GOVERNMENT

SECTION III.—THE ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT.

We have already said that the origin of government is in the social nature of man. That is the aesthetic origin which renders government not only possible but necessary. Under the term origin, however, must also be included two circumstances of another character—the historical origin as matter of fact, and the logical origin as matter of political science. So far as history throws light on the chronological commencement of government, it points in the almost invariable direction of military leadership. The warrior or the representative of force and power was the original form of the governing man. The patriarchal system which accords the power of ruling to the father or elder of the family, and then by extension to the elder branch of a tribe, may perhaps claim priority; and this form, among the Arabs and other cognate tribes, has continued down to the present day. Nor is the patriarchal element obliterated even in the governments of the most civilized nations; for wherever there is a dynasty or reigning family, the eldest member of which assumes the throne, we recognise distinctly the remnant of

Government. the patriarchal system. It is one of the elements which are still woven into the constitution of European monarchies, and no doubt it was the earliest form of authority, the children being by nature placed under the authority of the father. But the patriarchal government, if it be taken to mean that all are subject to the will of the patriarchal ruler, can have no principles save the one principle of primogeniture, and, therefore, cannot be accepted as signifying what in modern times is meant by government; and if the ruler were to rule not merely by will, but by laws, customs, and equity, then he falls to be considered as the ordinary administrator of the law, and his patriarchal character may be viewed as a mere accident.

On the other hand, the military chief, who may be taken as the historic original of the true governor, is selected for the express purpose of directing the whole body of society; and the difference between the patriarchal ruler and the military ruler lies in the significant fact, that the authority of the former was based on the relationship of blood, whereas the latter occupies an office. His was the first creation of the office of government, irrespective of the natural relationship of family; and consequently the military leader may be considered as the original form, which, as circumstances change, and as the interests of society become more and more complex, undergoes change after change, till at last it may even lose its military character except in name.

The military leader or man of military ability and prowess would naturally become the director and ruler of his tribe. In some cases the hereditary element might be grafted on the system of military chieftainship; in others the office of ruler might be merely individual, and the most powerful general might seize the reins of government. Even in modern times, and among the most advanced nations, this military origin is not unknown. Washington the general was also the first president of the United States; Napoleon Bonaparte became emperor of France; the late king of Sweden, Bernadotte, was a general; and in the South American republics, the chief power appears to be considered the prize for which all military leaders may contend, seemingly as a matter of course.

The logical origin of government belongs to a different category from that of history. It belongs to political ethics, and should answer the question, What ought to be the origin, foundation, and basis of the governing power in its governing authority?

Here, of course, there is room for diversity of opinion. The democratic party of the world will point to the sovereign people, and proclaim it "universal monarch;" the autocratic party will point to the advantages of a strong executive, and will cite examples where democracy has failed and where despotism has succeeded—for a time. Others, like the British, will affirm that very much must depend on the circumstances of a people, and that no theoretic rule can be laid down which will apply to all cases. They will affirm that government, being a concrete fact, must be regulated by the necessities of time, place, circumstance, and habitual belief; that circumstances not only do, but ought to influence all deductions from abstract reason, and all inferences from historic teaching; that a republic may, theoretically, be the most correct, and a despotism (among semi-barbarous people) the most successful; but yet that there is another way of solving the difficulty, namely, by compensating advantages according to the actual conditions of the people who are to be ruled; that with a very free, enlightened, and well educated people there may be a tendency towards popular election becoming year by year more and more expansive, but that an ignorant and half-savage population must submit to the iron rod because they are unfit for governing themselves, and consequently must submit to those who will rule them ill.

There are then two poles to the theory of government, the one which points to democracy and the other to despotism; and in the midway between the two, there is a neutral point which equalizes powers and modifies extremes. The democrat derives the logical right to govern from the sovereign will of the people, his antagonist from the sovereign necessity of government, and from the ideal perfection of a single will. The British system, on the contrary—and the British system is absolutely unique in the world, having no counterpart or fellow—derives the right to govern from several distinct sources, mainly from the people, but only a small portion of the people; partly from the notion of hereditary right, which resides in the nobles; and to a great extent from the hereditary authority of the crown, which represents those ends of government that are independent of human will, namely, the ends of justice.

