dents. They sided at first with Fox and Lord North. But before the fight was over, they had discovered their mistake. They found that the voice of the people was with Pitt, not with the Coalition. The struggle within Parliament lasted three months. The majority which backed the Coalition in January was 54. In March, it sank to a majority of one, and then became a minority. On the 12th of January, 232 members stood by Fox and Lord North. In March, the phalanx had dwindled to 171. At first, Fox had threatened to stop the supplies, to reject the Mutiny Bill, and to impeach the Minister. By the end of March, the threats were over, the supplies and the Mutiny Bill were safe. Then it was seen how sagaciously Wilberforce had gauged the public feeling. At first the people had been torpid and indifferent; but as the fight waxed keen, public interest rose, county meetings were held, cities assembled, addresses of confidence poured in to the Minister, corporations voted him thanks, the Company of the Goldsmiths feasted him, the Corporation of the City of London* voted him the freedom of the City, and invited him to a public dinner. The Lord Mayor and Aldermen went in procession to his house in Berkeley Square; and it was noticed as a significant sign, that Wilkes, the idol of the people, was the spokesman who offered Pitt the thanks of the Corporation, and praised him as warmly as Beckford had praised Lord Chatham. It was also noticed that the city procession was followed by crowds, who rent the air with huzzas; and that, when Pitt accepted the invitation, and drove to dine in the city, the people took the horses from his carriage, and drew him in triumph through the streets.

These events brought the young member for Hull upon a new stage, and opened for him that place in public life which he afterwards used for great ends. The year 1784 presents to us one of those political hurricanes of which, since the Restoration, England has seen many-Abhorrers and Petitioners, Whigs and Tories, Reformers and Anti-reformers. The country was ranged into two camps, and parties were ready to come to blows. England was astir with public meetings, with corporation addresses, and with petitions. One party were eager for the Coalition, for the rights of the House of Commons, for the privileges of the majority. The other party were as hot for the King, for his prerogative, for his throne, for the young premier and the cabinet.

In this excitement, many counties had met to petition, but one great county, Yorkshire, had not yet pronounced; yet Fox used to say that, in politics, Middlesex and Yorkshire made up England. Middlesex was against the Coalition; but what

* Gentlemen's Magazine, vol. liv. Part i. pp. 204–225,

would Yorkshire do? In Yorkshire the chances were against the Government, for in that county the Coalition had great strength. Some of its chief families went with Lord North, and the old Whig influence was strong. Lord Rockingham's great estates were there, and he had returned the county members from his dining-room. The Dukes of Norfolk and Devonshire, Lord Carlisle, and Sir George Savile, had large bodies of retainers. On this occasion these families put forth all their strength, and employed their agents, as though they were preparing for an election.

The 25th of March, 1784, was appointed for the Yorkshire county meeting. On that day Mr. Wilberforce determined to be present, with the secret hope, as he afterwards confessed, that that meeting might affect his own fortunes. In the early morning the Coalition mustered strong; as far as the eye could reach, an enormous multitude filled the Castle yard at York. There the hustings were set up, and round the High Sheriff's chair, which was in the centre, the Whig leaders took their places. They were men of mark in public life. Lord Fitzwilliam, indeed, was new to Parliament; but he represented Lord Rockingham's high repute and fortunes, and he had been just brought before the public as First Commissioner in the India Bill. Lord Carlisle was there, able and accomplished; Lord Surrey came fresh from the debates of the House of Commons, in which he

had taken a leading part; and there was Lord George Cavendish, who had held the post of Chancellor of the Exchequer. These were adroit speakers, eager to speak for their followers, and, backed by their voices, to defend the Coalition. On the other side, an address approving of the Minister was brought forward by some country gentlemen, little known to each other, or to the public; and they encountered difficulties which might have baffled more practised speakers; for they found that within their own ranks there was a great diversity of sentiment. One section of their party was composed of country gentlemen, fox-hunting squires, strong Tories, men of old prejudice and a dull, blind loyalty. They had come forward to support the king and constitution, ready to stand by him, and reckoning the friends of the Coalition as disloyal traitors. But there was another section, by far the strongest, who had no sympathy with these views. They were men of broad-cloth, yeomen, woollen manufacturers, thriving traders, who had set up the Yorkshire Reform Association, had clamoured for Burke's bill of Economical Reform, and who now followed Mr. Wyvill in his demand for Parliamentary Reform. These persons had no feeling in common with the Tory squires. They liked Pitt because he was a Reformer, a Free-trader, and the enemy of government jobs. They supported him because he had beat both the

oligarchy and the court. It was hardly possible to speak with success the sentiments of both these sections. If you represented one, you gave dire offence to the other. A remark from one speaker drew out a storm of hisses from one of the sections on his own side, as well as from his opponents. So the meeting speedily became disorderly, and the day wore on in tumult and noise. At last it became impossible for any one to make himself heard. The weather, too, was, like the meeting, stormy. It was a gusty day, the wind blowing hail and sleet in men's faces, and blasts of wind mixed themselves with gusts of vociferation. Hence, after the leaders had spoken, the meeting became unmanageable, the packed crowd was disorderly, and it appeared likely that this great gathering, instead of petitioning against the Coalition, would end by breaking up or melting away, or, if the Whigs stood firm, they would at last carry the day.

