comprises the legal and judicial system which furnishes so great a proof of the wisdom of our ancestors, and which still serves to differentiate a nationality that inventions and commerce have combined to destroy. All else has gone. There is still in Edinburgh "a ghost of speech" which reminds the curious that men once did more in the Scottish capital than merely administer the law; but the "Parliament House" is only a name—vox et praeterea nihil. The system of administration, the methods of finance, the royal prerogative, the Privy Council, the hereditary jurisdictions, have vanished. Local jealousies, clan and family hatreds, the hopes and fears of noble and burgess and peasant have ceased to find a place in the national records. The relations between Church and State, after undergoing numerous transformations, have been decided in accordance with the Revolution Settlement, and have once and again been modified under Queen Anne and under Queen Victoria. The General Assembly still meets, but it is not, and could not be, the General Assembly of John Knox or of Andrew Melville. The Royal Burghs maintain their wonted Conventions, but only to take counsel, and never to act. It is no longer possible to recognize the fabric of the constitution of the kingdom which King James left in 1603.

Such a subject as this must, of necessity, occupy the border between antiquities and history, and it possesses its full share of the difficulties that beset the antiquary more than the historian. The information which it is the antiquary's duty to collect is widely scattered in bounds of space, and is possessed of but a meagre connection in thought. He must be prepared to bring together his material from many different quarters and to find it in many varying forms. Facts that have been preserved because of their local import, and have been buried in local records far from the scene of his interest, rumours and legends that continue to exist in connection with some individual who finds no place in his main theme, casual remarks of accidental observers, inferences deduced from half-forgotten customs and from dying myths, carefully kept records which, either wilfully or by chance, are designed to give a false impression unless read in the light of some apparently irrelevant circumstance—such are the materials on which the antiquary depends. The writer who is bold enough to undertake an investigation into the Scottish Constitution will find the difficulties of the antiquary added to the troubles of the historian. His task is that which, of old, Pharaoh set to the children of Israel—"Go yourselves, get ye straw where ye can ... for there shall no straw be given you, yet shall ye deliver the tale of bricks." The student of the English Constitution can point to a body of documentary evidence such as no other nation can produce. What would not the Scottish student give for the corpus of Anglo-Saxon law, the magnificent record of Domesday Book, the Dialogue concerning the Exchequer, and the Modus Tenendi Parliamentum? Yet these constitute only a small fraction of the material which now lies ready for the beginner in the study of English history, and he may learn more in a month than years of patient labour will yield to the investigator of the origines of Scottish civilization. The Scottish Constitution began to take shape between the reigns of David I and Alexander III, that is, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and the records of these years have been, in large measure, destroyed. The shock of the War of Independence arrested its development, but constitutional movements can again be traced under David II and James I, and for the century which connects their reigns (1329-1437) our information is scattered and meagre. The English historian knows definitely the racial distribution with which he has to deal, and he can disintegrate the influence of Saxon and Dane and Norman. In Scotland, we have to face at the very outset, a racial problem as yet unsolved, and we are called upon to disassociate influences of the origin of which we are ignorant, and whose effects we meet only in the mass.

The student who would attempt such a problem as this must be familiar with the outlines of English constitutional development, but he must also be prepared to banish from his mind all prejudices and prepossessions derived from such knowledge. For he will find here no record of liberty slowly broadening from precedent to precedent, no statesmen kings, surrounded by sagacious advisers, defining the scope and the purpose of a legal system, no patriotic barons, banded together to wrest from an unwilling monarch a power which was not being wielded for the national good, no common aim uniting reformers of the thirteenth century with reformers of the seventeenth. He can name here no great names in the progress of constitutional freedom or in the growth of a consistent system of law; Scotland produced no Henry the Second, no Simon de Montfort, no Edward the First, no Hampden and no Sydney. He must divest himself of the atmosphere of English history and be prepared to find a separate people, affected by influences widely different, and responding to impulses clearly divergent from the familiar movements of English history. The story is not without its heroes, but they are of a wilder and more romantic type than in England. James I, throwing himself bravely and fiercely against the system of abuses which he found in Scotland, and paying with his life for his courage and devotion, is a constitutional hero utterly unlike a Henry or an Edward. This aspect of Scottish history is the less interesting and the less definite because it is so largely impersonal; there are many famous names in the political and in the ecclesiastical story of Scotland, but few indeed lend themselves to brighten the pages that tell of constitutional development. It is, perhaps, for this reason that historians have left it alone. Writers on Scottish history from Boece and Major to Tytler and Hill Burton have ignored its existence; even the learned editors of such constitutional documents as the Privy Council Register and the Treasurer's Accounts have been pre-occupied by the varying scenes of the political drama, and are largely silent on questions relating to the constitution.[1] The conditions of government, justice, and finance before the reign of Malcolm Canmore, and the relations of the king to his seven mormaers or earls, are unexplored mysteries. Not less difficult are the questions that relate to the next period. How did the burghs come into being, and whence did they derive that system of law and custom which was administered by the Four Burghs and the Hanse Burghs, and which even Edward I was unable to ignore? How did the clan-system of the tenth century pass, in the Lowlands, into the family-system of the twelfth? Who were the good men who formed the community of the kingdom, and on whose advice the kings granted charters and liberties? What was the real signification of these charters themselves, and what privileges did they confer? What was the precise nature of the threat implied in the warning that a man who neglected the king's ordinances should lose his court for evermore? All these are as uncertain as are the powers of the Executive, the administration of justice, the police-system outside the towns, or the arrangements for national defence. Even in the centuries of our separate history which are most fully known, the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth, we are beset by many of the same problems and by others not less