The logical origin of government, therefore, must be sought neither in the fury of the democrat nor the violence of the despot. It must be sought in the necessities of man, with an impartial consideration of circumstances and national peculiarities ever present before us. The circumstances of nations do, no doubt, allow a large limit of action intermediate between despotism and democracy, and according to those circumstances a people may be compelled to verge towards the one or the other. With a new, vigorous, expanding population, spreading itself out on new lands, occupying new territories, fighting its way, rifle in hand, against rugged nature and hostile Indians, there is necessarily produced a powerful tendency towards democracy. Democracy, in fact, grows of its own accord as the result of circumstances, and where not overstretched nor carried to unreasonable extremes, it answers perhaps better than a more rigid and stringent form of government. But it requires an intelligent and well-intentioned people who are in nearly uniform circumstances to conduct it. On the other hand, with a long settled and stationary population, accustomed to the ordinary administration of law, and where more especially each individual, instead of being called upon to do everything for himself, performs only a single part of the employments of life, where there is a division and subdivision of labour, and where each man desires to attend to his own particular business, there is quite as powerful a tendency to despotic rule, that is, to leave the government in the hands of some one or few whose especial occupation it is to govern and to administer justice and law. With good laws a despotic administrator acting with just impartiality may really rule well, but the danger is, that the possession of power may lead to its abuse, and therefore checks must be devised to secure the people from tyranny.

When, therefore, it is asked, "what is the logical origin of government, or what ought to be the origin of a government in any given country?" we should hesitate to lay down any absolute rule; but rather to regard government as an organic growth with which circumstances have much concern. Instead of saying "the will of the people," as Milton, Locke, De Foe, and the republicans would say; and instead of saying "the will of the prince," as Hobbes, Filmer, the Austrian catechism, the constitution of Denmark, and the despotic governments would say; we should rather reject both schemes, and affirm that government ought to originate "in the intelligence of the nation," without fixing, by any absolute dictum, where that intelligence is to be found, but leaving it to be determined by circumstances what classes have arrived at such a state of intelligence and stable good conduct, as to entitle them to become active members of the body politic, and to exercise political rights. All such dogmas as "the will of the peo-

ple," or "the will of the prince," are hazardous and unreasonable propositions, which may have a show of logical completeness, but which are not suited to the circumstances of mankind. A good government is an organic growth, and it must originate in the intelligence of a nation.

It has been usual to classify the forms of government into the monarchical, or government by one person; the aristocratic, or government by a few privileged individuals; and the democratic, or government by all. This classification is a loose yet convenient mode of expressing certain facts and ideas; it answers a purpose, and may pass as the conventional mode of indicating that certain characteristics prevail more or less in certain political constitutions. But it would be difficult to point to any nation where there was really and truly a pure and simple monarchy, aristocracy, or democracy. Much, for instance, has been said and written on the advantages or disadvantages of republics, and the ancient republics have freely been cited as examples; overlooking the fact that there never was an ancient republic, and that the name alone has imposed on those who pretended to draw arguments from history. All the ancient republics contained slaves, persons who were excluded from political rights, and the so-called republics were only instances where a privileged class of citizens, or very numerous aristocracy, ruled the state or commonwealth. So also with monarchy. We can scarcely assign a time or place where all the members of a state have been subject to the will of one man. There has always been a council or divan which aided and controlled the monarch. The control may have been of the rudest kind, as in the Russian government, which has been termed "an aristocracy varied by an assassination"; but control has always been present. The great mass may have been subject to the monarch's will, but not the whole mass. The monarch has never stood alone as the one single dictator whom all others were willing to obey in all things. There may in Turkey, Russia, and other countries, have been a near approach to absolute domination and absolute submission; but the extreme point, if ever reached at all, has speedily been followed by circumstances which prove the existence of a counterbalance to the autocratic will. The feudal system was nominally a monarchy, but the barons had intelligible and acknowledged rights which limited the crown, and these rights were enforced against the king, as at Runnymede, with the distinct understanding that the royal will was not and could not be paramount to the interests of all the subjects. The monarchical Pope of Rome has his college of cardinals, but the aristocracy of Venice had also their doge, the republican United Provinces had their stadtholder, the democratic United States have their president and their honourable senators, and France, under Louis XIV, (l'état, c'est moi), had her laws and her parliaments.¹ The logical division, therefore, into monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, must be accepted as a species of general expression which indicates extreme forms, like the mathematical point that has no length, breadth, or thickness, or the line which is absolutely straight. In the real history of men and nations we find only approaches to these theoretic forms. They are mingled together in various proportions—here, monarchy is the predominant element—there, aristocracy—elsewhere, democracy. The names may be suitable, but the fact is found only in the conception of an ideal perfection that exists in the human understanding—not in the actualities of history. In actual fact the three elements, however disproportioned, will generally be found together;

¹ One of the five-franc pieces issued in the time of the first Napoleon affords a curious illustration of this mixture of political elements. On the reverse it bears "Republique Française," and on the obverse "Napoléon Empereur."

and in the form of government, as well as in its theoretic origin, the object of research must be, not any dogmatic determination of a perfect form, but a compensation of advantages accommodated to the actual circumstances of a people.

We may therefore ask what each element represents, for unquestionably there is some reality represented by the monarch, the aristocracy, and the popular will.

