to them, that probably the reason they carried their measures last year with such a semblance of triumph, was in consequence of that forbearance—nay, even favour—with which every government, new to office, is regarded; that it was, to a great extent, the result of that disorganisation of their opponents which ever follows defeat; and that the people, dazzled with appearances, were willing to admit that we had a government which was worthy of the confidence of the country. But how have these feelings been dispelled? Credulity or connivance, disgraceful in such keen-sighted and patriotic statesmen, has done it all—Parliament has lost confidence in them, and the country contemns them. Moreover, blinded by their confidence in their own talents, which has now become a byword among sensible men, they still declare they carry with them the confidence of the country, because in all matters connected with the war they still possess majorities. Such reasoning as this does not hold. The reason that they carry their financial measures so decisively through the House is, that many, who do not feel so strongly as others on the injustice of the measures proposed, are willing to support those measures rather than have it appear on the Continent that the House of Commons has refused the sinews of war at the very commencement of the struggle. It is not the war which prevents their carrying other measures, it is the war which enables them to carry what they do.
But how has this been brought about?—how is it that this Government has so rapidly lost the favour of the people, and been reduced to the position of being a Government on sufferance? The reason is to be found in that general discontent and excitement which from Europe have infected England. Men are excited at what is passing abroad, and distrustful of affairs within. The want of union and mutual distrust which exist in headquarters, is spread throughout the kingdom. Those feelings of distrust and disagreement existing in the Government become every day more apparent, and add to the anxiety with which its motions are regarded. This distrust and anxiety must be prevalent whilst this state of things continues. It is only by the reascendancy of the Conservative party that they can be surmounted, and by the advent to power of men who have confidence in each other, who have unity of sentiment amongst themselves, and who are backed by united followers; who have, each and all, the same objects in view—viz., a firm resistance to Russian aggression and the establishment of a durable peace, the maintenance of our Protestant religion, and justice to all parties in the State. Unity of sentiment amongst the members of a government is of the greatest importance to the happiness and welfare of the people. There never, probably, was a Cabinet in which there were so many “open questions” as the present. Since so many of them are Peelites, we may as well have the opinion of Sir Robert Peel himself on those self-same open questions. We subjoin an extract of a speech delivered in 1840 by that eminent statesman, on a motion of want of confidence in Ministers, in which he refers, without any ambiguity of expression, to the fatality of open questions:—
“But there is a new resource for an incompetent Administration—there is the ingenious device of open questions, the cunning scheme of adding to the strength of a weak government by proclaiming its disunion. It will be a fatal policy, indeed, if that which has hitherto been an exception, and always an unfortunate exception in recent times, is hereafter to constitute the rule of Government. If every government may say, ‘We feel pressed by those behind us—we find ourselves unable, by steadily maintaining our own opinions, to command the majority and retain the confidence of our followers, our remedy is an easy one—let us make each question an open question, and thereby destroy every obstacle to every possible combination;’—what will be the consequence? The exclusion of honourable and able men from the conduct of affairs, and the unprincipled coalition of the refuse of every party. The right honourable gentleman has said that there have been instances of ‘open questions’ in the recent history of this country. There have been; but there has scarcely been one that has not been pregnant with evil, and which has not been branded by an impartial posterity with censure and disgrace. He said, that in 1782 Mr Fox made Parliamentary Reform an open question; that Mr Pitt did so on the Slave-trade; and that the Catholic Question was an open one. Why, if ever lessons were written for your instruction, to guard you against the recurrence to open questions, you will find them in these melancholy examples. The first instance was the coalition of Mr Fox and Lord North, which could not have taken place without open questions. Does the right honourable gentleman know that that very fact—the union in office of men who had differed, and continued to differ on great constitutional and vital questions—produced such a degree of discontent and disgust, as to lead to the disgraceful expulsion of that Government? The second instance was that of the Slave-trade; but has not that act of Mr Pitt (the permitting of the Slave-trade to be an open question) been more condemned than any other act of his public life? The next instance cited was that of the Catholic Question. I have had some experience of the evils which arose from making Catholic emancipation an open question. All parties in this House were equally responsible for them. Fox made it an open question; Pitt made it an open question; Lord Liverpool made it an open question; Canning made it an open question. Each had to plead an urgent necessity for tolerating disunion in the Cabinet on this great question; but there cannot be a doubt that the practical result of that disunion was to introduce discord amongst public men, and to paralyse the vigour of the executive government. Every act of administration was tainted by disunion in the Cabinet. Every party was jealous of the predominance of the other. Each party must be represented in the government of that very country which required, above all things, a united and resolute Government. There must be a lord-lieutenant of one class of opinions, a secretary of the opposite, beginning their administration in harmony, but in spite of themselves becoming each the nucleus of a party, gradually converting reciprocal confidence into jealousy and distrust. It was my conviction of the evils of such a state of things—of the long experience of distracted councils, of the curse of an open question, as it affected the practical government of Ireland—it was this conviction, and not the fear of physical force, that convinced me that the policy must be abandoned. I do not believe that the making the Catholic question an open question facilitated the ultimate settlement of it. If the decided friends of emancipation had refused to unite in government with its opponents, the question would have been settled at an earlier period, and (as it ought to have been) under better auspices. So much for the encouraging examples of the right honourable gentleman. They were fatal exceptions from the general policy of Government. If, as I before observed, such exceptions are to constitute the future rule of Government, there is an end to public confidence in the honour and integrity of great political parties, a severance of all ties which constitute party connections, a premium upon the shabby and shuffling conduct of unprincipled politicians.”
