character which gave the English Constitution its strength and beauty. It is this mixture of monarchical, aristocratical, and democratical power,' said he, 'blended together in one system and by these three estates balancing one another, that our free constitution of government hath been preserved so long, or hath been brought back, after having suffered violation, to its original principles.' With each step of its progress he was content. The throne, as time had fashioned it, was beyond the reach of his criticism. "The King of Britain,' he wrote, 'is now strictly and properly what kings should always be, a member, but a supreme member, or the head, of a political body : part of one individual and specific whole, in every respect, distinct from it or independent of it in name : he can move no longer in another orbit from his people, and like some superior planet, repel, influence, and direct their motions by his own. . . The settlements, by virtue of which he governs, are plainly original contracts. His institution is plainly conditional, and he may perfect his right to allegiance, as undeniably and as effectually as the subject may perfect his right to protection.' In his view of kingship, then, Bolingbroke did not differ much from the Whigs, and justified his opinion that King James must have died on the throne if the Tories had not concurred to place the Prince of Orange there in his stead.

As he applauded loudly and candidly the position and the functions of the King, so he appreciated at their true worth the duty and danger of parliaments.

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'Parliaments,' said he, are the true guardians of liberty. For this principally they are instituted, and this is the principal article of that great and noble trust, which the collective body of the people repose in the representative. But no slavery can be so effectively brought and fixed upon us as parliamentary slavery. By the corruption of parliament we return into that state to deliver or secure us from which parliaments were instituted. . . . That noble fabric, which was able to resist so many races of giants, may be demolished by a race of pygmies. The integrity of parliament is a sort of palladium, a tutelary goddess, who protects our state. When she is once removed, we may become the prey of any enemies.'

Bolingbroke surveyed the working of the British Constitution, and saw that parliament was corrupt and the country enslaved. He brushed aside the excuses of Walpole and his friends with bitter contempt. These men are ready to tell us,' said he, that corruption serves to oil the wheels of government, and to render the administration more smooth and easy, and that it can never be of dangerous consequence under the present father of the country. Absurd and wicked triflers!' So much he saw. His political imagination could not picture to him a state in which the votes of the whole people are bought by doles and promises, and in which every citizen may claim his price, if he will. Even as he saw it, the state of things was ugly enough. When a people crouch, like camels to be loaded, the next at hand, no matter who,

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mounts them, and they soon feel the whip and spear of their tyrant; for a tyrant, whether prince or minister, resembles the devil in many respects, particularly in this: he is often both the tempter and the tormentor. He makes the criminal and he punishes the crime.'

What, then, should be done to give the constitution free play and to save the nation from tyranny? Bolingbroke urged the abolition of faction, which has no regard to national interests. The peace and prosperity of a nation, he thought, depended upon uniting as far as possible the heads, hearts, and hands of the whole people, and upon improving, not debauching, its morals. Though the sentiment may seem a commonplace, it was then and is still a piece of the wildest idealism. And it was the politicians alone who were determined to make a god of corruption. 'It is time,' said Bolingbroke, 'that all who desire to be esteemed good men and to procure the peace, the strength, and the glory of their country, should join their efforts to heal our national divisions, and to change the narrow spirit of party into a diffusive spirit of public benevolence.' To make this change one thing was necessary the formation of a country party. And what was a country party? A country party must be authorised by the voice of the country. It must be formed on principles of common interest. It cannot be united and maintained on the particular prejudices, any more than it can or ought to be directed to the particular interests, of any set of men

whatsoever. A party thus constituted is improperly called a party; it is the nation speaking and acting in the discourse and conduct of particular men.'

Had Bolingbroke been able to make his ideal a reality, England would have returned to the pristine happiness of the Garden of Eden. The party of his imagining, so wide in compass that it embraced all our citizens, so closely compact in union that it had but one thought, one hope, would have made short work of the class-favouritism, the corruption, the narrow personal ambition of the Whigs. Such a party never has been, never will be seen (I fear) in this world of frailty and self-seeking. Though Bolingbroke called it a coalition, it had nothing to do with those conspiracies which have borne the name, conspiracies not to unite the people, but to keep a few greedy ministers perpetually in office and to distribute such preferment as the Government disposes of among rich and obedient supporters. Yet Bolingbroke's dream was not dreamed wholly in vain. It was a momentary inspiration to a band of idealists in the nineteenth century, and (who knows?) it may yet animate some among our own contemporaries to a larger, wiser policy of selflessness.

The first quality necessary for the abolishing of faction is patriotism, and in an Essay on Patriotism Bolingbroke has analysed with all his eloquence and skill the duty and character of a patriot. As I have said, he took a lofty view of statesmanship. He complained with Socrates that while no man undertakes

a trade, even the meanest, without training, every one thinks himself sufficiently qualified for the hardest of all trades—the trade of government. Now, the trade of government, in his eyes, was as greatly ennobling as it was difficult. He made a lively contrast between the works and actions of great men with the works and actions of cunning politicians. Great men, he thought, might easily be detected. They observe with distinction,' he wrote; they advise with knowledge. They may indulge themselves in pleasure, but as their industry is not employed about trifles, so their amusements are not made the business of their lives. If they retire from the world, their splendour accompanies them, and enlightens even the obscurity of their retreat. If they take a part in public life, the effect is never indifferent. They either appear like ministers of divine vengeance, or they are the guardian angels of the country they inhabit.' If he is under the suspicion of having cast himself for this beau rôle, there is no doubt that in sketching his opposite he kept his eye upon Walpole. We will suppose a man,' thus he wrote, 'imprudent, rash, presumptuous, ungracious, insolent, and profligate in speculation as in practice. He can bribe, but he cannot seduce can buy, but he cannot gain he can lie, but he cannot deceive. From whence, then, has such a man his strength? From the general corruption of the people, nursed up to a full maturity under his administration; from the venality of all orders and all ranks of men, some of whom are so prostitute,

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