The monarch represents the unity of the nation and the stability of the government. He is the fountain of all executive power, and in his name justice is executed—he is the head of all military forces—he alone enters into relations with foreign countries—he makes peace or war; and he is the fountain of honour to grant titles and dignities. So plainly do these functions indicate unity, that where there is not a monarch there is commonly a single person chosen to perform them—a president, a stadtholder, a doge, or some single official who represents a monarch, though passing by a different name. In foreign relations the essential purpose of a monarch is to represent the whole nation, and in home relations to represent the administration of justice. We therefore see how hereditary monarchy may arise by an easy and natural process. Justice is supposed to be permanent and unvarying; it ought to be administered under all circumstances. Whatever fluctuations there may be in other political matters, whatever parties, doctrines, theories, or schemes, may be uppermost for the time being, the administration of justice is supposed to be a permanent duty, and, therefore, it is not unreasonable that there should be a permanent person in whose name justice is administered. The king is thus said "never to die." "le roi est mort—vive le roi," is an expression that contains a profound political truth, namely, the permanency of the nation, and the permanency of the administration of justice. Where, on the contrary, a mere military ruler dies there is usually a contest among the survivors, and government is only re-established when one shall have made himself supreme.

This view of the monarch, however, entails the question of a monarch's powers. If the monarch be the permanent representative of justice, the monarch, as a person, must reign but not govern,—"le roi règne, et ne gouverne pas." Where the monarch attempts to enforce his own will, or to take a positive activity in the government, he abdicates the position into which the feelings of men have installed him. "The king can do no wrong" is only the sequel to the idea that the kingly office is occupied not for the sake of the person but for the sake of the office itself; and the true meaning is that the office can do no wrong, because it is not endowed either with a legislative or a dictatorial power. It is the representative of the execution of the law; and so long as the monarch restricts himself to his proper official capacity he can no more do a legal wrong than the law itself can do a legal wrong.

If it be considered, then, that the monarch represents the unity of the nation, an aristocracy may be regarded as representing the distribution of its powers and dignities. The noble also, like the monarch, originated in war leadership. While the monarch was the supreme head of the whole military power, the noble was the divisional commander; and in the feudal system, which made the monarch lord or suzerain of the whole national territory, the noble was the lord of a portion, a province, a county, or a minor subdivision of the kingdom. It has been stated that one of the ends of government is "the defence of the kingdom," and under this idea the feudal system portioned out the kingdom into districts over which a noble was appointed to preside. At first the office was not hereditary, nor were the lands the property of the nobles, but nobility gradually became hereditary, and the right of the noble families to the soil came to be acknowledged, first by custom, then by positive grant, and, finally, as in England in the reign of

Charles the Second, the nobles were relieved from military service, and retained their lands by the tenure called free and common soccage.

It will thus be seen what aristocracy in its true sense represents. It represents, first, the territorial soil of the kingdom; second, the divisional exercise of power under the monarch; and third, the military distribution of the national forces. This was the feudal idea of an aristocracy; and where the state was constructed on a military system, the lands being held on condition of performing military service, it is evident that aristocracy was the native growth of circumstances, and fulfilled the requirements of the times. In entering as an element into the government of a country, therefore, an aristocracy may fairly be regarded as the representative of the fixed property of the soil; and as territorial wealth will always exercise its influence, whether ostensibly or implicitly, the aristocratic element is only an open and avowed acknowledgment of an influence that is sure to exist, whether it does or does not assume a separate standing of its own.

Such may appear the reasonable origin and purpose of an aristocracy; and even where the titular nobility is rejected, and hereditary dignities are unknown, we see an approach to a similar system. We see in the United States the territorial division into separate states, each of which has its governor, and each of which has its senator—the one holding an executive and the other a legislative office. These offices may be regarded as aristocracy in the birth; and if the offices were made hereditary—an event, however, which none can anticipate—there would be a genuine foundation of aristocratic nobility, just as Washington would have become a monarch, had he been appointed perpetual president, with hereditary succession of the office secured to his family. An instance of this kind has been furnished in the recent history of France, where a president elected for a term of years was transformed into an hereditary emperor by the suffrages of the people.