Such were the sentiments of Sir Robert Peel with regard to open questions in the Melbourne Cabinet: how much more completely those remarks apply to the present Government it is needless to point out. Again are the open questions in the Melbourne Cabinet vigorously attacked; but this time in the House of Lords, and by a more energetic and fiery orator:—
“My Lords,—‘Idem sentire de republicâ’ has been in all times, and amongst the best of statesmen, a bond of union at once intelligible, honourable, conducive to the common weal. But there is another kind of union formed of baser materials—a tie that knits together far different natures, the ‘eadem velle atque nolle,’ and of this it has been known and been said, ‘ea demum, inter malos, est prime amicitia.’ The abandonment of all opinions, the sacrifice of every sentiment, the preference of sordid interest to honest principle, the utter abdication of the power to act as conscience dictates and sense of duty recommends—such is the vile dross of which the links are made which bind profligate men together in a ‘covenant of shame;’ a confederacy to seek their own advancement at the expense of every duty;—and this, my Lords, is the literal meaning of ‘open questions.’ It is that each has his known recorded opinions, but that each is willing to sacrifice them rather than break up the government to which he belongs: the ‘velle’ is to keep in office, the ‘nolle’ to keep out all antagonists; and none dare speak his mind in his official capacity without losing the ‘firmitas amicitiæ,’ by shaking the foundations of the Government.”
Here is a splendid outburst of vehement denunciation. If that could be applied with justice to the Government of Lord Melbourne, if such an invective as that is an index of the state of opinion in the country at that time, with reference to the dissensions in the Whig Cabinet, how much more applicable is it to the Coalition of the present day, with regard to whose members, putting out of sight the question of Free Trade, which is now the law of the land, there is hardly a question of public importance to which we can point as an example that ‘idem sentire de republicâ’ is their bond of union. Discontent and anxiety may well prevail when we have, in times so important as these, a Ministry in power so disunited, and composed of such discordant elements, such base materials as the present, and backed by followers who, true to their nature, are constantly quarrelling amongst themselves. Look at the diversity of sentiment displayed in their recorded speeches on that subject which, more than any other, is uppermost in the minds of the people. There is Lord John Russell in the House of Commons inveighing against the criminal ambition of the Czar of Russia, declaring that “this enormous power has got to such a pitch, that even in its moderation it resembles the ambition of other states;” arguing that that power must be checked; telling the people of England that they must be prepared to enter the contest with a stout heart and a willing mind, and then solemnly invoking the God of justice to prosper her Majesty’s arms, to defend the right! We have the Home Secretary and the Earl of Clarendon completely subscribing to these sentiments; but we have the Prime Minister, who more than any other man ought, now that war is declared, to be imbued with hostile feelings against Russian aggression, and determined to carry on the war with vigour, eternally whining after peace, and throwing cold water on the ardour of the people by constantly enlarging on the horrors of war and the blessings of peace. They say that old age is second childhood. England seems likely soon to become aware of this fact, through dire experience. Her Premier, on the Continent, is described, and rightly so, as “the apologist of Russia;” the Minister who is supposed to be, more than any other, in the confidence of his Sovereign. Talk of explanation! The very fact of his entertaining sentiments with regard to Russia so ambiguous, so equivocal, and so lenient towards the enemy of his country, that actually in giving expression to them he is mistaken for offering an apology for the Czar, and exposed to the scorn of the country and the distrust of Europe, seems to us to be amply sufficient to disqualify him henceforth for ever being “the first Minister of the first Sovereign in the world” during the eventful period of war; and the only charitable construction which we can give to the passage is, that he—our helmsman in the storm—has entered upon his dotage, and returned to the proverbial folly of childhood. If his sentiments are the result of mere folly, then he may properly be charged with credulity; if his friendship for the Czar regulates his conduct, then it is connivance for which he is answerable. In either sense he is unfit for his office. There may be, for aught we know—indeed there probably are—others in the Cabinet of the same frame of mind. The man who could denounce Turkey as a country full of anomalies and inconsistencies, and endeavour with all the force of his “sanctimonious rhetoric” to excite an antipathy to that State, and despair at her fate, just at the moment when it was necessary to rouse the people against Russian aggression, was merely supporting the Emperor’s theory of the “sick man,” and cannot be said to have any definite ideas with reference to the aggressive policy of Russia, to check which we are at war; or any very great sympathy with that country to defend which we are also at war. Here is discordancy in the Cabinet on the most vital question; and there is probably as much on every other question that is brought before the notice of the British Parliament. Here is food for discontent and anxiety to the people of England. Thus may their ardour be damped and their spirits quenched long ere the struggle has concluded. And if we look at the supporters of the Government—the Ministerial party, as they are termed—there, too, we behold the same intestine strife. What has been the attitude of the Manchester party with regard to the Government?—what the attitude of the Whig statesmen who have been “banished to invisible corners of the senate?”