I remember that some five and twenty years ago, you and I had a discussion on the supposed comparative merits of parliament and congress, considering both strictly as legislative bodies. I say supposed, for it was pretty much supposition, since you had never been out of your own country, and although I had actually been twice in England, and even in London at that time, it was at an age so young, and under circumstances so little favourable to obtaining the knowledge necessary to such a subject, that I was no better off than yourself, as to facts. It is true we had both read speeches attributed to Lord Chatham and Mr. Burke, and Fox and Pitt, and sundry other orators, and which were written by Dr. Johnson and his successors in the grinding line, but this was a very different thing from having looked, and listened, and judged for oneself. In short, we did, what most young men of our age would probably have done, under the same circumstances; we uttered valueless opinions in an oracular manner, convincing no one but ourselves, and positively edifying nobody.
I thought of this discussion, which was longer even than a speech in congress, occupying no small portion of the Christmas holidays in the country, as I first put foot in the room in which were assembled the Commons of England.
I went down to St. Stephen’s about six o’clock, and, passing through divers intricate ways, I finally reached a place where a man stood in a sort of box, like the box-office keeper in a theatre, with the difference that the retailer of places in the gallery of the House of Commons carried on his business in an open and manly manner, there being no necessity for peeping through a hole to get a sight of his face. I am not quite certain that this is not the only thing connected with parliament, that is not more or less mystified.
Having paid my half crown, I was permitted to go at large in a small room with a high ceiling. Out of this room ascended some flights of narrow steps, mounting which, I reached a narrow lobby, that communicated by two doors in front with the gallery of the House, and by two doors at its ends, with little pent-up rooms, which I afterwards found answered as a sort of reporters’ guard rooms. There was also a little door in front, between the two principal entrances, by which the reporters alone went in and out of the gallery.
I found the chapel badly lighted, at least so it seemed from above. There might have been fifty or sixty members present, more than half of whom belonged to the ministerial side of the house, and not a few of whom were coming and going pretty assiduously between Bellamy’s and their seats. Bellamy’s is the name of the legislative coffee-house, and it is in the building.
The speaker sat buried in a high chair, a sort of open pulpit, under a canopy, with an enormous wig covering his head and shoulders. He looked, by the dim light, like a feeble attenuated old man, or old woman, for really it was not easy to say which; but his “order, ORDER,” was uttered in a potent bass voice, and in a sort of octave manner, that I have attempted to describe in writing. Whether this ominous mode of calling to order was peculiar to the office, or to the man, I cannot tell you, but quite likely the former, for there is an hereditary deference for such a thing here, as well as for a wig.
The members sat with their hats on, but the speaker was uncovered, if a man can be said to be uncovered who is buried in tow. They sit on benches with backs of the ordinary height, and I counted six members with one foot on the backs of the benches before them, and three with both feet. The latter were very interesting attitudes, a good deal resembling those which your country buck is apt to take in an American bar-room, and which I have seen in a church. I do not mention these trifles to draw any great moral, or political consequences from them, but simply because similar things have been commented on in connection with congress, and ascribed to democracy. I am of opinion political systems have little to do with these tours de forces, but that there is rather a tendency in the Anglo-Saxon race to put the heels higher than the head.
Behind the speaker’s chair, two members were stretched at full length, asleep. I presume the benches they occupied were softer than common, for two or three others seemed anxiously watching the blissful moment of their waking, with an evident intention to succeed them. One did arise, and a successor was in his place in less than a minute. That I may dispose of this part of the subject, once for all, I will add that, during the evening, three young men came into the side gallery within fifteen feet of me, and stretched themselves on the benches, where they were not visible to those in the body of the house. Two were disposed to sleep, rationally, but one of them kept pulling their coats and legs in a way to render it no easy matter, when all three retired together laughing, as if it were a bad job. I should think neither of the three was five and twenty.
I have now given you an exact account of the antics of the House of Commons on my first visit, and as I made a note of them on the spot, or rather in the lobby, to which we were driven once, in the course of the evening; and shall merely add that, so far as my experience goes, and it extends to a great many subsequent visits, they rather characterize its meetings. I leave you to say whether they render the legislature of England any worse or any better, though, for my own part, I think it a matter of perfect moonshine. The only times when I have seen this body in more regulated attitudes, have been occasions when the house was so crowded as to compel the members to keep their legs to themselves.
