the only one who has ever been fully conscious of his worth, and occupied his rightful position amongst his fellows.

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As partly resulting from the disposition of mind just adverted to,— II. Democracies are aggressive and tyrannical. They have ever been the terror of neighbouring states, seeking to overturn all other forms of government, and endeavouring to subjugate, under pretence of bestowing freedom. Exacting, jealous, proud of their own liberties, they are, nevertheless, domineering, and disposed to oppress the weak. Freedom" generally with democrats means to do as they like themselves, to acknowledge no superior, but lordTM it where they can. In their domestic and national relations this is true. The Grecians had their slaves, the Romans had their slaves, and America has always had them; and though there exists a large party of abolitionists who would release the slave, and no longer let him remain an article to be bought and sold, yet their philanthropy extends no further, and the liberated black would be an outcast, and never admitted to participate in the benefits enjoyed by the white citizens of the republic. Again, Athens set herself up as the protector, head, and dictator to all the other Grecian states; Rome would plant her foot on the neck of every nation; America, having a vast territory absorbing her increasing population, has not yet been able to commence the same career of aggression, but she has often enough proclaimed her intention of doing so, and we doubt not history will yet have to record the actual fact.

This aggressive and tyrannical character owes much of its strength to,

III. The wide-spread and maddening ambition which democratic institutions induce. The struggles for place and power under every form of government give rise to bitter rivalries among leaders and sections, with the constant practice of artifice and intrigue; but, in democracies, the desire for command becomes a rampant and almost universal passion. The highest and the lowest offices being open to public competition, the number of aspirants is proportionately increased, and being held for short terms, the excitement is continually kept up; and as the favour of the populace (on which so much depends) is easiest gained by flattering their vanity, and enlisting their self-interest by the promise of some material advantage, the demagogues outstrip each other in the violence of their harangues and the glitter of their promises. Internal contentions become rife, and the jealousies and animosities bred by political contests are well known. Small differences, which would die out if let alone, or be otherwise easily adjusted, are fomented and magnified by unscrupulous candidates intent only on securing leadership, office, and aggrandizement, and the people are deceived by the noisy talkers. Oratory has always been a potent instrument in deand the multitude, not given to deep thinking, and unable to penetrate the orator's art and detect his fallacies and misrepresentations, are too easily deluded and led astray. In proportion as such men push their way, the truly worthy retire, or are

mocratic states;

driven out by popular clamour, because they disdain to resort to the same mean arts to court popular favour; and thus the country loses their services, which most it needs, and is left the prey of the base and designing.

IV. All this has a most injurious effect upon the social habits of the people, we mean, in their dealings with each other in the affairs of every-day life, and in the family relationships. 1st. The dissensions originated in political contests do not end there, but too often disturb the happiness of families, and break the bonds of friendships. 2nd. The schemes and tactics of electioneering are lessons soon applied to ordinary business; so that, instead of fair dealing and integrity in commerce, there is created a desire to overreach and take advantage. 3rd. Engaging constantly in these struggles, the people become restless; they are drawn too much away from home, and lose that attachment to particular places which grows up in the breasts of those pursuing a quieter round of existence. These may seem slight things, but in reality they are of considerable importance; for they prevent the formation of that fixity of character which, taken in the aggregate, has so large an effect in maintaining tranquillity in times of crisis, in assuring a steady development of the commercial resources of a country, and the certain advance to true freedom and national grandeur.

V. Democracies are faithless and treacherous. The populace are fickle, they are too readily worked upon by their orators, and they grow restive when called upon to endure those burdens, and submit to those sacrifices which, in certain exigencies, the good of the state requires; and they are, for these reasons, not to be relied on. In great undertakings democracies often exhibit a wondrous energy and strength of determination, but it is not enduring; there is a want of permanency and steadiness, because there is a want of principle. The student of ancient history knows how the old republics violated treaties; and the student of modern history knows how the Americans and Mexicans do the same, and further, how they repudiate their debts, and refuse to fulfil their engagements. VI. The liberty of democracies is not secure. It cannot possibly be so under the conditions we have named. The history of all such states shows them frequently falling into the hands of a dictator, or company of dictators, who establish a despotism of the most galling description. In seasons of calamity, whether arising from internal or external sources, they are most exposed to this danger. We have an instance of it in the condition of the American Northern States (and perhaps matters are no better in the Southern) at the present time; for the Cabinet has usurped and exercised an authority as absolute as that possessed by any monarch, and which a few years ago the Americans would, one and all, have asserted they would never for a moment endure.

We have thus glanced at some of the evils of democratic govern ments, but space will not permit of our enlarging upon them, nor of illustrating them by the historic references which we might; and we

therefore leave them to the attentive student, who will find sufficient in the history of all democratic states to verify them. But where does the superiority of the limited monarchical government lie? We answer, In being safe from the action of most of these evils, which is no light advantage. But in limited monarchies there may be truer freedom than could ever exist in democracies, for much going under that name in the latter is really licence, and operates to the prejudice of those using it. There is not the same certainty of protection by law as there is in monarchies, for the people have it too much in their power to dictate to, or intimidate, those who administer justice, and, in this, exercise a power which any of them may eventually find turned against themselves. There is a wise submission to restraints, which, though lessening our individual freedom, promotes the public good.

It may be urged that limited monarchies do not allow of that increase of freedom which progressive civilization demands. We say, however, they do; and as the people become capable of exercising greater liberty without abusing it, they will not fail to obtain it. Neither monarchs nor administrations can resist the pressure which is brought to bear upon them by a people advancing in intelligence, and feeling themselves qualified and entitled to take a larger measure of power in the government. In Prussia there is now a struggle of this kind between the king and the subjects, and we doubt not the result will be a strengthening and widening of the people's liberties.