—what of the Whig peers—such men, for example, as Lords Grey, Clanricarde, and others? Mr Bright and the Whig peers are openly, though on different grounds, hostile to the Ministerial policy, the others scarcely less so. The Manchester party rank amongst the regular supporters of the Government, yet they appeal to the Opposition to know “whether they don’t occupy a very absurd position” in following men who will not lead them, and are derisively answered in the affirmative. If they criticise the course of the Government, their opinion is regarded with the “greatest indifference and contempt.” Thus do matters stand, and yet Ministers have the audacity to affirm that they possess the confidence of Parliament, and that it is the war which prevents the success of their measures. But is this the front which we are to present to our foes? Are we to exhibit to Russia, as our leaders in the strife, a Government on sufferance notoriously incompetent, whether at home legislation or foreign negotiation? Is not Conservative reascendancy the only salvation of the country? Does not the nation at large pant for something like a Government—one which is followed by a united party—one which is at unison in itself—one of principle and not of expediency? When we see a Government openly hostile amongst themselves, scorned and contemned by the country, beaten on every point by their opponents, obliged to withdraw measure after measure, and retaining one only after it, as has been observed before, has undergone as many metamorphoses as ever Ovid described—when we see all this, which we can hardly do without being roused to feelings of indignation, it appears to us necessary to consider how may this be remedied, how may Russia be firmly opposed, how may England be rescued from the pernicious effects of an incapable Government, and how may unanimity be restored to the councils of her Majesty?
It is very evident, that only by the reascendancy of the Conservative party can these blessings be secured to the country. The tradition of that party is, as its name implies, the preservation of our institutions in Church and State. This is a definite object. That it is a desirable one, is a conclusion which is arrived at by one course of reasoning, the same premises, the same logical inferences. Hence the Conservative party is a united band. A Conservative Minister cannot be a Minister on sufferance; a Whig Minister must. The Whigs are ever desirous of change, and the so-called amelioration of our institutions; but few of them agree together in the paramount importance which attaches to the reform of any particular abuse, or in the amount of innovation which it is desirable to introduce. Hence they are always at variance with each other when the time for action arrives; and this incapacitates them for carrying on the Queen’s government. If popular enthusiasm comes to their aid, and force them on in spite of themselves, then the case is different. The Reform Bill of 1832 was carried triumphantly, but by the people. Popular enthusiasm supplied vigour to the executive. Contrast this with another Reform Bill, of no very distant date, as regards its introduction at least, though few of the present generation are likely to see that bill become the law of the land. The time was unfortunate for Whig administrators, though backed by those who claim to themselves the name of Conservatives. A Russian war carried that enthusiasm, so necessary to the Whigs, through another channel, and exposed in a ludicrous manner the true value of a Liberal Administration, and their dependence upon the popular will. True, there was a large party in the Senate clamorous for reform—perhaps a majority. There was no hesitation amongst members to conclude that reform was necessary, for these are liberal times. How, then, do we account for their ill-success? By adopting a happy description of their worth as statesmen, given long ago: “Their head is at fever heat, but their hand is paralysed.” They are not slow to adopt as their own any principle, though calculated to throw the country in a flame, so long as it is traditionally the property of their party. But when the time for action arrives, when that principle is to be embodied in a bill, and that theory is to be reduced to a practical test, then comes division and discontent. One portion objects to this part as too sweeping, while another declares it to be too confined. This wants one remedy, the other declares the wished-for remedy will only prove an aggravation of the malady. There is no hesitation in adopting any principle, however dangerous. Give them the opportunity—the advantageous opportunity, in the eyes of politicians—of putting their plans into execution, and immediately we behold irresolution, consequent upon dissension, and inactivity, the offspring of indecision. Only divert the populace from them, who, when roused, carry all before them, as it were, and force their leaders to bury their dissensions—only deprive them of that support, and then you see the intrinsic worth of your Whig statesman. He may carry, perhaps, one bold measure; but his title to succeeding years of administration rests upon the gratitude of his supporters. He is unable to carry those minor measures—those measures of equal public importance, though of a less conspicuous character—more solid though less showy—which contribute so much to the moral happiness and physical enjoyment of a great nation, and which are the pillars of a statesman’s fame. There is no firmness in a Whig ruler—there cannot be, if he would reconcile and command the confidence of all the various sects of his followers. Who was it that held with a firm and steady hand the helm of England, when all other Continental nations were submerged in ruin? A Conservative statesman. No Whig Minister could have succeeded then. The utmost firmness and steadiness in conducting the public business of this country were then required. No Whig Cabinet could have guided the fortunes of England then. Obliged to truckle first to this man’s fancies, then to another’s follies, they are but a faithful index of the dissension amongst their followers, and uncertainty and irresolution are sure to follow. Yet to such as these are our fortunes, in times so perilous as our own, committed; and already are the baneful effects visible. If the Conservative party were to pursue the course which the Opposition of former days is known to have taken, what would be the position of the Government? If their opponents were not to support them in the war, the conduct of it would be in the same position as all the other measures which they have brought forward this session, and for the success of which they are dependent upon their followers. Such a state of affairs may continue for a time, but it must eventually call down the indignation of the country. No wonder that the conduct of our Government constantly gives rise to the suspicion that they are too desirous for the cessation of hostilities. It is manifestly their interest so to appear, if it be not also so to act. A peace, even though it were merely an armed truce, would satisfy the cravings of many of their followers; and probably the belief that such may be obtained, renders them less disagreeable to the Government than they would otherwise have proved themselves.