As respects the cries, so much spoken of, some of them are droll enough. Of the “Hear, hear, hear,” I shall say nothing, unless it be to tell you that they are so modulated as to express different emotions. There is a member or two, just now, that are rather expert in crowing like a cock, and I have known an attempt to bleat like a lamb, but I think it was a failure. I was quite unprepared for one species of interruption, which is a new invention, and seems likely to carry all before it, for a time. Something that was said excited a most pronounced dissatisfaction among the whigs, and they set up a noise that was laughably like the qua-a-cking of a flock of ducks. For some time I did not know what to make of it—then I thought the cry was “Bar, bar, bar,” and fancied that they wished a delinquent to be put at their bar: but I believe, after all, it was no more than the introduction of the common French interjection “bah!” which signifies dissent. The word is so sonorous, that twenty or thirty men can make a very pretty uproar, by a diligent use of it.
You will ask what the speaker says to these interruptions? He says “order ORDER,”—and there the matter ends. I shall say nothing against these practices, for I do not believe they essentially affect the interests of the country, and, as Fuseli used to tell his wife, when she got in a pet—“Schwear, my dear—do; schwear a little, it will do you good,” it may be a relief to a man to break out occasionally in these vocal expressions of feeling, especially to those who cannot, very conveniently to themselves, say any thing else.
No business of importance was done the night I paid my first visit, although some discussion took place on one or two financial points. Lord Althorp spoke for a few minutes, and in a manner so hesitating and painful, that I was surprised at the respectful attention of the House. But I was told he has its ear, from the circumstance of its having faith in his intentions, and from a conviction that, although he has hard work to get at it, he has really a fund of useful and precise information. He is one of the most laboured and perplexed speakers I have ever heard attempt to address a deliberative body. Mr. Peel said a few words in reply, sufficient to give me an idea of his manner, though I have since frequently heard him on more important occasions.
The voice of Mr. Peel is pleasant and well modulated; he speaks with facility, though in a slightly formal manner, and with a measured accentuation that sometimes betrays him into false prosody, a fault that is very common with all but the gifted few, in elocution. He called “opinion,” for instance, this evening, “o-pinion,” and “occasion” “o-casion.” If there were a word between persuasive and coaxing, I should select it as the one that best describes the manner of Mr. Peel. The latter would do him great injustice, as it wants his dignity, and argument, and force; and the former would, I think, do injustice to truth, as there is too evident an effort to insinuate himself into the good opinion of the listener, to render it quite applicable. One rather resists than yields to a persuasion so very obvious. It strikes me his manner savours more of New than of Old England, and I consider it a tribute to his reasoning powers and knowledge, that he is listened to with so much respect, for whatever may be the political and religious mystifications of the English, (and it would not be easy to surpass either), there is a homely honesty in the public mind, that greatly indisposes it to receive visible management with favour.
The voice of Mr. Peel is not unlike that of Mr. Wirt, though not as melodious, while his elocution is less perfect, and he has not the same sincerity. Still I know no American speaker to whom he can so well be compared. There is something about him between our eastern and southern modes of speaking. Some of his soft sounds, those of the u for instance, were exaggerated, like those of one who had studied Walker instead of obtaining his pronunciation in the usual way, while others, again, came out naturally, and were rather startling to a nice ear.
Sir Francis Burdett spoke, for a few minutes, in the course of the evening. By the way, the English do not pronounce this name Burdett, but Burdit He is tall and thin, more than ultra in height as in opinions, with a singularly long neck. In personal appearance, though rather handsome than otherwise, he is almost as much out of the common way as John Randolph of Roanoke. He had much less fluency and parliamentary neatness than I should have expected in one of so much practice, though he was quite self-possessed. I do not know whether you ever heard our old friend, Mr. James Morris of Morrisania, speak in public, but if you have, you will at once get an idea of the manner of Sir Francis Burdett. They have the same gentlemanlike deliberation—the same quiet, measured utterance—the same good drawing-room, or dinner-table tone, and a similarity in voice and enunciation that to me was quite startling.
Sir Francis Burdett, whose name once filled all mouths in England, no longer attracts much political attention. He probably struck his first notes on too high a key, not to fall into an octave below, before the air was finished. Your true and lasting melody steals slowly on the ear, commencing with more modulated strains, and rising gradually with the feelings that the sounds awaken. Luther, who has left a steadily increasing impression on the world, would probably have shrunk with horror, at first, from the degree of reformation to which he finally arrived by slower and more certain means. It may also be questioned if Sir Francis Burdett had a mind sufficiently original, or a reason logical enough, either to conceive or to maintain the reform that England needs, and, sooner or later, will have, or take revolution in its stead.
