perpetual subdivision, are fast gravitating to the infinitely little. Our motto is, "Fiat jus ruat cœlum," and our design the good old system of fair play and no monopoly, which is so dear to the British people. We seek to do Heaven's justice alike to Papists, and Protestants, and Dissenters. We will frankly praise all that is meritorious among the Tories, who would be the Royalists; the Whigs, who would be the Aristocrats; and the Liberals, who would be the Democrats of the state. And just as boldly will we endeavour to write down the abuses of all sects and parties; for abuses enough they have-that cannot be denied.

The more our line of policy is developed, the more it will be valued. Past experience leaves us no doubt of the result. There are a host of free and gallant spirits who will appreciate the merit of the cause, and lend it their countenance and patronage. Every lover of his country will do something to abate this flagrant nuisance of schisms and factions, by which Montesquieu has dared to prophesy that our empire will perish.

It is in the gradual but sure advance of the coalitionary and syncretic system of policy in this country that our chief hope of national prosperity resides. What Guizot is doing abroad many eminent writers are doing at home; and in proportion as their views are extended and patronised, will they secure the blessings of peace, after which all just spirits are aspiring.

But let all the triumphs of political truth be achieved by the calm and legitimate process of candid enquiry. Let the quiet philosophic spirit of the truth-searcher prevail within the walls of Parliament and without. Let the severe and intricate deductions of political science be wrought out with patient study; and their radiance will dispel all the clouds of party hallucination. Before the rising of this new Aurora, the harbinger of a day of peace and love, the grim tornadoes of sects and parties will disappear,

"Intestine wars no more our passions wage,

And giddy factions hear away their rage."

Let nothing be said or done in advancing coalitionary measures with heat or prejudice. Let us not become violent in pleading for forbearance. Let us be convinced that the great and spirit-stirring truth we advocate will make its champions victorious. Let our course be like that of Apollo, the shining light, who shineth more and more to the perfect day. Calm, concentrated, and serene, let us develope the divine harmony of jurisprudence, and rely on Heaven for the result.

For the advocates of spiritual truth to employ the machinery of physical force, is to confess their hypocrisy and their weakness, because they believe not that truth is strong enough to triumph without the weapons of malice. We enter our protest against every manifestation of physical polemics in matters of political science. That science must be pursued by the quiet analysis of experiments direct and inverse: the truth will evaporate the moment that passion is introduced. We protest, therefore, against any demonstration of physical convulsion among our schisms and factions, be they Papist,

Protestant, Tory, Whig, Radical, or Chartist. Whenever sectarians and partisans feel themselves incited to any hostile violence, let them be certain that it is the work of the Devil. Whichever is the party that endeavours to break the peace, it becomes the interest of all the rest to exterminate it as their common enemy.

So much for the coalitionary scheme of government, and now a word for the MONTHLY MAGAZINE, in which, for the first time, it has been announced to the British public. We have reason to be grateful to several of the more respectable journalists, who have candidly and generously appreciated our motives, and weighed our arguments. Those journalists have owned what we trust is sufficiently clear, that our aim has been to promote the good of our entire empire, by promoting the good of all its constituent parts. They have acknowledged that the attempt is noble; and they have acknowledged, moreover, that it is extremely arduous. They have confessed it to be highly desirable that writers who have devoted their lives to the study of ancient and modern politics, should explain their views frankly and fearlessly, especially when those views happen to be backed by a great mass of learned authorities. They know that the best way of getting all the truth is to hear all the pleadings of all sides; and they rejoice that an advocate has arisen to plead coalitionary politics, as gallantly and resolutely as other advocates plead party politics. For the sake of the good done by those endeavours to advance the philosophical study of jurisprudence, genuine truth-searchers might be excused even if their views were new; nay, more, even if they were erroneous.