Never, perhaps, was the inability of the Whig party to govern exhibited in such a marked manner as at the period immediately succeeding the passing of the Reform Bill. With a majority of three hundred, they yet disagreed amongst themselves concerning the desirability of introducing innovations into the Irish Church, and they fell. Some have declared that an excess of power—a majority too large to manage—was fatal to the endurance of their power. We rather think that it was but a conclusive proof that a Whig Ministermustbe a Minister on sufferance—in other words, is unable to govern. Unhappily for themselves, at the period to which we are alluding, a rather more important question than usual occasioned the schism. Those who disagreed did not merely, as generally happens in these cases, hold aloof for a time, embarrass the Government, and then return to their allegiance, but they went at once into open hostility. They retired to swell the Conservative ranks. This is a specimen, on an exaggerated scale perhaps, of what is constantly occurring when a Whig Ministry is in power. For what do we see now? We behold the Conservative party united in their opinions with regard to Russian aggression upon Turkey. In the Ministerial host there is nothing, as usual, but dissension and endless disagreement. The Manchester party condemns the war and everything belonging to it. The Peelites evidently look with a cold eye upon it; they believe not in the vitality of Turkey, or in the danger of Russian aggrandisement. So far there is agreement between these sects. They cannot, however, form one party, for there is disagreement between them on vital points connected with Home administration. Then, again, there are the philosophical Radicals demanding the Ballot, while the aristocratic Whigs most properly declare that secret voting shall never become one of the institutions of the country. In short, the Ministerial camp is split up into various and opposing sects, which are continually warring with each other, while the Cabinet itself is but another scene of this general medley and confusion, this discontent and convulsion; and its executive power is paralysed by internal discord. The introduction of the Peelites amongst the Whigs has but increased the differences in the camp. Never was there a time when the internal dissensions of a Ministerial host were so marked, so wide-spreading, or so notorious. And this, too, at this critical time, when England ought especially to be calm and tranquil within, in order to be able to consider well what are her interests without. Is this to continue? Are the interests of England and Europe to be jeopardied by the continuance in power of a Ministry so divided and so weak? It is, we think, a truly logical inference that the fall of the Coalition, and the reascendancy of the Conservative party, is the only method by which an end can be put to that constant strife, and unanimity restored to the councils of our Sovereign. In a time of war, it is of the last importance that a Ministry should be united and firm, and possessed of the confidence of the country. Every one will probably admit this; but, then, does the Coalition answer to this description?
It is idle to pursue this subject further. No one who really wishes well to his country in this emergency, can say that it is to the present Government that we ought to confide the direction of our affairs, unless he be dazzled by the undoubted splendour of their names. There are, doubtless, great talents amongst them; but there is such a thing as the utmost danger in a superfluity of talent, particularly when applied to pursuits to which they are not especially adapted. Too much collective talent begets an overweening self-confidence, and lessens the sense of responsibility; moreover, if this too great self-confidence be brought to bear its influence in the direction of affairs of which one is ignorant, no beneficial result is to be expected. Again, if all these misdirected and misapplied talents be controlled by an incapable chief, can it be said that their administrative abilities are placed at service of the country? No! personal pique and private considerations prevent it. We need not dwell upon the incapability of the First Lord of the Treasury, which is now generally admitted. We now look to the other prominent members of the Government. The office assigned to Lord Palmerston is the most notoriously incongruous. With a world-wide reputation for his administration of our foreign affairs, gained in an experience of them for sixteen years, his lordship is placed in an office where he may exercise his negotiative powers with county magistrates, town constables, and the like. There he is—the most popular Foreign Secretary of the day, the man in whom the country has perhaps as great a confidence as in any one, engaged in squabbles over town police, graveyards, sewers, and the rest. Lord Palmerston cannot be said to be at home in his office. The country is disposed to look with favour upon him on account of his great name and services; but does he really make a better Home Secretary than Mr Walpole? Why was he not transferred to the War Office on its creation, with his extensive knowledge of European affairs? If the interests of the country had been consulted, undoubtedly he would; but again private considerations were opposed to the national will and the public weal; and the Duke of Newcastle, who has as yet no claims to public confidence, is placed in an office to which, on the formation of the Government, it cannot be said that he was assigned. Again, there is Sir George Grey, who is adapted more especially to the Home Office, if to any; but, “being more remarkable for his private virtues than his administrative abilities,” is certainly not the man to be unceremoniously pitchforked into an office with which he has no acquaintance, other than the little he is supposed to have learnt during the “disastrous administration of Lord Glenelg.” If there are talents here—if there is experience here—as in Lord Palmerston’s case, so in this; the experience is rendered nothing worth, and the talents