Mr. Hume had something to say, too, during that portion of the debate which referred to some of the minor expenses of the government He was respectfully heard, and had a business-like and matter-of-fact manner, that was adapted to catch the attention of those who wished for practical details. He seemed earnest and honest, and has as little of the demagogue in externals, as any man in the house; far less than Mr. Peel, who sat on the treasury bench. He has not the smallest pretension to eloquence, but speaks like a man who is indifferent to every thing but his facts, with which he seems to have made himself sufficiently acquainted by plodding investigation. A course like this may certainly be overdone, but in such a government it may also be eminently useful. There is a Scottish industry and perseverance about this member that are respectable, while they are not without amusement to the observer of personal and national traits.
When the principal business of the night was disposed of, there came up a question that was admirably suited to draw out the true and prevailing character of the British parliament. It was a law relating to the servants of the country, and one which, of course, affected the interests and comforts of all who kept them. The legislature of this country controls the mightiest interests, it is true, but it is under the direction of a very few minds, the oi polloi of the two houses merely echoing the sentiments of their leaders, in all such matters; but, when a question arises touching the pantry, or the chase, or the preserves, a chord is struck that vibrates through the legislative multitude, coming home to the knowledge and practice of every man who has a seat. Accordingly, this question called up a set of orators who are usually content to be silent.
I am far from undervaluing the importance of a sound and vigorous legislation on the subject of servants, for they stand in a very peculiar relation to their masters, and it would be well for all parties if we had rules of the sort among ourselves. But there was something ludicrous in seeing this important body gravely occupied in discussing this minute feature in domestic economy, and that, too, with an earnestness and zeal that had slumbered while the debate concerning taxation lasted. One or two country members stammered through speeches of great nicety and erudition, and one man was carried away by such an ecstacy of admiration at the improvements of the country, that he boldly affirmed one might now travel through England and find silver forks and napkins in every inn! By the way, if this be true, I have missed my road, for I saw nothing of the sort between Dover and London. Another speaker was clearly a little “how come you so,” but this is by no means unusual in parliament, the papers having made five or six allusions to such scenes since I arrived here. I have twice witnessed these exhibitions. I believe they have been also seen in congress, in the night sessions; the Anglo-Saxon race having a propensity to lower the head as well as to raise the heels.
It would be unfair to cite this sitting as a specimen of what the House of Commons is, in its better moments, though I feel persuaded that the latter instances are the exceptions, while something very like what I have here told you, makes the rule. I do not believe that the average speaking of parliament is any better than that of the state legislature of New York; though I beg you to understand that I am not about to abuse my opportunities to renew the old discussion to your manifest disadvantage. In making comparisons of this nature, it is usual to overlook several important and qualifying circumstances. The American legislative bodies are strictly the representatives of the nation, or of certain geographical sections of the nation. In tone, intelligence, deportment and education, they are but a little above the average of their countrymen; if a small class, that comprehends the very debased and vicious, be excluded, possibly not at all. Parliament represents exclusively not only the rich, in the main, but the landed interest, and is composed, almost entirely, of men taken from the higher classes. Some of the consequences which one would naturally expect from such causes are certainly discoverable. The English of parliament, though far from faultless, is, on the whole, materially better than that of congress. It could hardly be otherwise, with the respective elements of the bodies we are comparing, and when we recollect, moreover, the manner in which population is compressed in England, and how much it is diffused in America. It is the friction of constant intercourse which gives its polish to society, and nothing could save us from downright rusticity but the activity of a circulation that is out of all the ordinary proportions of social communion. It may be too much to say that this active and altogether peculiar blending of persons is polishing America, but it is chiselling the whole surface of society down to a smoothness that destroys marked inequalities.
The House of Commons contains more than six hundred and forty members,[13] whereas the House of Representatives contains but about two hundred and twenty. Now a simple proposition in the rule of three, will demonstrate that the former ought to possess nearly three times as many good speakers as the latter, in order to be relatively on a level with it. I greatly question if it has as many, numerically speaking, alone. I believe that one hundred men can be found in congress, who would, on an emergency, make much better extemporaneous speeches, than one hundred of the best speakers in the House of Commons. As between the House of Lords and the Senate, when the relative numbers are considered, there is no comparison.
There is, however, another side to this question, that must not be overlooked. A large proportion of the English Commons, are laymen, whereas a majority of Congress, perhaps, belong to a profession in which the art of debating, or something very near it, is cultivated as the means of subsistence. They lay great stress here on these distinctions, as an anecdote that I will relate may give you to understand.
