which the dangers of both might have been avoided? These are questions which we cannot discover any direct attempt to resolve. If Mr Alison were to see a drover trampled to death by an ox, would not his first reflection naturally be upon the danger of overdriving oxen, and the best means of keeping them in order? And would he not think that the bystanders had lost their senses if they began to dilate upon the shocking nature of the accident, as a proof that it is the duty of over-driven oxen to keep their temper?

Men are wisely forbidden to do evil that good may ensue ; but they are not forbidden to admire the merciful arrangements of Providence, by which the sin and folly of individuals are so often made the source of blessings to mankind. We feel as much aversion as Mr Alison for the cruelty and injustice of the French Revolutionists; but we do not pronounce, as he does, that their crimes must bring ruin upon their innocent posterity. We see neither sense, nor justice, nor Christian principle, in his theory of a law of retribution not confined to the guilty parties. Let Mr Alison, if he will, regard the French Revolution as the second revolt of Lucifer, the prince of the morning.'-(x. 18.) We prefer to recognize in its vicissitudes the same severe but merciful hand which employs earthquakes and tornadoes to dispel the pestilential stagnation of the physical atmosphere.

However vague Mr Alison's digressions may occasionally appear, there is one feeling, in the expression of which he is uniformly clear and consistent. This is his dread and detestation of democratic institutions. So far as these sentiments are called forth by the facts of his narrative, we admit them to be perfectly reasonable. Whatever benefits we may hope from the consequences of the French Revolution, we acknowledge that the democracy which it established was in itself the worst of all possible governments. What we doubt is the intrinsic evil of a democracy in a community prepared for its reception. Still, as we admit that no such community now exists, or is likely to exist for many ages, it may be thought that the subject of our dissent from Mr Alison's opinion is merely theoretical, and therefore scarcely worth discussion. But this is far from being the If Mr Alison is right, every political innovation, in every country, is necessarily absurd and mischievous in proportion as it increases the influence of the lower classes. If we are right, such innovations are only dangerous when they give influence to a class unfit to exercise it. The question therefore is, whether the great body of a nation is necessarily and intrinsically unfit to exercise political power.

case.

Mr Alison's first argument, if we rightly understand it, is the

utter inutility of such an experiment, whether successful or not. He draws, or attempts to draw, a distinction between social. freedom and political power, and contends that the one may exist in perfect security without the protection of the other. There is, in the first place,' he says, the love of freedom; that is, immunity from personal restriction, oppression, or in'jury. This principle is perfectly innocent, and never exists without producing the happiest effects. Every concession which is calculated to increase this species of liberty, is com'paratively safe in all ages and in all places. But there is another principle, strong at all times, but especially to be 'dreaded in moments of excitement. This is the principle of 'democratic ambition ;-the desire of exercising the powers of 'sovereignty, and of sharing in the government of the state. This is the dangerous principle;—the desire, not of exercising industry without molestation, but of exerting power without con'trol.'-(i. 174.) The principles may certainly be said to be distinct; but they are so closely connected that we scarcely see how one can exist without the other. They are equally natural, and in themselves equally harmless. The one is the wish for present relief-the other the desire of future security. The former, we suppose, is felt by every human being; the latter by every human being possessed of the commonest sense and foresight. What security, we would ask Mr Alison, can a man have that he will continue to exercise industry without molestation, except the possession, by the class to which he belongs, of a share in the government of the state? The present existence of just and equal laws is not such a security. Who is to guard our guardians? Who is to assure us that those laws will not be repealed, if our rulers can repeal them at any moment without our consent? Suppose that they enact a new law to-morrow, declaring us all slaves and bondmen, what resource have we against it but civil war?

This, it is true, is an extreme case. When the subjects are men of spirit, and the rulers men of sense, there is no fear of such open tyranny as this. But there is fear of insensible encroachment on the national liberties of that encroachment which has sapped the constitution and undermined the national spirit of so many continental nations-of that encroachment whose progress in England, two centuries ago, was only arrested by seven years of desperate war. Even when the popular rights are so clearly defined as to make this impracticable, there is fear that the class which is passive in the administration of affairs will suffer much unnecessary hardship. There is scarcely any conceivable political measure, which is not certain, sooner or later, directly or

indirectly, more or less, to affect the personal happiness of the poorest citizen of the commonwealth. And it is in vain to hope hat the best absolute government will consult the happiness of such a citizen as impartially as it would if he had the power to interfere; and the wisdom to interfere with effect.

No man of sense will consider political power as an end; but it is surely a means. It is not happiness; but Mr Alison will scarcely dispute that, properly used, it is a powerful instrument for securing happiness. We admit that, like other useful things, it may be desired with reckless eagerness or with pernicious designs; but we say that it is in itself a legitimate object of desire. We admit that the exclusion of the great body of the community from all share in the government, is at present, in almost all European states, a necessary evil. But we say that it is an evil; and that, if it ever shall become unnecessary, its continued existence will be a practical as well as a theoretical injustice.