misapplied. It is unnecessary to dilate further upon this subject; let us look at the blessings derived to the country from the administrative abilities of those whose talents have not been misdirected. There is our gifted Chancellor of the Exchequer, who has made more mistakes within a given time than any of his predecessors in the past century; and when we remember that financial blunders are national misfortunes, it is no matter of wonder that people refuse to regard him with an eye of favour, even though we overlook the probable pernicious effects of his Tractarian tendencies over the Church of England, felt through his influence over the disposal of the Church patronage. How long will England, dazzled by names, overlook facts and their consequences? Divest the members of the Government of their previous reputation, of their great names—give them names unknown to the country, and what language sufficiently strong would be found to apply to such an incapable Administration, with all their blunders, their dissensions, and their disastrous speculations? Had Lord Derby and his colleagues committed half the blunders of this Cabinet—had they attempted to tamper recklessly with our finances—had they involved us in a war which might have been avoided by sufficient plain-speaking in negotiation, what would their opponents have said? Would we have witnessed the patriotic course which we have seen the Opposition of the present day adopt? Few would suppose it, when they recall to mind the undignified hurry which the Opposition manifested for office during the brief period which elapsed between the assembling of Parliament in November 1852 and the Christmas vacation—a restlessness which induced them all to combine together, Whig, Radical, and Peelite, High Church and Dissent, in order to overthrow the Administration of the day; while their unredeemed compact with the Roman Catholics will not easily be forgotten. Few would suppose it, when they recall to mind the course adopted by the Whig Opposition during the last war, when, for factious purposes, victories were represented as defeats, the movements of the British general rendered the battlefield of party strife at home, and the motions of the Government clogged by the hands of unprincipled and factious opponents. Few would suppose it, when they recollect that Whig alacrity to accept office is only equalled by Conservative disdain to hold it on sufferance. But what was the conduct of the Government of Lord Derby? Is not that Government now admitted to have been the instrument of more good to the country, in its short tenure of office, than was ever effected by any of its predecessors within so short a time? And if we remember the immense amount of opposition which was brought to bear against it; that, in the first few months of its existence, the completion of the business of Parliament, previous to its dissolution, was all that was expected or required at its hands; that, after the dissolution, a majority of nineteen effected, though with the greatest difficulty, the overthrow of the Administration, without allowing the smallest time for the trial of their legislative powers, it must be admitted that the members of that Conservative Government, in the face of the greatest difficulties, exhibited administrative abilities of a high order. They were unable, from circumstances, to take advantage, like their successors, of the tide of popular favour which in these days is sure to run in the direction of a new Administration, because they were only expected to wind up, as quickly as they could, the Parliamentary business of the session. Yet to them may be traced the advantages we possessed in preparation for the present war. They were the first Government who dared to come down to the British House of Commons, and tell it the national defences were insecure, and demand the means of placing England in a position to resist any threatened invasion. Do we not owe to them the establishment of our militia? Was not that a bill than which none has been more perfect in its details, or more universally satisfactory to the country? Do we not owe to them the establishment of our Channel Fleet on such a footing that it secured England from all aggression? Then was laid the basis of that splendid fleet which a few months back left our shores for the Baltic Sea. Again, it is to their prescience that we can trace the advantages which are derived to ourselves, and to the cause of civilisation and independence, from our present amicable relations with France. Did they not, in opposition to the popular will, unequivocally expressed, and in the face of the utmost censure of the press, persist in cultivating the friendship of France? To that firmness and political sagacity we trace the advantages we derive from having so powerful a friend by whose side to fight in the cause of Europe. Contrast this with the conduct of that brilliant Administration which was to rescue England from the evil position into which it was brought by the reckless Derby Government, and what do we find? Two members of that Government, immediately on taking office, commence their abuse of the French Emperor in no measured terms. Nor is this all: Their brilliant opponent, who was naturally desirous to bring such a glaring indiscretion before the notice of the Commons of England, was charged by the triumphant Coalition with having a mind deeply imbued with faction. The like absence of political sagacity is observable throughout the whole course of the Government. With a war staring us in the face, which ought to have appeared almost inevitable to the Government, with their superior information and knowledge of facts, the Chancellor of the Exchequer brings forward a Peace Budget, parting with an important item in our revenue. This was another blow levelled against the agricultural interest through the indiscretion of the Government, for it resulted in soap being relieved at the expense of malt. Our discreet Chancellor parts with a quantity of revenue derived from indirect taxation one year, and redeems his blunder the next by levying an increased tax on malt. But what are we