The tories have recently made a great acquisition to their ranks, by the entrance of a Mr. Sadler into parliament. He has just delivered a speech that has made some noise, and which, if not literally so, is deemed to be maiden, in reference to its importance. Walking up St. James’s street the day after Mr. Sadler spoke, I met Lord ——, a whig member of the House of Commons. He asked me if I had been in the house the previous night, and then alluded to the effort of Mr. Sadler. “The tories are making a great noise about him,” said Lord ——, “but we have found out that he is a lawyer! Every one thought, at first, he was a country gentleman, but, lo and behold! he turns out to be a lawyer!” It was not so easy, at first, to understand the connexion between the merits or demerits of Mr. Sadler’s speech and his profession, but a little further conversation gave me the clue. In a social organization as factitious as this, things get to be estimated by their relations to the different phases of society. Success is quoad hoc. If a duke were to exhibit a picture, though no great things of itself, thousands would rush to see it, as a good thing for a duke. This spirit is particularly observable in literature; a book written by a lord selling almost as a matter of course, for his inferiors love to live, even in the equivocal familiarity of thinking, in communion with a nobleman. Byron owes no small portion of his popularity to his rank, for the better portions of his works are by no means suited to the common English tastes.
While one smiles at these distinctions, it must not be forgotten that they come fairly into the account in comparing the oratory of parliament and congress. If we urge on one side that the same conventional deportment and purity of pronunciation are not to be expected in an American as in an English legislature, because one represents an entire community and the other an élite, we cannot refuse the plea that their system excludes a set of men trained to public speaking, while ours freely admits them. In brief, the question properly divides itself between the fact and its reasons. The fact, I believe, to be as already stated, and I think that some of the strongest qualifying circumstances on both sides, have here been enumerated.
You will be curious to know what may be the effect of the cheering and coughing system; or, perhaps it were better now to term it the bah-ing system. There can be no doubt that such practices open the door to abuses of a more serious character than those which arise from the liberty of talking by the day. One puts it in the power of a majority to stifle reason and suppress facts, while the other merely exhausts patience and consumes time. Now time is of much less importance to congress than to parliament, since the powers of the former extend only to certain great interests, while the latter, as I have just shown you, legislates even about the servants of the country.
It would be a great saving of time, and a great furtherance of justice, if there were established a tribunal at Washington, to sit constantly, whose sole business it should be to decide on private claims against the government. An appeal might lie to Congress, on the part of a public advocate appointed to protect the public interests, or it might even be expedient to sanction all the decisions by enactments, but, in nineteen cases in twenty, I think, the two houses would take the reports of the tribunal as conclusive. The auditors, it is true, form some such judicial officers now, but the tribunal I mean would take cognizance of all the claims that at present go before Congress, and might be contested, if improper, by a law officer. We shall have such a court, in time, but not till we think less as Englishmen and more as Americans.
We are too apt to consider parliament and congress as bodies of similar powers, and, consequently, as recognising the same general legislative maxims. This error has led to some of the most serious evils to which our experience has given birth, and which, by insensible means, unless corrected in time, will sooner or later lead to a perversion of the governing principles of our own government.
Whatever may have been the ancient dogmas of the British constitution, parliament is now absolute. It is true that the executive, in theory, forms an integral part of parliament, but by gradual and constant encroachments on the authority of the crown, the ministers have become the creatures of parliament whenever the latter sees fit to assert its authority, although a majority of the latter is apt to be the creatures of ministers, in another and a more limited sense. The members are bought, it will be remembered; however, because they possess the power, and he who traffics away his authority, in this mode, does not part with it entirely, but is merely turning it to his personal account. The only power in England that can resist parliament, is the body of the nation. As this is an extra-legal force, forming no part of the system, it is to be found everywhere, and is only more available in England than in Turkey, because the nation is more enlightened. It is in truth the only elementary check which exists on the action of the omnipotence of parliament, all the others extending no further than they can go by intrigue and management. This practical feature in her government, gives England some sort of claim to be considered a republic. Congress is composed of attorneys in fact, not only are its powers expressly limited, but such is the nature of the trusts, that any attempt to exceed them is a direct assault on the omnipotence of the constituency. With us the executive is as much representative as the legislature, the trustee of the power being a direct emanation of the popular will. To attempt to control him, then, in the exercise of his constitutional authority, is for an attorney named for one specific trust to attempt to discharge the duties committed to another, named for quite a different, and for an equally specific trust.
These are the general features of difference, which of themselves are sufficient to give birth to very different legislative maxims, and which would give birth to them, were not traditions, more efficacious, in such matters, than principles. But there are many minor points that frequently agitate us, and which are commonly settled on English principles, that are closely connected with a due consideration of the discrepancies between the two polities. I will illustrate my meaning, by an example.