What shall we say then in reply to the criticisms of certain particular journals of great talent and merit, that have spoken harshly of our coalitionary principles. We will not retort with the same harshness, nor will we avail ourselves of the same sarcasm; but we protest that it is neither fair nor just for any journals, either to malign or ridicule the syncretic and coalitionary policy, because it does not agree with their own party opinions. It is worse than absurd at this time of day to sneer at a system of politics which has been sanctioned by the gravest authors of all ages and nations,-authors whom we have invariably quoted as we have proceeded, for we have stated nothing without authority. Let our antagonists apply themselves to a calm and sequestered investigation of the science of politics, which requires at least as much impartiality and perseverance as mathematics, and they will see that our pleadings are neither novel nor unsubstantial; our theory whether correct or incorrect, is no idle phantasy of a pseudo-poetic imagination, but the result of many years' hard study, during which we have accumulated a vast mass of testimonials from the ablest authors on politics in all languages. If any one will come forward who has given the same laborious attention to jurisprudence, and answer our arguments and quotations by the legitimate process of dialectics, with such a man we will joyfully encounter. But at present we are too well supported by the smile from our sovereign, and the most eminent writers of Europe, to be sneered or frightened out of our design. The coalitionary theory now stands nearly in the same position as the Copernican theory

N. S.-VOL. II.

Q Q

did two centuries ago, and it will triumph, even as that hypothesis has done, in spite of all the tartness of invective and all the insolence of office.

But be this as it will, the Monthly is the best tempered Magazine afloat. It is the common friend of all good and philanthropical spirits,-it praises all sects and parties as much as it can, and blames them only where it is obliged to do so, and then without a spark of anger. It is, therefore, a sin against good taste and good manners for any journals to treat us as their enemies, for their enemies we are not and will not be. If they suffer a coalitionary periodical to excel them in courtesy and good humour, they will, in fact, be granting the weakness of their arguments. By every attempt to try the very question at issue, and then to chuckle as if they had proved us mistaken, they wrong themselves even more than they wrong us. This is not the mode of healing the high and intricate philosophemes of politics, which truth-searchers esteem or Englishmen prefer. We knew what we were about when we proposed to reestablish the Monthly Magazine on the highest philosophical principles in religion, politics, and literature. No man goeth into a battle without first considering the cost thereof.

The success we

have hitherto obtained prompts us to persevere steadily in the same course. It is a contest between the unitive system and the party system; it is a contest between John Bull and those that would tear him limb from limb, and in fewer than five years our cause will triumph. There shall be no inconsistency, no whiffling, no trimming, no running away, parmulá non bene relictâ, and we shall conquer though non sine pulvere. Our countrymen know how to appreciate moral courage; they will still strengthen our hands; and our candle shall neither be snuffed out by envy, nor blown out by violence.

but

every

word

Whether we are right or wrong, our antagonists will learn to speak with more moderation respecting the relative merits of coalitionary and party politics. The truth which we are all contending for will then have some chance of gaining ground; of abuse or spleen on either side is sure to delay her progress. We wish to proceed on the most friendly terms with all public journalists, whom we think just as desirous of advancing the good cause as ourselves, though our modus operandi may differ. If any of our antagonists use gratuitous and ungentlemanly abuse, we shall scorn to answer them in the same style, but let the shame rest on their own heads. Nemo me impunè lacessit. Ego illum flocci pendo, nec hujus facio, qui me pili æstimat.

hour,

Old Time at last sets all things even,
And if you will but watch your
There never yet was human power,
That could escape, if unforgiven,
The patient search and vigil long
Of him that treasures up a wrong.

ALERIST.

REMEMBRANCES OF A MONTHLY NURSE.

SECOND SERIES.

No. VII.-MY GOD-CHILD MARY.

WHEN I was quite a young woman, in my best and (as the authors say) my most palmy days, I was prevailed on, much against my own inclinations, to take on myself the responsibilities of a godmother to a little girl, the first and indeed the only child of an old schoolfellow of mine. Tossed as I have been on the wild surges of human life, wrecked and despoiled by the same raging billows that have engulphed my dearest treasures, I have been prevented from fulfilling those duties to my namesake Mary that I certainly should have most scrupulously attended to, had calm and sunshine been upon my own little bark during after life: yet still, on my return to England, as I said, a shipwrecked mariner, many years after I had stood at the baptismal font with the newborn little earthly angel in my arms, I made repeated inquiries after the fate of both the mother and child, but could hear of nothing satisfactory. All I could gather respecting them amounted to merely this, that Mary, my godchild, had grown up a beauty, her mother had very early become a widow, and much embarrassed in her circumstances, but had found a friend in a Mr. Carpenter, a man of large fortune living in Devonshire, who, it was believed, had fallen desperately in love with my fair godchild. All beyond this information was an entire blank: whether Mr. Carpenter had married Mary; whether, indeed, she were living at all I knew not they had left the village of Ide, near Exeter, for many years, and all traces of them were lost.