to expect from a Chancellor of the Exchequer whose administration of the finances has been one continued system of blunders? The secret lies in this: All his various failings arise from his having entered upon schemes in which, as he proceeded, he soon found himself out of his depth. Another minister would have been deterred from entering upon them, from a sense of the responsibility he would incur. But when a Ministry fancies it contains within itself all the available administrative talent in the Empire, the sense of responsibility is lightened, because opponents are undervalued, and self-confidence augmented. Here, again, do all the other misdemeanours of the Cabinet take their origin. Confident in themselves, and in their fancied influence over Parliament, they bring forward, in the face of war, a larger number of important measures than ever before were introduced to Parliament in the same session. They only exhibited their own weakness. They proved that their plans of legislation differ materially from those of the House of Commons. They discovered that even all the talents cannot blunder with impunity, and they have rapidly sunk in public estimation. Their conduct has disgusted their followers, and provoked a powerful opposition. Their numerous indiscretions would certainly not have been tolerated in any men but our talented rulers in the Coalition; and even they are suffering from the effects of their rashness, but nevertheless seem determined to “survive in office the honour of their administration.” Referring, again, to the Derby Government of 1852, we ask if the Earl of Malmesbury, or any two important members of that Administration, had been afflicted with a like absence of political sagacity to that displayed by Sir James Graham and Sir Charles Wood, where would have been our relations with France? If that Government had, for the sake of the popularity which Sir James Graham values so much, but which no Minister has been so unfortunate in his attempt to gain, joined in the temporary popular resentment against the French Emperor, when would the breach have been healed? Buttheyshowed that they understood the interests of the country, and contrast in a favourable light with the members of the Coalition and their misdeeds. They evidently were aware of the deep responsibility under which they lay, and thus their actions were marked with a caution which is not observed by their successors. If Mr Disraeli had not handed over a large balance to his rival, what would have been the effect of the failure of his schemes? It comes to this, then: The forethought and prudence of the Derby Government have only had the effect of shielding the Coalition from the worst consequences of their indiscretions and total failures, and enabling the country to withstand the mal-administration of its present rulers, instead of being improved and brought to be of permanent advantage to the nation. It may, however, be thought to be a great drawback to Conservative reascendancy, that the leaders of that great party are, for the most part, comparatively inexperienced in office. However that may be, the administration of ten months’ duration stands out in broad relief between its predecessor and the Coalition; at all events, it would be difficult for them to commit more blunders than the present talented andexperiencedAdministration. But can a charge of inability be fairly urged against a party which contains within its ranks men of such talent, parliamentary experience, and sagacity as the Earl of Derby, Lord St Leonards, Lord Eglinton, Disraeli, Walpole, Thesiger, Kelly, Pakington, Malmesbury, Bulwer Lytton, Stanley, Manners, and the other Conservative statesmen? The year 1852 must, in the eyes of thinking men, for ever dispel such an imputation. The same party which, shorn of its leaders in 1846, yet sent forward to maintain its cause in that “sad fierce session” its champions in debate, so many and so powerful as to astonish its foes and restore spirit amongst its ranks, produced also, in time of need, statesmen whose official career, short though it was, does no discredit to their followers—the gentlemen of England. The chiefs in either House, in particular, are men of brilliant talent and tried sagacity. Trained in the Liberal ranks, it may be presumed that they are deeply convinced of the danger of continually seeking after that phantom, which, the nearer we approach, the farther it recedes—viz., a system of representation which shall do justice to all parties in the State; while, at the same time, that very training has divested them of that spirit of exclusion, and that horror of anything approaching to innovation, which were the chief imputations against the Toryism of bygone times, but which do not accord with the intelligence of the present age. The Earl of Derby, as every one knows, was a member of that Cabinet which secured the reform of Parliament. He has since been engaged in endeavouring, and not unsuccessfully, to stem the tide of democracy which then set in. For that end he joined Sir Robert Peel—for that end he left him. Mr Disraeli, too, awakening to a full sense of the danger which “the youthful energies of Radicalism” are too well calculated to produce, became a decided Conservative, though not a bigoted exclusionist. To these principles he has steadily adhered in the whole course of his parliamentary career, which has now spread over a term of seventeen years. No man needs to stand higher in the estimation of his party than does the member for Buckinghamshire. Gifted with talents which fall to the lot of but few, possessed of keen sagacity, indomitable resolution, and extensive knowledge, he has never shrunk from placing at the service of his country, and of the great party of which he is the recognised chieftain, the utmost efforts of his admired and envied genius. Where is the man who has more unflinchingly stood by his party at all seasons, both of adversity and prosperity? His rapid elevation has, no doubt, been viewed by many with feelings of dissatisfaction; for
“Envy does merit, as its shade, pursue.”
“Envy does merit, as its shade, pursue.”