The right of petition is justly esteemed an important English right, whereas with us, it may be made the instrument of doing infinite harm, while I question if a single case of its exclusive and particular usefulness, could be cited.
In England, the right of petition is the only regular mode by which the body of the nation can at all enter into the councils of the nation. Apart from the fact that the constituencies are arbitrarily wielded as mere political machinery, a vast majority of the English have not even this indirect, and inefficient control over the choice of their legislators. One body is hereditary, and the other is chosen by a striking minority, even in theory; and, in fact, by the influence of the aristocracy. Under such a system the right of petition is doubly useful, for while it serves as a lever for the mass, it also serves as a beacon to their rulers. A moderate and timely application of this force may prevent an exercise of it that would overturn the state.
The right to petition Congress existed entirely as a traditionary right, until the constitution was amended. Certainly any man, or any set of men could petition, as much as they pleased, but the question now in consideration is whether there exists any governing and important principle that would render it incumbent on Congress to receive and consider their requests, had not Mr. Jefferson introduced his amendment. As the people are directly, fully and always recently, represented in Congress, there exists no plea on the score of the necessity of adopting this mode of being heard, as in England. Under such a system there is no danger of laws being passed, as in England, to prevent county meetings being called without the sanction of an officer of the government; and the people, if they wish it, have always the expedient of assembling when, where and how they please, to make their sentiments known. Congress has no power to pass any such a law at all. Parliament may curb the press, but Congress is absolutely impotent on this point. It was impotent, before the amendment existed, for all these provisions were supererogatory. The tendency of a government like ours, is to the doctrines of pledges and instruction, (neither of which is tenable as a whole, though true in part) and it would seem that they who claim a right to instruct can have little need to petition. But the objects of a petition can be better obtained by another mode of proceeding. If the people assemble in primary meetings, and put the subject of the petition into the form of a printed memorial, and cause their names to be published, such a document would be more likely to effect its object, because it would be more authentic than the old method. It would be in the way of being read, so as to be understood, a fate which befalls few petitions, and names could not be surreptitiously annexed without exposure, as is constantly practised with petitions.
All this will probably appear very much like heterodoxy, and yet I think it all quite true. The subject might easily be extended to many other practices. You may feel disposed to ask, why Mr. Jefferson, a lover of independence, so far overlooked these distinctions as to obtain an insertion of a clause in the constitution, by way of amendment, securing the right of petition to the people? No man is omniscient; and Mr. Jefferson, having been educated under the monarchy, deferred more to its maxims, than would have been the case, had he lived later. But General Lafayette has explained to me the reason why several of the supererogatory clauses were introduced, in 1801. Mr. Jefferson was in Europe when the constitution was formed. This instrument was a subject of great interest to the liberals of this part of the world, who know little of the substratum of freedom which exists with us, in the state governments. It was an awkward thing to explain that Congress possessed no powers that were not expressly ceded, when he was asked where were our guarantees for liberty of conscience, and of the press, and for this right of petition, which, in Europe, where the people cannot assemble without permission half the time, and are not directly represented, is justly deemed a right of the last importance. Under the feeling created by the constant inquiries that he heard on these points, Mr. Jefferson got the amendments, mentioned, introduced. At least, such is the history of the transaction that I have received from General Lafayette.
In ninety-nine cases in a hundred, petitions lead to no greater injury, with us, than to a waste of time. Indeed, they are getting to be rather unusual, the public feeling them to be unnecessary. It resorts to a higher power, being the master. But petitions may work peculiar evil, under a system like ours. If recognised as a right, it is a mode of entering Congress with vexed questions, over which Congress may have but a doubtful, or no proper control, and disturb, uselessly, the harmony of its councils. A single member may do this, also, it is true, but with less influence, and consequently with less injury. Petitions are a sort of semi-official consultation, and, besides letting the wishes of the whole, or of a part of the people be known, which can be, at least, as well effected by other means, they insidiously work their way into the debates, and enlist the passions, prematurely, on subjects that may require great forbearance to be disposed of wisely and with safety. It should always be remembered, among other things, that instead of dealing with citizens, our government is often called on to deal with states. There is so strong a bias in men of reading to take warning from history, under the just persuasion, that human nature continues inherently the same, throughout all time, that they too frequently neglect to ascertain whether the facts are identical, in preaching their favourite doctrine, that “like causes produce like effects.”
Of course I now speak of petitions for political and general objects, and not of those introduced to obtain private favours. The word itself is unsuited to our form of government, and even in private cases, would be worthily displaced, by substituting “Memorial.”