Mr Alison's next objection is the abstract injustice of a democracy. Admitting political power to be a great benefit, he still argues that its extension to the poorer classes is necessarily an unfair and unequal measure; even though every man, in what'ever rank, were equally capable of judging on political sub'jects.' His reasoning on this point is more plausible than on the preceding, but, we think, equally fallacious. In private life,' he says, 6 men are never deceived on this subject. In the 'administration of any common fund, or the disposal of common property, it never was for a moment proposed to give the smallest shareholder an equal right with the greatest; to give a creditor holding a claim for 20s., for example, on a bankrupt 'estate, the same vote as one possessed of a bond for L.10,000. The injustice of such a proceeding is quite apparent.'(i. 351.) This analogy is far from satisfactory. There are several circumstances which make the exclusion of a citizen from the management of the state a greater hardship, than the exclusion of a shareholder from the management of the common fund. In the first place, the shareholder may withdraw his stake if he considers it insecurely deposited. Mr Alison's twenty-shilling creditor may sell his dividend at a fair discount, if he thinks that the assignees are mismanaging the estate. In a commonwealth it is different. Every English citizen must share the fate of his country, or become a homeless emigrant. Secondly, the amount of a shareholder's pecuniary interest in the joint stock, is generally a tolerably fair representation of his moral interest in the prosperity of the speculation. It is certainly possible that a poor man, with a small venture, may be more deeply involved than a rich man with a much larger one;

There is certainly

but this is not likely to be a common case. every reasonable probability that the small creditor cares comparatively little for the loss of his twenty shillings, and that the large creditor will be ruined by the loss of his L.10,000. And therefore, if we distribute authority among the shareholders in proportion to each man's pecuniary risk, we shall probably distribute it, in most cases, in proportion to each man's actual chance of enjoyment or suffering. Here again the analogy fails. The whole property of the lower classes in a commonwealth, is almost invariably staked upon that commonwealth's existence. An English peasant, who possesses nothing but a cottage and a garden, would dread the loss of his property by foreign conquest or domestic anarchy, as much as if he were Duke of Sutherland or Marquis of Westminster. Lastly, in the disposal of a joint fund, each shareholder incurs a pecuniary hazard, and nothing more. In the management of a commonwealth, the personal safety of its citizens is risked. A mechanic, living solely by his daily labour, cannot strictly be said to have any property to lose by the ruin of the state; but he may lose his life, his liberty, his means of future subsistence. A Reign of Terror, or a French invasion, could not deprive him of a fortune, but they might cause him to be murdered, or enslaved, or starved in the streets. These are our reasons for thinking that, if no other obstacles existed, it would be unjust to deprive the poorer classes of all political influence; merely on the ground that their interest in the welfare of the state is insufficient to withhold them from wanton misgovernment.

Mr Alison repeatedly enlarges, with great justice, upon the practical evils which have hitherto been found to accompany democratic institutions. But we think that he does not sufficiently distinguish between necessary and accidental disadvantages-between the dangers inseparable from popular power, and the dangers arising from its abuse. He does not sufficiently consider that in no state which has yet existed have the poorer classes been equal, or nearly equal, to the richer in civilization and intelligence; and that consequently in no state which has yet existed, could any form of government, at all approaching to what can be properly called a democracy, have any chance of a fair trial. In ancient Athens and modern France, that constitution was adopted by men utterly unfit for its exercise. The consequences were perfectly natural-in the one case, perpetual turbulence and speedy decay-in the other, rapine, bloodshed, and anarchy. In the United States of America, the experiment is now in progress on a far wiser plan, and under far more favourable circumstances. But even here we admit that Mr Alison is

justified in regarding the result as more than doubtful. Popular power, perhaps from unavoidable causes, has even here outrun popular sense and knowledge; and the consequences have been seen in frequent outbreaks of democratic tyranny, which have created serious alarm for the security of the state. Upon the whole, the British constitution, as established in 1688, may perhaps be considered the most democratic form of government ever yet exercised with continued and undisputed success. And therefore the world has yet to behold the full effect which would be produced by the insensible progress of popular influence in a nation enlightened, religious, and confirmed in sober wisdom by centuries of advancing freedom and civilization.

Mr Alison, in his concluding chapter, points out several important advantages possessed by the aristocratic over the democratic form of government. They may generally be included under two heads: superior security to private property, and superior prudence in public measures. It has uniformly 'been found,' says Mr Alison, that the holders of property ' advocate measures to protect that property, while the destitute 'masses are perpetually impelled to those likely to induce revolutionary spoliation.'-(x. 965.) Agrarian laws,' he elsewhere asserts, and the equal division of property, or measures tending indirectly to that effect, will in every age be the wish of the unthinking multitude, who have nothing apparently to lose, and every thing to gain, by such convulsions. Their real ultimate interests, indeed, will in the end inevitably suffer from 'such changes; but this is a remote consequence, which never will become obvious to the great body of mankind.'—(i. 352.) That is assuming the question. If the great body of mankind are really so obtuse as to be incapable, with every advantage of instruction, of comprehending that a state where the poor unite to rob the rich will inevitably be ruined, then we acknowledge their natural unfitness for political power. But Mr Alison forgets that in the passage we have quoted he is arguing on the supposition of every man, in whatever rank, being equally capable of judging on political subjects.' Surely, if this were the case, no reasonable being would be found to advocate an agrarian law. It is precisely when the multitude cease to be unthinking-when they become competent to judge of their own real and ultimate interests-that we assert, and Mr Alison denies, the necessity of allowing them a share of political power.

Mr Alison's first argument for the superior political skill of aristocratic governments appears to us singular, if not incomprensible. Those classes, he says, who from their affluence ssess leisure, and from their station have received the educa