Where an aristocracy, however, from an element of government produced by the circumstances and necessities of society, becomes changed to a governing caste—where one family endowed with the title of nobility is supposed to differ in kind as well as in office from another family perhaps of equal wealth and equal worth—and where, instead of a compensation of advantages, and a due representation of all the interests of society, the noble families assume the whole government of the community, and form what is termed an aristocratic government, the greatest evils have always been found to prevail, and the state has sunk inevitably into factions which sooner or later have ended in the ruin of the commonwealth. Nor is this surprising, for the determination that a certain number of families shall enjoy all powers and privileges is the very destruction of the organic growth of society; it is an attempt to fix in perpetuity what nature has made variable and expansive—an attempt to make the physical accident of birth take the place of the true intelligence of the nation. An aristocracy existing in a country where there is both a monarch and a popular assembly is a very different thing from a government by nobles alone. The first may give stability to the government, and may prevent sudden fluctuations by the people when roused into temporary excitement, and rashly urging their measures with undue and unreasoning vehemence. The landed or property interest may sometimes balance the state when other interests would act with less consideration; and, as an element of government, it can scarcely be denied that property should have its weight because it is immediately implicated in the decisions of the body politic. But where the nobles rule as nobles born to dominate; where the doge is a puppet, and the people are nothing; where caste is made the criterion for office or power; where an impassable or scarcely passable wall of

Government. separation is built up between the privileged and the unprivileged families; where the interests of the order are preferred to all other considerations; and where factions ambition is the chief characteristic of the governing class, aristocracy presents itself under the form of a hateful and tyrannical oligarchy which is certainly doomed to self-destruction or decay. Society falls into a condition which nature cannot tolerate; there are no means for renewing the strength and vigour of the commonwealth, growth is arrested, expansion is impossible, the green moss grows upon the edifice of the state, which sinks into a picturesque ruin that only indicates the presence of its former glories by ornaments that have no longer a meaning, and by dignities that have fallen out of use.

Having thus endeavoured to exhibit the fundamental elements of society, represented by monarchy and aristocracy, it remains for us to inquire into the nature and characteristics of democracy. The democratic element, like the monarchical and aristocratic, has its foundation in one of the ends of government, namely, "the development of social improvement and well-being." Why should the people attempt to govern themselves instead of allowing the whole power to pass into the hands of the monarch? is a question that meets with a ready and specific answer, when we reflect that the interests of the whole population are involved in the administration of government. Every man's interest being at stake, and every man's life, liberty, property, and reputation, being implicated in the success or non-success of the society to which he belongs, he has a direct motive to assert his own views of the national policy, and, in a modified sense, a right to influence that policy according to his own will. That the will of the people ought in all cases to be supreme, that the popular will ought in all cases to be obeyed, and that "vox populi is vox dei," is one of those gigantic fallacies which gain currency in expression but never in fact. Nothing can be more fallacious than the idea that the will of the people ought to be obeyed because it is their will. It may be more probable that the judgment or decision of a large body is more correct than the judgment of a single individual or small selection of interested persons. We do not affirm that it is so, but admit the possibility that it may be so. Yet that circumstance could never establish the principle of democratic supremacy, nor ever render it right that the will of the people should be assumed as the last final criterion of political rectitude. The laws of justice are independent of human will, though not independent of human intelligence, because it is the province of human intelligence to discover and apply them. Human will, therefore, cannot be accepted as a universal and infallible rule of duty, because man being subject to passion may be blinded to right, and a majority or the whole of an assembled multitude may commit a crime, even as an individual may commit a crime. The will of the multitude can no more change right into wrong, or wrong into right, than can the will of the monarch or the will of the aristocracy. It is not the multitude of wills that establishes the propriety of democratic influence, but the agglomeration of interests and the agglomeration of intelligences.

But although the will of the multitude must be rejected as an absolute criterion of right, there is nevertheless a vast department of the public business of society where the popular dictum comes into reasonable and appropriate action. The many have interests, and instincts, and intelligence. They bear burdens, pay taxes, and live by the sweat of their brow. They "know where the shoe pinches;" and often, by the instinct of their common interest, they arrive at truer and better conclusions regarding the economical influence of the laws, than others gifted with greater powers of speculation, yet who are not placed under the instructive agency of direct pressure. Pressure is the great instructor of the people. Many bad laws hav-

ing been enacted in almost all countries, deeply injurious to the welfare of the people, and greatly detrimental to their interests, the operation of the popular will has been called into exercise to amend those laws, and to ameliorate the circumstances of social existence; and thus the democratic influence, directly or indirectly, has operated in the most beneficial of all directions, namely, towards the purification of the permanent laws that are habitually administered among civilized men. The code, or statute-book, whether in France, Britain, America, or Germany—meaning thereby the body of positive law actually enforced in the present day—owes its justice and impartiality in a very high degree to the democratic spirit generated in England during the time of the parliamentary struggles; carried out at a later period in the laws and constitutions of the United States; reproduced in the turmoil of the great French Revolution, and embodied in the spirit of French law even after the insurrectionary portion of the revolution had ceased, and now habitually acknowledged as a worthy and genuine contribution to the principles of law and government. Without that democratic element infused into the spirit of modern legislation, liberty would have been far less extensive and far less secure;—not that we are nearer to what is termed a democracy, but that numberless bad laws, customs, institutions, privileges, class exemptions, or class injustices, have been swept away, probably for ever; and that the body of modern law has been purified to an extent that can only be appreciated when we turn to the pages of past history, and inquire into the condition of society in England before the accession of William, and on the Continent before the French Revolution. This undeniable fact points out what may be the good influence of the democratic element even though we are left as far as ever from the establishment of a democracy. It works, when it works for good, as a principle infiltrating through the institutions of society, and amalgamating with the other principles—not overthrowing everything that stands in the way of the popular will, but gradually removing those things that stand in the way of the popular good. The true aim of democracy is not to war against thrones, but to war against unjust and injurious laws, and to obtain the enactment of good laws whose administration shall be secured by a powerful sceptre. Democracy in its best sense, in fact in its only good sense, means impartiality; and the great aim of modern society should be to infuse impartiality into the laws, and to have the laws executed by a strong government.