“Envy does merit, as its shade, pursue.”
“Envy does merit, as its shade, pursue.”
It is evident that he has also many personal enemies. The man who overthrew a Government which many supposed would have continued during the lifetime of its leader, and even have survived him, is not likely to be regarded with any especial favour by the members of that Cabinet. The uncompromising hostility which he bore to them has roused their utmost indignation, and his character has been unsparingly attacked. Some have had the sagacity to detect the cloven hoof in every step which he has made in public life; nor has he been allowed by them to possess the smallest particle of political virtue, and “one of the humblest individuals of this vast empire” has thought fit to embody his views of the political career of Mr Disraeli in a somewhat bulky volume, where he has given vent to his holy indignation. Such a production would have been a disgrace to the age, even if the author had had the courage to place his name at the head of it, for it is introducing into party warfare a weapon which is most unfair, unjust, and dishonourable. No statesman can condescend to notice such an attack; and when the author withholds his name and sends forth his anonymous slander into the world, then it must be confessed that the cowardly spirit in which it has been undertaken has only aggravated its revolting character.
Mr Disraeli is an original genius. His great fault in early life was, that he formed his conclusions without deep study, and trusting chiefly to the power of his own intellect. With all the conceit and precipitancy of youth, he immediately gave forth to the world the conclusions at which he had arrived. Many of these were wild and improbable, and his maturer years discovered their true nature. His father was, as is well known, a Jew, while his ancestors were, down to a recent period, the natives of a foreign soil. The son, then, inherited no hereditary political principles, which are in England, generally, handed down from one generation to another, unchanging and unchanged. Mr Disraeli had therefore to choose for himself, from the wide field of English politics, those principles which appeared to his unbiassed mind most in accordance with the true spirit of the British constitution. The choice which he adopted, and the subsequent changes through which he passed, appear to us to be nothing but the natural workings of an unfettered mind, and which any man may, and probably often does, undergo, as he ponders over the English constitution and the science of government in the recesses of his own study. It is natural that, as an Englishman contemplates our form of government, as he becomes acquainted with its operations, and as he compares its results with reference to the mind, the habits, and the temper of the people with the influence of Continental governments over their subjects, he should be filled with admiration at the wonderful manner in which the united harmonious action of the Three Estates of the realm is secured; and his first thought is, that it must be preserved unimpaired and inviolate. As he proceeds, he finds blemishes, anomalies, and imperfections; these he concludes should be eradicated, and with all the ardour of youth he thinks that, once these disappear, a form of government remains complete in its splendour, and splendid in its completeness. A wider intercourse with the world, a more extensive knowledge of mankind, must dissipate in many minds this perhaps fondly-cherished sentiment. Perfection cannot be attained—contentment is never the lot of humanity; and perhaps it is better that each should endeavour to forget his particular object of antipathy, and unite in consolidating and preserving those institutions, with their many imperfections, than hazard their extinction by endless struggles after their purification. Are not these legitimate changes of opinion? A man who has thus formed his political opinions, remains a staunch Conservative, but eschews all those more repulsive features of Toryism, which do but defeat their own end, and raise up against itself, in power too strong to be resisted, the very influences it wishes to control and counteract. But what shall we say of a young man who thinks fit, in the impetuous ardour of his ambition, to publish to the world his opinions as they are forming? We may smile at the vanity displayed, and at the folly of such a course; but we may shrink from casting imputations and urging motives, from which a virtuous mind recoils, for the mere purpose of blackening and traducing the character of a political opponent. Such, however, is the course pursued by Mr Disraeli’s enemies; but we should think that the strong malevolence displayed in those satires and slanders must insure their being discarded by “all in whom political partisanship has not extinguished the common feelings of humanity.” It is said that Mr Disraeli’s changes of opinion were with a view to self-aggrandisement. The charge, we presume, rests upon the pretence that he was the better for each change. This may be; but we think an ardent, clever, and ambitious man like Mr Disraeli, would have risen to eminence whatever line of politics he adopted. It was not more difficult for him to get into Parliament as a Radical than as a Tory; indeed, this seems to be unwittingly allowed by his biographer when he states that his election for High Wycombe was lost because Mr Hume withdrew his support in consequence of Mr Disraeli’s refusing to compromise his opinions with regard to the Whigs. It is, however, a decidedly unfair course to rake together all that has fallen from an aspiring and even giddy youth, no matter whether in the heat of political contest or in the turmoil of an election strife, and then call him in his maturity to a severe account. No charitable construction is ever allowed to Mr Disraeli’s public acts. It is always easy to get up a colourable case against an English statesman, all whose acts lay bare before the eager gaze of the public. It requires the exercising of very little ingenuity to hang together a consistent string of facts with which to stigmatise with baseness the career of any politician, however brilliant in talent or in character. Mr Disraeli has risen from the people; he has excited the envy of some and the hatred of others, who indulge their vengeful feelings in spreading their malicious slanders; nor is the most stainless character proof against such assaults, since they can quickly acquire a consistency of character, and gain a hold on men’s minds when they are dinned into one’s ears on all sides. How easy it might be to make up a case of political profligacy against Sir James Graham, who has been through more political changes, and that, too, since he was a representative of the people, than any other statesman of the day! How easy it might be to discern in this the workings of a restless ambition! A colourable case is soon made, and then let a certain number of newspapers indulge in comments upon it, and spread the calumnies, each in his own strain, and all spiced with a little outpouring of virtuous indignation, and the best character is sure to be injured by it. There are some in these charitable times who can defend a Cromwell; we apprehend that with far less exercise of ingenuity can the character of the Conservative leader be maintained. But if it be true that Cromwell is not the remorseless villain which his history had depicted him, then it only shows how easily characters can be fatally blackened by constantly harping on the evil points, and quietly omitting all mention of the good.
