He could not indeed but think that they had carried the reduction of the army to a dangerous extent.  He could not but feel that they had treated him unkindly in requiring him to part with those guards who had come over with him to deliver England, and who had since been near him on every field of battle.  But it was his fixed opinion that nothing could be so pernicious to the State as that he should be regarded by his people with distrust, distrust of which he had not expected to be the object after what he had endeavoured, ventured, and acted, to restore and to secure their liberties.  He had now, he said, told the Houses plainly the reason, the only reason, which had induced him to pass their bill; and it was his duty to tell them plainly, in discharge of his high trust, and in order that none might hold him accountable for the evils which he had vainly endeavoured to avert, that, in his judgment, the nation was left too much exposed.

When the Commons had returned to their chamber, and the King’s speech had been read from the chair, Howe attempted to raise a storm.  A gross insult had been offered to the House.  The King ought to be asked who had put such words into his mouth.  But the spiteful agitator found no support.  The majority were so much pleased with the King for promptly passing the bill that they were not disposed to quarrel with him for frankly declaring that he disliked it.  It was resolved without a division that an address should be presented, thanking him for his gracious speech and for his ready compliance with the wishes of his people, and assuring him that his grateful Commons would never forget the great things which he had done for the country, would never give him cause to think them unkind or undutiful, and would, on all occasions, stand by him against all enemies.

Just at this juncture tidings arrived which might well raise misgivings in the minds of those who had voted for reducing the national means of defence.  The Electoral Prince of Bavaria was no more.  The Gazette which announced that the Disbanding Bill had received the royal assent informed the public that he was dangerously ill at Brussels.  The next Gazette contained the news of his death.  Only a few weeks had elapsed since all who were anxious for the peace of the world had learned with joy that he had been named heir to the Spanish throne.  That the boy just entering upon life with such hopes should die, while the wretched Charles, long ago half dead, continued to creep about between his bedroom and his chapel, was an event for which, notwithstanding the proverbial uncertainty of life, the minds of men were altogether unprepared.  A peaceful solution of the great question now seemed impossible.  France and Austria were left confronting each other.  Within a month the whole Continent might be in arms.  Pious men saw in this stroke, so sudden and so terrible, the plain signs of the divine displeasure.  God had a controversy with the nations.  Nine years