In thus viewing democracy, it need scarcely be added that we cannot regard it as solving the difficulties of government. As a principle or element capable of being wrought into the framework of society, democracy has a true and vital existence, which cannot be obliterated among free men. But as a form of government in which all things and all measures come ultimately to depend on the popular will, it is a mere violent extreme, which may, like the highest despotism, exist for a period in extreme circumstances, but which time must modify as society grows into more and more complex conditions.

SECTION V.—OF CONSTITUTIONAL AND REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT.

Admitting, then, that there are three essential ideas, or principles, involved in the fact of good government—first, the unity of the state and administration of justice; second, the fixed property of the realm; and, third, the rights and interests of the people,—it remains to be asked whether a system can be found that shall combine these in such due proportion that the welfare of all shall work together coincidentally, so that a nation possessing a certain territory shall be organized in such a manner that it shall no longer be subject to the sudden and disastrous fluctua-

tions of political revolution. Let it be granted that organized society is a growth—that it begins in simple forms and ends in more complex forms—that, like a tree, it has its roots, its stem, and its branches—that time, experience, amendment, and continual improvement, are necessary to bring it to perfection;—let this be granted, and we see at once that the simple forms of social organization are elementary, and, in one sense, barbarous. A monarchy can be manufactured at once by a strong-minded and strong-handed military chief, who assumes the supreme rule: a democracy can spring into existence wherever a multitude of human beings assemble: an aristocracy can be produced where the more knowing and the more wealthy agree to rule the multitude. Such systems of government are not organizations; and however long they may be perpetuated, they are only rude and elementary; because, let society be reduced into anarchy, and one of these forms can be reproduced at any given moment. This is not growth nor construction, but the mere spontaneous commencement of what ought to lead to construction. No length of time can make such forms other than elementary—no universality of practice, other than the mere beginnings of the complex machinery of civilization. A perfect government would be one that would produce the free, enlightened, and well-behaved citizen, who, conscious of his own duty and dignity, should walk with perfect freedom in obedience to perfect law. Such, indeed, is the great ultimate end of government,—not merely to punish crime, but to prevent it altogether; to lead the whole body of society to the intelligent conclusion that crimes and evil deeds are the worst possible investments; that good conduct shall be attended with perfect liberty, but that evil conduct shall be instantly followed by swift and certain retribution. It is true that man being endowed with passions and impulses cannot be manufactured like raw material; but all the external motives capable of being presented in one form rather than another should be so arranged as to be inducements to good and not evil; that is, that the machinery of government shall be as perfect as possible, whatever may be the nature of the material that is subjected to its operation.

Complexity is in reality no objection to a government, provided the ultimate operations are simple. The more complex the machine, the more perfectly it ought to do its work, and with the least cost and trouble to the proprietor—that is, the nation.

How then can the ends of government be efficiently carried out so as to preserve the rights and promote the interests of all parties?

The answer to this question must, we apprehend, be one derived from practice. Whatever conclusions may be derived from theory, or whatever logical deductions may be derived from the intuitive principles of the reason, it is plainly evident that the best form of government cannot be derived from abstract considerations alone, because there are, in the concrete nature of the individuals of the human race, certain circumstances and tendencies that can never be sufficiently accounted for in abstract reasonings. Politics may be a science, and may be studied in its universal doctrine of ethics; but government is an art, and as an art, must depend on experience. Trial, failure, trial again, and ultimate success, must precede the analysis which shows us the principles of government. Those principles are not a priori but inductive. They are drawn by careful study from the actual facts which history presents; and induction has this immense advantage over speculation, that the circumstances and peculiarities of men, which no sagacity could bring into calculation, are seen at work in the actual world exhibiting both the quality and the quantity of their real influence.

Let us, then, consider the three facts,—

1. The unity of the nation.

2. The fixed territorial property of the nation.

3. The rights and interests of the people.

The first is represented by a monarch who reigns but does not govern. The second is represented by an assembly of the great landlords. The third is represented by an assembly of notables chosen by the people.