At this critical moment, when all was uncertainty and the disorder was at its height, there rose on the table in front of the High Sheriff's chair, a singular figure, so slight that it seemed to wave to and fro with the gusts of the blast. The person who presented himself was ill-fitted for such a place, for he was slender, with a countenance not commanding, and so near-sighted that he could not see his audience clearly. He was also an entire stranger; among that vast multitude, a single clergyman in the crowd was the only one who even knew his name. But when he opened his lips, there issued forth a voice so musical and clear, that it passed over the crowd like a silver trumpet, and was heard to the furthest edge of the meeting. The clear sound rivetted attention, and then, when men were interested, they were held fast by the words. For the speaker had, in greater perfection than most men, that rare quality of an orator, the tact with which to see, at a glance, the temper of his audience, and to suit his words to their thoughts. He had observed the feelings of the meeting, and he had noticed the discordant opinions that prevailed among the petitioners. He now took these into his hands. Brushing aside the points on which parties differed, he fastened their eyes on the point on which they agreed, the objects of the Coalition, its attempts and its designs. Its leaders stood before them; he could fix his charges on these. Their ambition, their selfishness, their intrigues, their unrighteous compact, these formed a monster in politics, stamped, as he said, with the features of both its parents, the corruption of the one, the violence of the other, the hideousness of both. This was what the meeting wanted. Here, at last, both sections could agree; Tories as well as Reformers found here a common ground; and catching with passionate enthusiasm the speaker's words, they hailed them with transports

of applause cheer followed cheer, hisses were drowned by shouts. The vote was called for, and the Address was carried. While the orator spoke, men asked each other who he was; and then there passed from lip to lip a name unknown, but soon to be a household word-the name of Wilberforce. While he was speaking, an express from Mr. Pitt reached him, and he opened it on the platform. It announced that on that very day Parliament would be dissolved. Then, men whispered to each other, "We'll have this man for our county member." When the meeting broke up, a committee of leading men remained, which sat at the York Tavern, and announced Wilberforce and Duncombe as their candidates. Differences were about to divide them, but again the tact of the young candidate reconciled them. The Whigs put forward their candidates, men of wealth and power; but the middle classes started up, and pressed forward; the great cities of Yorkshire, since well known in parliamentary warfare, took up Wilberforce's cause; offers of money and of votes poured in to his committee; Leeds welcomed him; Bradford and Rotherham received him with open arms; Halifax followed Leeds; Sheffield united with Barnsley and Wakefield. The West Riding was soon in a flame, and so strong was the popular sentiment, that the Whig candidates declined the contest. On the 7th of April, the stripling, whose face and name were unknown a fortnight before, rode, girt with his sword, to the Castle of York, and was declared member for Yorkshire. The prize which Henry Brougham secured as the reward of a long public life, fell in youth to Wilberforce. The elections went in favour of the Government; one hundred and sixty members of the Coalition party lost their seats, and were called Fox's Martyrs; and the election of 1784, like that of 1833, achieved a political change which marks a great epoch in the history of England. Henceforth the Whig and Tory oligarchy lost their power, which passed by degrees to new forces entering on the arena of politics.

Among the majority which met in London on the 14th May, 1784, one of the most remarked was the young member for Yorkshire, who, as the intimate friend of the Premier, and the man whose eloquence had influenced largely the election, held a high position, which placed office and honours within his reach. Yet, at this very time, as he himself has told us, in the heyday of success, when, after his return from a busy session of Parliament, feted by his Yorkshire constituents, he retired in autumn to the Lakes to enjoy a short rest, with fortune, and youth, and brilliant prospects before him, he found to his surprise, that, when a few days' quiet had thrown him on his own resources, apart from society, a more listless, weary, wretched wight was not to be seen within the four corners of England.

DEAN ALFORD'S QUEEN'S ENGLISH.

The Queen's English, Stray Notes on Speaking and Spelling. By Henry Alford, D.D., Dean of Canterbury. London: Strahan and Co. 1864.

WE are indebted to Dean Alford for a book which is entertaining, interesting, and instructive.* An attempt to preserve our language in its native purity, if well directed in the main, deserves our commendation and gratitude; the discussions which naturally arise in the treatment of the subject are curious and attractive; the correction of prevalent errors provokes many a smile. The breaking up of the book into short paragraphs, and the variety of the subjects of which it treats, effectually provide against tediousness. There is only one part of its plan which we regret, and which we have read under protest. Notes have strayed into its pages on mere vulgarities and bad grammar, and on the mistakes of signpainters and advertisers, faults into which none who would care to read such a book are likely to be betrayed. We might have been spared the necessity of reading a commentary on gig's" to be let (p. 20); and on "I was that ill" (p. 75); "I didn't use" (p. 210); "Like I do now" (p. 216); "Old and new bookseller" (p. 221); and "To MILLERS.-To be let a windmill containing three pair of stones, a bakehouse, cornshop, and about five acres of land, dwelling-house and garden;" and other similar blunders of ignorant people. They are all funny enough; perhaps they were seized upon as aids to enliven a dry subject; but we see no other reason for introducing them, and to ourselves they appear intrusive and wearisome. The more so, as the pages thus occupied might have been well employed in further efforts for the protection of the English language from the corruption and distortion which threaten it at the present time.

When the Christian Observer was first issued, the books published year by year were comparatively few, and were almost all intended for educated persons. The newspapers never contemplated having any below the middle classes for their readers. Books for the working classes (then always called "the poor") were very few indeed. Let any one take up some of the publications prepared for the lower classes, such, for instance, as Hannah Moore's Tracts, and he will at once see how far short of meeting the condition of the uneducated mind were the best intentioned efforts of those days.

How different is the present state of things. Excepting in purely agricultural districts, almost every one can read, and * A short notice of this work appeared in our number for March last, p. 234.