The chances, as they are called, in this mortal life are most extraordinary!—as if the various circumstances that happen to us all were something put into an enormous bag, and shaken up together by the hands of this same blind deity known by the name of "Chance," who, I suppose, shuffles us from human beings, and all our doings and destinies in it, against each other, just as she does a pack of cards at the game of whist; giving to some all the honours; to others, perchance, nothing but black deuces and common soldiers, as they call those below the tens, who are allowed to be non-commissioned officers, and hold that rank accordingly. I wish I could stop a moment here, and tell what happened to me some years ago in another particular instance, illustrating the wild caprices of this same shuffling demi-goddess Chance; but episodes are always disagreeable, and weaken much, I think, the main story, drawing off from it just so much interest as the divaricating one gains; so that they both become as weak and flat as the sky-blue the London milkman leaves at your door in the morning, chalking it up for the genuine produce of the cow. Even this little digression I have now made is, I see, most unpalatable: how then could I have thrown in here my marvellous narrative of The Pearl Brooch, and Sir Matthew Wood, the then Lord Mayor of London? Yet, such is the waywardness of human nature, it is not impossible but that some gentle and curious readers may exclaim, especially those who live in the city, and are deputies and common-councilmen, "Why the devil does not the

woman tell us about it (if she have anything to say), I should like to know? Her story about Mat. Wood, and, no doubt, the Guildhall dinner-there might have been some sense in that!" I pledge myself, most "reverend signors," that this story of The Brooch and the Lord Mayor shall still be told, and in its fitting place.

I had returned from one of my excursions, useful and periodical, as are the visits of the monthly journals, when, as is usual after an absence of some weeks from home, I cast my scrutinising eyes on all things within and without my pretty domicile at Kensington, to see if any change had taken place during my absence, my old servant Bridget assisting me in my contemplations, as an aid-de-camp does his general on a recruiting party.

Burnished as well as polished steel could be, shone my whole fire equi

page full in my face, reflecting the self-satisfied smile of my trusty second

in-command as she pointed out to me, "that there was not a spot of rust, or any such thing, on my handsome register stove, fender, and fire irons. All my oddities and curiosities were safe, and free from a particle of dust on my cheffonier, my rosewood tables, and my white marble mantel-shelf. My handsome sleeping apparatus was in excellent order, with snow-white curtains, blinds, and toilet cover, in that comfortable retreat I strictly called "my own." In short, my whole house was in order, and fit for the reception of a much grander personage than the "Monthly Nurse," who had, however, by dint of her vocation, contrived to amass all these pretty things together, and to pay her rent and taxes as regularly as any housekeeper in Kensington parish.

Many cards had I to inspect, many notes to read, many messages to hear. Bridget, too, had to tell me of a rascally tooth of hers, that had during my absence tormented her to such a degree, that she actually sent the baker to tell the doctor to come with his nippers, and pull out the offending Adam from her mouth.

"I thought I was in heaven, madam," said old Bridget to me when she had gone thus far in her narrative, "when I saw the double-fanged traitor stick up like a criminal as he was in the doctor's twisting-iron, which had well nigh though twisted my head off into the bargain. I slept so soundly, ma'am, that night, that I never, if you will believe me, heard the milkman ring or the potboy call: they all thought I was dead, I believe. No, no; I was in heaven then; for I had ease, and was asleep!" Bridget had unwittingly given me a clearer idea of what heaven really is than any I had ever gleaned from books-a release from suffering, and a free communication with the eternal world.

They are always most delightful to me, these occasional returns to my home comforts! Every thing wears a face of novelty, yet endeared to me by various associations. I am assured that absence is, when not too much prolonged, a very renovating sort of a commodity; it brushes up and polishes the affections: men and their wives, I can well imagine, should subject themselves occasionally to such wholesome treatment, that they may not have a sort of nausea of each other by being too much together. How delighted are we to welcome the sun back to us in the morning, when he has left us for a few hours during the night! He would be shorn of half his glory if he continued incessantly shining