they had emerged; and the defeat of Joseph Sturge at Birmingham in a three-cornered contest decided him to retire from active political life. His last sixteen years were unceasingly devoted to the extinction of slavery and the maintenance of peace principles. But his character and career told with effect far beyond these two spheres of work. In an age distracted by fierce class hatreds and a narrow devotion to the claims of party, the influence of Joseph Sturge's simple, manly character was distinctly elevating. His insistence on manhood suffrage was ever based on an unswerving religious belief, that only by treating every man as if he possessed the germs of noble character, could the grand possibilities of mankind be fitly developed. The intensity of this faith has inspired the following reference in Whittier's memorial lines

"Thanks for the good man's beautiful example,

Who in the vilest saw

Some sacred crypt or altar of a temple

Still vocal with God's law".

Joseph Sturge did not live to see even the first instalment of democratic reform. He bequeathed his work to others, especially to Edward Miall, who up to the close of a long literary and parliamentary career struggled for complete suffrage on the same lofty principles. In 1851, when Carlyle's Latter Day Pamphlets gained a great vogue for the theory that a beneficent despotism was the best of all governments, Miall flinched not from attacking this "philosophy of the stick", even when wielded by the redoubtable seer of Chelsea. In an important public lecture he protested against the determined pessimism which regarded mankind as ever on the down-grade, unless tugged upwards by some heavensent genius. The need of this, as of all generations, exclaimed Miall, was not external compulsion, even by

"Heroes are

a hero, but rather internal improvement. like stars, brilliant because the heavens are dark. Where the 'masses' are themselves enlightened and free, heroism ceases; and what would have shone forth effulgently becomes unnoticeable when all around is daylight." The chief moralizing influence in the life of a people, as in that of an individual, was not compulsion, but confidence. A class previously degraded almost to a slave's moral level could be restored to manliness and integrity by a bestowal of trust, which always evoked nobler feelings. As Rugby boys voted it a shame to lie to Arnold because he utterly trusted them, so the like feelings would, in course of time, be felt towards a government which treated its subjects as responsible citizens. "A higher system of government must be developed-one that relies less on laws and more on principles, less on force and more on the good-will of subjects. Safety will be found in the affectionate attachment of contented citizens."

Such was Miall's effective, if not brilliant, reply to Carlyle's vehement invectives against democracy. For the present the complete-suffrage movement made little headway, amid the material prosperity of the fifties and the distractions caused by the Crimean War and the Indian Mutiny. But, as will be shown in chapters XI. and XIII., its aims were gradually to be realized after the delay which generally overclouds the first roseate hopes of speedy victory. In the interval an important work of class reconciliation had been quietly progressing, which, to all but Cassandra seers, robbed reform of its earlier terrors. That reconciliation dates from the year 1842, when the work of Joseph Sturge and Edward Miall, and the material prosperity inaugurated by Sir Robert Peel's financial reforms, began to assuage the class hatreds of the past, to close the era of revolutionary tumults, and to usher in a period of prolonged

and peaceful progress unparalleled in the history of any nation.

Chapter IX.

Revolution or Evolution?

It would be a refreshing change if some historian, reluctantly tearing himself away from official reports and diplomatic intrigues, would endeavour to gauge the influence of national recreation on national character. Possibly it is quite as potent as the struggles between the ins and the outs or the manoeuvrings of rival diplomatists; for while the Olympians are weaving their mighty plans, the millions beneath are fashioning their characters alike in hours of toil and of recreation. The café, therefore, may claim the attention of the historical student as well as the council-chamber, the restaurant no less than the august debates of Westminster. How much of the heaviness of Georgian life, and the consequent stolidity of Georgian politics, was due to the fullbodied wine of Oporto which every patriotic Briton felt called upon to imbibe, to the exclusion of the wines of hostile Gaul, which were accused of promoting fickleness and instability? Who shall estimate the effect on the German of his light Rhenish or equally light beer, as contrasted with that of the heady ale drunk by his island cousin? What end is there to the social and political influence of the Continental café and the English alehouse? The potations of the Frenchman and German, even their quaffings of coffee-Lessing's "dear melancholy coffee which begets fancies"-so far from besotting the mind, actually favour the growth of thoughts; and thought, if it clashes with the actual, is the mother of revolution. In those countries, therefore, prosperity is by no means a barrier to discontent, because it tends to

stimulate the growth of ideas. In England, on the contrary, it has proved to be an infallible sedative from the days of Walpole to our own, because the expenditure of our lower classes then turns largely to a stimulant which dulls the brain. Who ever heard of any serious revolt concocted in an English ale-house? Is not that the abode of political stability, where John Bull, so long as he has money to spend, is wont to subside into thickskinned, fuddled contentment in the best of all possible worlds?

The conditional clause is important. John Bull moneyless is the most persistent of malcontents, and even evolves political principles-always with an eye to future business. But when blest with beef and beer, his ideas are few, his contentment is colossal.

The history of English Radical reform therefore centres around periods of commercial depression and general misery, such as mark the almost unbroken series of lean years succeeding the great war, the sharp pinch of 1847-1848, the crash of 1866, and the long depression of trade and agriculture which set in after 1876. In the prosperous periods we have little to record except the unheeded utterances of reformers crying in a wilderness of plenty, or the quiet adoption by Conservatives of measures which they had previously vetoed as revolutionary. So complete is John Bull's faith in the steadying effect of beef and beer.

The future of Chartism was mainly to be determined by the economic condition of our working-classes, i.e. by the general condition of our industries. If these revived, and, consequently, if comfort replaced misery in the homes of our operatives, the movement which threatened to be revolutionary would naturally subside, remaining merely as a quietly propelling force in the direction of parliamentary reform. Such was the momentous "condition-of-England question" which claimed (M 416)

I

the attention of every thinking man. Above all, Thomas Carlyle had proved that Chartism was not solely a political movement, but was quite as much a "knife and fork question". It had long been obvious that the popular discontent was due mainly to low wages, irregular work, and high prices; and some men had perceived the tolerably obvious connection between bad trade and the burdens of a stupid system of taxation. In words which then seemed prophetic, William Cobbett had foretold that the effect of the awful burdens bequeathed by the great war would be to accelerate the march of democracy by arousing indignation against the policy which, after recklessly amassing the national debt, allowed it to fetter the limbs of industry. The whole course of the democratic movement in our land testified to the accuracy of the surmise; and it was not until Sir Robert Peel readjusted the financial burdens that stability was restored alike to our industries, our society, and our institutions.

No statesman of this century has exerted so potent an influence in harmonizing conflicting interests, and in adapting party methods to new conditions, as Sir Robert Peel. It was due very largely to his foresight and common sense that the Tory party in 1841 came back to power, only nine years after it appeared to have been for ever extinguished by the first Reform Bill. The very magnitude of that disaster had enabled Peel to broaden the basis of the party by insisting that its mission thenceforth was to rally the newly enfranchised, as far as possible, to the support of our ancient institutions. His followers accepted the situation with an adaptability born of defeat, and enhanced by hope of future recovery; and the party which returned to power in 1841 had little in common with the "ignorant and obstinate faction" whose approaching overthrow Greville had, ten years previously, hailed with satisfaction.