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than when it is set apart in an outlying and an alien authority.

But on the contrary, the party zeal and the selfseeking of parliament are best checked by an authority which has no connection with parliament or dependence upon it, -supposing that such authority is morally and intellectually equal to the performance of the intrusted function. The prime minister, obviously, being the nominee of a party majority, is likely to share its feeling, and is sure to be obliged to say that he shares it. The actual contact with affairs is indeed likely to purify him from many prejudices, to tame him of many fanaticisms, to beat out of him many errors. The present Conservative Government contains more than one member who regards his party as intellectually benighted; who either never speaks their peculiar dialect, or who speaks it condescendingly and with an “aside"; who respects their accumulated prejudices as the “potential energies” on which he subsists, but who despises them while he lives by them. Years ago Mr. Disraeli called Sir Robert Peel's ministry - the last Conservative ministry that had real power — “an organized hypocrisy,” so much did the ideas of its “head” differ from the sensations of its “tail.” Probably he now comprehends (if he did not always) that the air of Downing Street brings certain ideas to those who live there, and that the hard compact prejudices of opposition are soon melted and mitigated in the great gulfstream of affairs. Lord Palmerston, too, was a typical example of a leader lulling rather than arousing, assuaging rather than acerbating, the minds of his followers. But though the composing effect of close difficulties will commonly make a premier cease to be an immoderate partisan, yet a partisan to some extent he must be, and a violent one he may be; and in that case he is not a good person to check the party. When the leading sect (so to speak) in parliament is doing what the nation do not like, an instant appeal ought to be registered and parliament ought to be dissolved. But a zealot of a premier will not appeal: he will follow his formulæ ; he will believe he is doing good service, when perhaps he is but pushing to unpopular consequences the narrow maxims of an inchoate theory. At such a minute a constitutional king such as Leopold I. was, and as Prince Albert might have been, is invaluable: he can and will prevent parliament from hurting the nation. Again, too, on the selfishness of parliament an ex

x-v trinsic check is clearly more efficient than an intrinsic. A premier who is made by parliament may share the bad impulses of those who chose him; or at any rate, he may have made “capital” out of them — he may have seemed to share them. The self-interests, the jobbing propensities of the assembly are sure indeed to be of very secondary interest to him: what he will care most for is the permanence, is the interest, whether corrupt or uncorrupt, of his own ministry. He will be disinclined to anything coarsely unpopular, - in the order of nature a new assembly must come before long, and he will be indisposed to shock the feelings of the electors from whom that assembly must emanate; but though the interest of the minister is inconsistent with appalling jobbery, he will be inclined to mitigated jobbery. He will temporize; he will try to give a seemly dress to unseemly matters, — to do as much harm as will content the assembly and yet not so much harm as will offend the nation. He will not shrink from becoming a particeps criminis; he will but endeavor to dilute the crime. The intervention of an extrinsic, impartial, and capable authority — if such can be found — will undoubtedly restrain the covetousness as well as the factiousness of a choosing assembly.

But can such a head be found ? In one case I think it has been found: our colonial governors are precisely dei ex machina. They are always intelligent, for they have to live by a difficult trade; they

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are nearly sure to be impartial, for they come from the ends of the earth; they are sure not to participate in the selfish desires of any colonial class or body, for long before those desires can have attained fruition they will have passed to the other side of the world, be busy with other faces and other minds, be almost out of hearing what happens in a region they have half forgotten. A colonial governor is a superparliamentary authority, animated by a wisdom which is probably in quantity considerable, and is different from that of the local parliament even if not above it. But even in this case the advantage of this extrinsic authority is purchased at a heavy price, -a price which must not be made light of because it is often worth paying: a colonial governor is a ruler who has no permanent interest in the colony he governs; who perhaps had to look for it in the map when he was sent thither; who takes years before he really understands its parties and its controversies; who, though without prejudice himself, is apt to be a slave to the prejudices of local people near him; who inevitably, and almost laudably, governs not in the interest of the colony, which he may mistake, but in his own interest, which he sees and is sure of. The first desire of a colonial governor is not to get into a

scrape”; not to do anything which may give trouble to his superiors — the Colonial Office - at home, which may cause an untimely and dubious recall, which may hurt his after career. He is sure to leave upon the colony the feeling that they have a ruler who only half knows them and does not so much as half care for them. We hardly appreciate this common feeling in our colonies, because we appoint their sovereign: but we should understand it in an instant if by a political metamorphosis the choice were turned the other way, - if they appointed our sovereign; we

should then say at once, “How is it possible a man from New Zealand can understand England ? How is it possible that a man longing to get back to the antipodes can care for England ? How can we trust one who lives by the fluctuating favor of a distant authority? How can we heartily obey one who is but a foreigner with the accident of an identical language ?"

I dwell on the evils which impair the advantage of colonial governorship because that is the most favored case of super-parliamentary royalty, and because from looking at it we can bring freshly home to our minds what the real difficulties of that institution are. We are so familiar with it that we do not understand it; we are like people who have known a man all their lives, and yet are quite surprised when he displays some obvious characteristic which casual observers have detected at a glance. I have known a man who did not know what color his sister's eyes were, though he had seen her every day for twenty years,

-or rather he did not know because he had so seen her: so true is the philosophical maxim that we neglect the constant element in our thoughts, though it is probably the most important, and attend almost only to the varying elements, – the differentiating elements, as men now speak, – though they are apt to be less potent.

But when we perceive by the roundabout example of a colonial governor how difficult the task of a constitutional king is in the exercise of the function of dissolving parliament, we at once see how unlikely it is that a hereditary monarch will be possessed of the requisite faculties. A hereditary king is but an ordinary person, upon an average, at best; he is nearly sure to be badly educated for business, he is very little likely to have a taste for business; he is solicited from youth by every temptation to pleasure; he probably passed the whole of his youth in the vicious situation of the heir-apparent, who can do nothing because he has no appointed work, and who will be considered almost to outstep his function if he undertake optional work. For the most part, a constitutional king is a damaged common man: not forced to business by necessity as a despot often is, but yet spoiled for business by most of the temptations which spoil a despot. History, too, seems to show that hereditary royal families gather from the repeated influence of their corrupting situation some dark taint in the blood, some transmitted and growing poison, which hurts their judgments, darkens all their sorrow, and is a cloud on half their pleasure. It has been said, not truly but with a possible approximation to truth, that “in 1802 every hereditary monarch was insane." Is it likely that this sort of monarchs will be able to catch the exact moment when, in opposition to the wishes of a triumphant ministry, they ought to dissolve parliament ? To do so with efficiency, they must be able to perceive that the parliament is wrong and that the nation knows it is wrong. Now, to know that parliament is wrong, a man must be, if not a great statesman, yet a considerable statesman, — a statesman of some sort; he must have great natural vigor, for no less will comprehend the hard principles of national policy; he must have incessant industry, for no less will keep him abreast with the involved detail to which those principles relate, and the miscellaneous occasions to which they must be applied. A man made common by nature and made worse by life is not likely to have either; he is nearly sure not to be both clever and industrious. And a monarch in the recesses of a palace, listening to a charmed flattery, unbiased by the miscellaneous world, who has always been hedged in by rank, is likely to be but a poor judge of public opinion; he may have an inborn tact for finding it out, but his life will never teach it him and will probably enfeeble it in him.

But there is a still worse case, a case which the life of George III. — which is a sort of museum of the defects of a constitutional king -- suggests at once: the parliament may be wiser than the people,

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