Throughout the whole parliamentary career of Mr Disraeli, a consistent course of conduct with reference to State policy has been pursued; though it is observable that, in the first few years, he had not yet thrown away some of his extraordinary theories. We see that, as he advances in manhood, and becomes practically acquainted with legislation, the vain conceptions and egotistic vanity of his youth pass away, and he settles down into a steady, through-going, parliamentary chief. The different opinions which he has at times expressed of various statesmen are easily to be accounted for, though some who, as the poet says, judge of others by themselves, may discern in this discreditable motives. Public opinion is always varying with regard to public men, and a young man is likely to be influenced by it. But, at all events, he ought, through motives of modesty, to keep his opinion to himself; and it is of the greatest importance that one who aspires to be a statesman in this country, where parties are always changing, should not be constantly giving expression to the feelings of the moment. It is not safe for a politician; for while he is giving vent to what is generally a mere fancied animosity to the mere party-feeling of the moment, he may perhaps be throwing down the gauntlet at the feet of a future colleague; and all for no purpose, for oftentimes there is no foundation for aversion to a public man. Nor is it right that the House of Commons, our country, and Continental nations, should be constantly hearing statesmen mutually complimenting and abusing each other. It is a maxim in State policy that you should deal with your enemy as though one day he may be your friend, andvice versâ. In private life, it happens that one who is a friend may first be viewed with coolness, and then treated as an enemy; and this change in conduct may be legitimate, though not creditable. Still more frequently may this happen in public life. Mr Disraeli has, we should think, learnt from bitter experience the folly of giving expression to mere transient feelings either of anger or respect. He is a man of extremes; he knows no mediocrity of feeling; witness the inflated style of the soliloquies in his novels, which have drawn down upon him the unmitigated ire of his zealous biographer. With him a statesman’s career is either “a system of petty larceny on a great scale,” or it is “a precious possession of the House of Commons.” This is a pity; but Mr Disraeli, unlike other statesmen, had not in early life the friendship of those who had trodden the thorny paths of English politics before him, to inculcate upon him the necessity of being habitually reserved and moderate in his expressions; and neither reserve nor moderation forms a part of his natural character. Too warm a nature, or too ardent a temperament are not discreditable, though they often bring pain and trouble along with them.
We now come to the most hackneyed, and, we admit, the most painful portion of Mr Disraeli’s life—his treatment of Sir Robert Peel.
But these things belong to the past. Great blame, in the eyes of an impartial observer, may be attached to Peel for the course he then took, and great blame may also attach to Disraeli; much, on the other hand, may be said in palliation of the conduct of both. The one has long ago been forgiven by the great party which he irreparably injured; the other will, we firmly believe, prove himself, at no distant period, as firm and enlightened a Minister as he is now one of the most talented and accomplished statesmen that ever adorned with his eloquence, or controlled by his wisdom, the legislation of the British Parliament.
We now conclude by urging the necessity there is for the reascendancy of the Conservative party. We are evidently on the verge of a momentous period. Are we to commit the guidance of our affairs to a Government whose conduct, as yet, has been one course of bungling—the result of dissension, of abortive speculations—the result of a misplaced self-confidence, and of unsuccessful negotiation—the result of an infatuated love of peace? We make, then, our appeal to the Protestants of England; are we any longer to truckle to the Pope of Rome—are we still to devote the public money to the support of Roman Catholic priests, and then call it “religious bigotry?” We make our appeal to the friends of Turkey amongst us: are we to have a Ministry in power who are divided in their opinions concerning the vitality of the country which we are desirous of protecting, and amongst whose supporters are men who deny our right to go to war at all? We make our appeal to the foes of Russia; shall we have a Premier who declares that “what is called the security of Europe” has nothing to fear from Russian aggression, and then says that he has nothing to retract or explain? Let us have a Ministry of able men, united amongst themselves, prepared to uphold our Protestant religion, agreed upon the vitality of Turkey, resolved to resist Russia, determined to secure a durable peace; and, above all, one that is strong in the confidence of the country, and supported by a united majority. Let us tear down the emblems of the most incapable and mischief-making Coalition that ever any country was cursed with, and proclaim over its fall the reascendancy of Conservative principles.