too, be it observed, who distinguished himself as a man of action, which seems to indicate a singular want of selfreliance and self-respect.

Centralized governments can effect certain brilliant acts, but they are on this account seriously liable to fall into a method of carrying on public affairs, which, in the language of stage-managers, is significantly called Starring, and which has the serious inconvenience of leading popular attention from solid actions to that which dazzles, from wholesome reality to mere brilliant ideas.

The elevation of Napoleon the Third may be referred in a measure to this error. Huzzaing crowds are never substantial indications of any opinion, whether the crowds are voluntary or subpoenaed. "Where are my enemies?" said Charles the Second, when he reentered London and passed the crowd of his subjects. He had enough. Prince de Ligne tells us, that when Catharine travelled through Crimea, distant populations were carried to the roadside of the imperial traveller to wait on her, in costumes delivered to them by the government, and to personate the inhabitants of show villages, which had been erected in the background. These sham villages are typical. Still, we can believe that many persons rushed to see the present emperor when he travelled through France, before he made himself emperor, because they really believed that which had been so often repeated -that Louis Napolcon "had saved society and civilization." Now this is exactly an idea which belongs to the order that has been indicated.

It is founded upon the primary belief, that if civilization is lost in France, it is lost for the entire world. It would certainly produce a very serious shock; but the French idea of one leading nation is an anachronism.

It belongs to ancient times; the French easily fall into this error, because Paris really leads France. Civilization, however, would not be wholly lost even for France, should Paris be destroyed; or, if the contrary were the truth, what must we think of France?

Secondly, it is meant, I suppose, that had not Louis Napoleon taken the reins of absolute power, the Socialists would have destroyed property, industry, and individuality.

The fear which these people have inspired must have been very great, and, doubtless, the power of doing mischief is immense, in every individual, compared to that of doing good. Even an insect can cause a leak to a man-of-war; but to say that a single man-such a man and by such means-has been the saviour of society, is at once so monstrous an exaggeration, and such an avowal of inability to act and to rely on one's self, that this hyperbole if it be not altogether an error -would have led to no such results with any nation less accustomed to centralism, absolutism, and an absorbing government. All these were necessary to make a nation so rapidly, and apparently good-humouredly, bend to all the exorbitant and insulting demands of absolutism, to which, unfortunately at this moment, the French nation seems to bow with a peculiar grace.

CHAPTER XXXV.

VOX POPULI VOX DEI.

THE maxim Vox Populi Vox Dei is so closely connected with the subjects which we have been examining, and it is so often quoted on grave political occasions, that it appears to me proper to conclude this work with an inquiry into the validity of this stately saying. Its poetic boldness and epigrammatic finish, its Latin and lapidary formulation, and its apparent connexion of a patriotic love of the people with religious fervour, gave it an air of authority and almost of sacredness. Yet history, as well as our own times, shows us that everything depends upon the question who are "the people," and that even if we have fairly ascertained the legitimate sense of this great yet abused term, we frequently find that their voice is anything rather than the voice of God.

If the term people is used for a clamouring crowd, which is not even a constituted part of an organic whole, we would be still more fatally misled were we to take the clamour for the voice of the Deity. We shall arrive at this conclusion, that in no case can we use the maxim as a test; for, even if we call the people's voice the voice of God, in those cases in which the people demand that which is right, we must first know that they do so before we could call it the voice of God. It is no guiding authority; it can sanction nothing.

"The chief priests, and the rulers, and the people,' cried out all at once, "Crucify him, crucify him!”1 Were, then, "the rulers and the people" not the populus ? their voice was assuredly not the vox Dei in this case. If populus means the constituted people speaking through the organs and in the forms of law, the case of Socrates arises at once in our mind. It was the people of Athens speaking by their constituted authorities that bade him drink the hemlock; yet it would be blasphemy to say that it was the voice of God that spoke in this case through the mouth of the Athenians. Was it the voice of the people, and through it the voice of God, which demanded the sway of the guillotine in the first French revolution? Or was it the voice of God which made itself heard in 1848, when all punishment of death for political offences was abolished in France? Or is it the voice of God which through "the elect one of the people" demands, at the moment I am writing this, the re-establishment of capital punishment for high political offences? Or is it the voice of God that used so indefinite a term in law as that of political offences ?

There are, indeed, periods in history in which, centuries after, it would seem as if really an impulse from on high had been given to whole masses, or to the leading minds of leading classes, in order to bring about some gigantic changes. That remarkable age of maritime discovery which has influenced the whole succeeding history of civilization and the entire progress of our kind, would seem at first glance, and to many, perhaps, after a careful study of all its elements, as if a breath not of human breathing had given it motion and action. No person, however, living at that period would have been authorized to call the wide-spread love of maritime

1 St. Luke, xxiii.

adventure the voice of God, merely because it was widely diffused. Impulsive movements of far greater extent and intensity have been those of error, passion, and crime. It must be observed that the thorough historian often acts in these cases as the natural philosopher who finds connexion, causes and effects, where former ages thought they recognised direct and detached manifestations of a superior power, and not the greater attribute of admitting variety under eternal laws and unchanging principles.

When the whole of Europe seemed to be animated by one united longing to conquer the Holy Land, it appeared undoubtedly to the crusaders that the voice of the people was the voice of God. It seemed, indeed, as if an afflatus numinis breathed over the European land. Those, however, who now believe that the crusades were a great injury to Europe-and there are such-do not perceive the voice of God in this vast movement. They will perhaps maintain that it was not the people who felt this surprising impulse, but the chivalry, who by their unceasing petty feuds had developed a martial restlessness which began to lack food, and thus threw themselves into distant enterprises, stimulated at the same time by a highly sacerdotal character which pervaded that age. To find out, then, whether it was the vox populi, would first require to find out whether it was the vox Dei, and, consequently, we are no better off with the maxim than without it.

I am under the impression that the famous maxim first came into use in the middle ages, at a contested episcopal election,' when the people, by apparent accla

2 For many years I have been under the impression that I had found this fact when studying the times of Abelard; but I must confess that all my attempts to recover the fact, when I came to write on this subject, have