In every political proposal we must not leave out of the question the political views and object of the proposer; and these we discover, not by what he says, but by the principles he lays down.  “I mean,” says he, “a moderate and temperate reform:  that is, I mean to do as little good as possible.”  If the Constitution be what you represent it, and there be no danger in the change, you do wrong not to make the reform commensurate to the abuse.  Fine reformer, indeed! generous donor!  What is the cause of this parsimony of the liberty which you dole out to the people?  Why all this limitation in giving blessings and benefits to mankind?  You admit that there is an extreme in liberty, which may be infinitely noxious to those who are to receive it, and which in the end will leave them no liberty at all.  I think so, too.  They know it, and they feel it.  The question is, then, What is the standard of that extreme?  What that gentleman, and the associations, or some parts of their phalanxes, think proper?  Then our liberties are in their pleasure; it depends on their arbitrary will how far I shall be free.  I will have none of that freedom.  If, therefore, the standard of moderation be sought for, I will seek for it.  Where?  Not in their fancies, nor in my own:  I will seek for it where I know it is to be found,—­in the Constitution I actually enjoy.  Here it says to an encroaching prerogative,—­“Your sceptre has its length; you cannot add an hair to your head, or a gem to your crown, but what an eternal law has given to it.”  Here it says to an overweening peerage,—­“Your pride finds banks that it cannot overflow”:  here to a tumultuous and giddy people,—­“There is a bound to the raging of the sea.”  Our Constitution is like our island, which uses and restrains its subject sea; in vain the waves roar.  In that Constitution, I know, and exultingly I feel, both that I am free, and that I am not free dangerously to myself or to others.  I know that no power on earth, acting as I ought to do, can touch my life, my liberty, or my property.  I have that inward and dignified consciousness of my own security and independence, which constitutes, and is the only thing which, does constitute, the proud and comfortable sentiment of freedom in the human breast.  I know, too, and I bless God for, my safe mediocrity:  I know, that, if I possessed all the talents of the gentlemen on the side of the House I sit, and on the other, I cannot, by royal favor, or by popular delusion, or by oligarchical cabal, elevate myself above a certain very limited point, so as to endanger my own fall, or the ruin of my country.  I know there is an order that keeps things fast in their place:  it is made to us, and we are made to it.  Why not ask another wife, other children, another body, another mind?