No a priori scheme would ever have produced a combination of this kind, and arguments of the most conclusive character have been advanced to prove that it could never work. But it has worked and does work, not perfectly perhaps, but with such a manifest superiority over the other systems of Europe that no European nation can boast of the same security and liberty that have been developed under this complex system. In no other country has the utmost freedom been combined with the same regular administration of law; and this fact entitles the British, or limited constitutional system, to particular attention. It is not perfect, and never has been perfect, but it has shown such a real adaptation to the circumstances of man, that, under it, a small island kingdom of little geographical importance, has attained a strength and vigour that have not only carried the British name but the British power and influence into all quarters of the globe. This assertion cannot be construed into a boastful laudation of Britain; for it is a mere historical and political fact that Britain has gigantic colonies, and the territory of India subject to her crown; that her colonies exceed in wealth and importance those of any other nation, and even those of all other nations put together. To assert this fact is not to boast, but to point out one of the most remarkable phenomena that ever appeared in the world of politics—one that ought to convey instruction to all despotic governments, and that ought to inspire all nations with a love of sound and wholesome liberty, not run riot, but duly tempered and regulated by wise and reasonable institutions. The progress of Great Britain, since the establishment of her constitutional government, is a marvellous fact that has excited the astonishment and perhaps occasionally the envy of other countries. It depends upon two circumstances, on liberty and security. Britain was the first country that discovered the mode of combining the utmost amount of reasonable liberty with the utmost amount of legal security; and to this she owes her progress. It is, therefore, not merely a matter of opinion that the British constitutional government has worked well, but a great and instructive fact worthy of the best attention of all political students, and indeed of all nations that desire to improve their condition.

Let us then endeavour very briefly to extract the essential characteristics of the British constitutional government.

In the first place, the hereditary monarch reigns, and is the first magistrate of the kingdom, in whose name all justice is administered. The monarch is also the fountain of honour, and alone confers titular dignities. All naval and military commissions are held from the monarch, and the monarch alone enters into relation with foreign states. The crown, it is true, has an official veto on laws passed by the Lords and Commons; but this prerogative, where all parties are really bent on full and fair discussion—and the laws are the result of judgment, not of will—may be considered formal rather than practical. The great fact, however, is, that the monarch must govern according to law. This provision, introduced at the accession of William III., is the true hinge of the British monarchy, and it is the safeguard not only of the people, but of the monarchy itself, because it prevents those contests between crown and people which prevail elsewhere. Instead of a revolution, which perils or changes the monarch, the British system changes the advisers of the crown—that is, changes the ministry—and the monarch becomes practically as new as if a new personage had been promoted to the kingly office. This excellent provision, which keeps the monarch irre-

Government. sponsible, and devolves the responsibility on the advisers of the crown, combines constant opportunity for change with constant stability. The queen's ministry may be removed as often as occasion requires, but the queen's government never ceases. The parties, or factions, of the kingdom, instead of entering into contests with the crown as in former ages or in other countries, circulate round the crown as round a centre; and that party which for the time being can occupy the greatest portion of the circumference claims the sanction of the crown to its measures, the crown remaining always at the point of stability, and as regards the nation, of impartiality.

The despot, however, affirms that the monarch ought to govern, and the republican affirms that there ought to be no hereditary monarch. Both propositions are true in certain extreme circumstances, but only in the early growth of a constitution. When once a nation has settled down into form, and has recognized its laws, there is every disadvantage in allowing the monarch to become a partizan—which he must become if he assume one side or other of a national question, agitated perhaps with the rancour and vehemence which proverbially attach to questions of politics. In a country where many serious struggles have at last instituted a regular system of law which ought to be carried out and enforced under all circumstances of party, there is an immediate and evident advantage in having the highest official removed from taking a part in what are really the minor questions of a nation's existence.

But the republican says that there ought to be no hereditary monarch; yet it must be confessed that it would require a larger amount of experience than the world has hitherto accumulated to prove the advantage of abolishing all monarchies, or even of adopting an elective monarchy. To subject a nation to the perpetual play of faction, and to cast the first office of the state into the arena of political strife, to be contended for by the great or ambitious families, can be attended with a very small amount of good when the stability of the office and not the qualities of the person are the great requisites. Justice is not better administered in the name of a president than in the name of a king; and the very circumstances which have been adduced to prove the evils of monarchy are those in which the monarch has departed from the duties of his office and has become a politician, with personal opinions and predilections. Nor can the example of the United States be fairly cited in this case, for the states contain several millions of people who are deprived of all political rights, and the slave states are no more republics than Great Britain is a despotic monarchy. They are virtual aristocracies, and aristocracies of the worst kind, the aristocracy of a dominant race reducing another race to slavery. To call such a system a republic is to make a mockery of our mother tongue. The only instance of a true and genuine republic, where all men were presumed equal, and where universal suffrage was reduced to real practice by a great nation, is to be found in France in 1849; but the existence of that form of organization was too short to prove anything either on the one side or the other, except the instructive fact that anarchy is historically followed by a strict rule, which introduces the element that had been omitted in the republican calculation.