Reverting to "Cephas" and his article, we have again to complain of his method of handling the subject. Conscious that the stern facts of history in relation to democracies are unfavourable, and ill at ease lest they should be pressed upon him, he seeks to save himself by laying them under injunction: then, seeing his opponents in possession of a mighty citadel, impregnable to all the forces or missiles he can fling against it, he tries blandly to wheedle them out of it, and to persuade them that they hold it unjustly, and had better deliver it up, as it belongs of right to him. We allude to his remarks upon the government of Britain, and his endeavour, by a quotation from Sir G. C. Lewis, and assertion that it owes its entire efficacy to its democratic base, to make it out to be an example supporting his views. We are sure the intelligent readers of the British Controversialist have not failed to appreciate this. We are fully aware of the extent to which the democratic influence prevails in the government of our nation, and would not have it curtailed; but the monarchy is, nevertheless, not destroyed; unfortunately for "Cephas," it remains an actuality; and we believe that it is to this that we owe, in a high degree, our present happy and enviable position, and that it is this which preserves us in it. It has restrained us from taking that wild and fatal career which democracies have always run; it has pruned away, even as they began to shoot forth, those excrescences that disfigure the growth of the real democracy, and sap its healthy vitality; it acts now as

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the ballast to maintain us in a steady course under that press of democratic vigour which would otherwise overturn the State. Cephas's" attempt to support his opinions, by the example of the British form of government, is, in every point of view, a glaring inconsistency, with all his professions. Even were the monarchical element to be at once removed, and the nation to go on as happily and prosperously as ever, it would still be at an immeasurable distance from that "pure" democracy which " Cephas" says he alone contends for, and not near so truly democratic as any of those ancient or modern republics which "Cephas" would reject as improper examples, and, therefore, it would not be open for him to make use of.

The two arguments which "Cephas" proffers in favour of democracy, at the conclusion of his article, are quite beside the question, as he applies them, but, properly employed, are strongly in our favour. I. Giving them all the weight he claims for them, they are only intended to show that man is on his way" to a democracy, and gradually becoming fitted for such a form of government; and that is not the question. We are not called upon to speculate what the tendencies of humanity are, or whether a democratic form of government may not be the best at some imaginary future period, when man's nature shall have been wonderfully changed by the general diffusion of knowledge, and a more equal distribution of wealth; but whether it is the best form of government for man as he is, and as he has been: and this is what "Cephas" should have attempted to prove.

II. No one can read his arguments without feeling that, when writing them, he had England before his eyes; for there is no other country exhibiting all the features he describes, whilst all the names he gives us, to illustrate one of his propositions, are those of living Englishmen. In effect, he argues that because of the advance which man has made in civilization, and the freedom he has acquired, and influence he exerts in the government under a certain limited monarchy, therefore a democratic form of government is (to be some time in the imaginary future) better than a limited monarchy. The logic is curious and original, if not conclusive.

III. We say, then, properly employed, his own arguments are in our favour. They are derived from the history of a nation that has ever been, now is, and, according to all probabilities, will continue to be, a limited monarchy; and "Cephas" is unable to point us to any democratic state where there is, or has ever been (and we believe we may safely add, can ever be), such prosperity, progress, stability, and true freedom.

We submit that "Cephas's" article fails in any point to touch the real question at issue. We should be sorry to think that he is dealing disingenuously, and striving to steal a victory; but if not, we cannot but conclude he is blinded by an attachment to a name, and misled by an idea. J. R. C.

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The Essayist.

WORKING MEN'S CLUBS AND INSTITUTES.

ABOUT seventeen years ago, Douglas William Jerrold-the British Jean Paul Richter, and more-in one of the few public speeches he delivered, uttered the following wise and witty saying, The growing spirit of our day is the associative spirit. Men have gradually recognized the great social truth, vital in the old fable of the bundle of sticks; and have begun to make, of what would otherwise be individual weakness, combined strength; and so, small sticks, binding themselves together, obtain at once the strength of clubs." In those days, when the Whittington Club was a marvel, as it has since been stated to be a mockery, the idea of a club gave greater prominence to wealth than strength, and the suggestion which these words expressed was looked upon as revolutionary,'If we have clubs of nobles, wherefore not clubs of clerks ?" Though the thought has not been vivified by energy, forethought, endeavour, and success, among the classes here specifically noted, it has not faded altogether out of the minds of men, and we have now the idea of working men's clubs brought into living actuality in our own days, so true it is that "Time works wonders."

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The Rev. Henry Solly, in 1861, read before the Social Science Congress, held in Dublin, a paper on "Working Men; a glance at some of their wants, with reasons and suggestions for helping them to help themselves," which gathered together and brought into one View a good many good thoughts on this subject, and served as a concentrating agency to many holders of similar opinions all over the country,-men who felt that the "let alone" system was unfair and unjust in a case where all the temptations of capital were exerted for the determination of the condition of the working man. As men of like mind aggregated and considered; the practical English question-What shall be done?-was mooted and renewed, until a Union was formed, with Lord Brougham as president, a number of noble vice-presidents, the Rev. H. Solly as secretary, and a large, intelligent, and influential council, under the designation of "The Working Men's Club and Institute Union." After a year of corporate existence, though of only nine months working activity, this Union met on Saturday, 11th of July, in the Royal Society's Rooms in Burlington House, under the presidency of the long-tried friend of education, morals, and progress, Lord Brougham. In the evening, the members of the council and their friends dined at the Whittington Club. Several of the most advanced social reformers, as Lord Lyttleton, Sir William A'Becket, Hon. W. F. Cowper, Mr. Heywood, Revs. F. D. Maurice and