Next to the throne comes the House or Assembly of Peers, composed of the lords spiritual and temporal. When the church was a great landed proprietor, possessing from a third to two-fifths of the soil of the kingdom, and when the bishops were the nobles of the church and of the church lands, there was a feudal reason for admitting ecclesiastics into the councils of the state. But since the Church of England has been undergoing a modification, which may at some future time divest it of all direct proprietorship in the soil, the reason for the presence of bishops in the House of Peers becomes more and more attenuated.

Government. The temporal peers may be supposed to represent the territorial soil and the dignities of the kingdom. A hereditary nobility, possessing the right of legislation in conjunction with the crown and the commons, is based on the idea of hereditary possession of the soil. In the feudal system, where the noble was, strictly speaking, a constituent portion of the military organization of the kingdom, the office of nobility is clearly intelligible. Nobility was as much an office as monarchy itself. The noble was bound to appear in the field (bishops not unusually handled the sword as well as the crozier) with so many knights, and each knight with so many followers or men-at-arms. The noble in fact was the divisional military commander; he was bound to serve, and for his service he received the use of the lands which belonged to the king, or rather to the nation, these being held by the crown for the purpose of the national defence. The office of nobility was then a distinct portion of the national organization. Since the introduction of a standing army, however, the feudal service has lapsed and ceased, and the nobles now form a separate assembly, apparently on account of their titular dignities alone. If the crown confer a peerage on an individual, he immediately takes his place as a legislator, whatever may have been the motive for conferring the dignity. The possession of the title gives the right to a seat in the chamber of the aristocracy; but so essential is wealth, that where the crown confers a peerage on an individual not endowed with broad acres or a large income, a provision is made out of the national funds, either in permanency or for a certain number of lives. This fact proves that nobility is mutually considered as a national office, and not merely a personal and inherent dignity. The doctrine of caste still remains to a small extent, but it must be remembered that British society has grown out of a strictly feudal system, which was essentially a system of caste, and the small remnants of the doctrine now extant are probably not more than coincide with the national feelings; for there can be no doubt that Britain is actually proud of her aristocracy; and not altogether without reason, as many a hard-fought field and gallant feat of arms can testify. With the exception of the Russian aristocracy, which has not yet begun to decline, the British aristocracy is the only one in Europe that has preserved the high mental and physical qualities necessary for the maintenance of its position. It can still stand before the world without shame, and before the nation without fear; and this it owes to the circumstance that the doctrine of caste has been practically abolished, and that the institution of nobility has been renovated from time to time by the introduction of the more successful and distinguished commoners.

But the office of the nobles is not confined to legislation alone. They form, when assembled, the ultimate judicial court of the kingdom. With them lies all final appeal in the administration of civil law; and as judges their very position is a sufficient safeguard against the intentional abuse of the judicial office. In ordinary cases they leave the decision to certain professional members termed law lords—men of distinguished acquirement who have attained a peerage; but the court is comprised of the whole of the peers, and on occasion the whole assembly may record its judgment.

Having thus considered the two hereditary branches of the legislature, we turn to the third branch—the House of Commons—constructed on quite a different plan, and representing a totally distinct series of principles. The British House of Commons may, without exaggeration, be termed the most important popular assembly that has ever been brought together. A larger amount of money is annually subject to its immediate control than ever was placed at the disposal of any other assembly, a population is affected by its decisions greater than any other assembly could ever

Government. directly reach by legislation, and a more extensive territory owns its legislative sway. In the direction of the affairs of the world, and in all quarters of the globe, the British House of Commons wields a more massive power and influence than ever fell to the lot of any similar assembly; and although it cannot in any particular interfere as a legislative assembly with the executive government of the empire, the principle seems to be established beyond question that no executive government can continue in office in Britain, unless it have a majority of the representatives of the people in its favour. The Commons also, having the exclusive command over the national purse, have the constitutional power of suspending the payment of the army, navy, and all government officials—in fact, of arresting the course of administrative government altogether. The real power of the Commons, therefore, has no assignable limit, and consequently all great questions of policy are virtually decided in the House of Representatives. What then is the House of Commons, and how do its members come to exercise their powers?

The House of Commons, as the representative of the people of Great Britain, is distinguished from the monarch and the House of Peers by the fact that its members are chosen by the votes or suffrages of the nation. The assembly is not democratic, but is supposed to represent the more intelligent portion of the population. How far the suffrage ought to be extended, that is, what number out of the whole population ought to exercise the right of election, is a matter of expediency which depends not on any abstract idea that all men are equal, but on the real progress of the people in those qualities which enable them to exercise the right for the benefit of themselves and their fellow-countrymen. De Lolme, in his Constitution of England, draws this distinction between freedom, which is every man's right, and the franchise, which is a political function. He says, "What is liberty? Liberty so far as it is possible for it to exist in a society of beings whose interests are almost perpetually opposed to each other, consists in this,—that every man, while he respects the persons of others, and allows them quietly to enjoy the produce of their industry, is himself secured in the enjoyment of the produce of his own industry, and the safety of his person. But to contribute by one's suffrage to procure these advantages to the community—to have a share in establishing that order of things by means of which an individual, lost as it were in the crowd, is effectually protected—to lay down the rules for those who, being invested with power, are charged with the defence of individuals, and to provide that they should never transgress them—these are functions, are acts of government, but not constituent parts of liberty." (P. 245.)

Here, as in all other departments of government, there must be a compensation of advantages, a contest with the democracy on the one hand, and with the aristocracy of land or wealth on the other. The great advantage of a wide constituency is, that it diminishes or prevents that undue influence over the popular elections which the aristocracy are certain to exercise over tenants, dependents, and those who hope to propitiate favour by the sacrifice of a vote which thus comes to represent not self-government but self-interest. The great disadvantage of a too widely-extended constituency is that electors are tempted to follow the demagogue, and to do his bidding in moments of excitement when there is some common object before them. Between these extremes there is a point which must be estimated by a rational consideration of the circumstances of the country; but as this point is unquestionably moveable, there ought to be some provision for the rearrangement of the national constituency, and for the revision of the electoral scheme so as to make it suitable to the circumstances of the time being.

The object of the Reform Act of 1832 was to place the

franchise in the hands of the middle classes. It gave the preponderance, not to the populace or the working-men, but to persons in a rank of life below the aristocracy and gentry, but above that of the labouring poor. It embraced a large proportion of the intelligent, well-conducted, and, at least, moderately cultivated, and thus infused into the government an element of progressive improvement and stability.

Government. In any new reform bill it is of essential importance that what has been stated as the end of government should be steadily kept in view—"the greatest good of the greatest number." No man, no class of men, have a right to exercise the franchise unless it can be shown that by so doing they conduce to this end. Our electoral system is but an instrument for working a great good; whoever adds or withdraws from the machinery so as to impair its efficiency inflicts an injury on the community. If it can be satisfactorily proved that any part of it prevents the proper working of the machine, it should be removed; if it can be proved that any addition would increase its efficiency, let it be added. There are those who base their arguments on abstract right, in whose estimation all men are entitled to a voice in the representation. If their theory were carried into practice, then all the other classes would be swamped by the overwhelming numbers of the operative classes, and the government would be handed over to the more excitable, more ignorant, and the more corruptible part of the community. The history of the past and the history of the present alike testify to the calamitous results of this course. An extension of the suffrage may not only be just but desirable and necessary, but that extension should be beneficial and safe. In the first place, the franchise should not be conceded on any ground that involves the principle of right, or on the notion that the mere lowering of the qualification is an extension of liberal government. Next, if we are asked, how then can the franchise be safely and beneficially extended, we answer in the words of an able article in the Edinburgh Review (No. 196):—"Our reply to this, if it is to be satisfactory, must be not evasive, but direct. That reply is briefly an appeal to the fundamental idea lying at the basis of our constitution, and at the very core of the national character, which is not that of democratic equality, but of distinct and privileged but open orders. We ground our polity upon, and owe our safety to, two great principles—retaining the powers of the state in the hands of the less numerous, but more select, more cultivated, and more competent classes, and, making ingress into these classes accessible to all. The union of these two principles is safety; their disjunction would be injustice and ruin. The old régime in France fell by denying the second; the new régime has never been able to maintain itself, from having negatived the first. Let it be our fixed resolution to avoid with equal care either error."

Theoretically, the crown and the peers ought to have no power to influence the election of popular representatives; but practically, it must always be expected that official authority and territorial wealth will de facto have a social power which, though not belonging to the office of the administration or of the peerage, operates on the conditions of human nature.

If, then, we ask what are the direct and indubitable advantages of a government composed of king, lords, and commons, with a king who cannot initiate legislation, with a responsible ministry, with a house of representatives that cannot interfere in the executive administration of the national affairs, and yet that has the exclusive power of the purse, the answer is precise and definite. Such a government possesses stability on the one hand, the power of change and of adaptation to circumstances on the other; and also, it must be observed, that such a government can find a place for men of the most extreme views. The most