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the paper, he calls the proceeding a manœuvre." -(WOODFALL'S Junius, i. 324.)

I have dwelt longer upon this celebrated, rather let me say noted, person than may seem to be in proportion or keeping with a representation of the group in which he figures; because it is wholesome

* In admitting the polished manners of Wilkes, and that he had lived much in good society, somewhat in the best, it is unnecessary to admit that his turn of mind was not in some sort vulgar-witness his letters to Junius throughout-particularly the papers wherein he describes Junius's private communications to him as "stirring up his spirits like a kiss from Chloe," and asks the "great unknown" to accept of—what? Books? Valuable MSS.? Interesting information? No -but tickets to the Lord Mayor's dinner-crowded dinner —and the Lady Mayoress's far less tolerable ball, with a hint "to bring his Junia, if there be one."-WOODFALL, i. 325.

When, in 1817, I stated my strong opinion in the House of Commons on Wilkes's character, and the shame that his popularity brought on the people of England for a time, Mr. Wilberforce expressed his thanks to me, and confirmed my statements. Mr. Canning, however, observed that Wilkes was by no means a singular instance of demagogues not being respectable, and added,

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He's Knight o' th' shire, and represents them all," which is an exaggerated view certainly. Sir Philip Francis, the morning after, remonstrated strongly with me, in the presence of other friends, for saying anything in disparagement of a man run down by the Court. He regarded the offence as greatly aggravated by the praise which had been given to Lord Mansfield, against whom he inveighed bitterly. The tone of his objurgation, so precisely that of Junius upon both subjects, was much remarked at the time.

to contemplate the nature, and reflect upon the fate, of one beyond all others of his day the idol of the mob, the popular favourite; one who, by the force of their applause, kept so far a footing with the better part of society as to be very little blamed, very cautiously abjured, by those most filled with disgust and with detestation of his practices. This is an addition to the chapter on the subject, already suggested by the French revolution. The men in Parliament, the members of the popular party, with perhaps the single exception of Lord Chatham, while they would have viewed with utter scorn any approaches he might make to their intimacy, nevertheless were too much afraid of losing the countenance of the multitude he ruled over to express their strongly entertained sentiments of his great demerits. They might not so far disgrace themselves as to truckle in their measures; they never certainly courted him by extending their patronage to himself or his accomplices; but they were under the powerful influence of intimidation, and were content to pass for his fellow-labourers in the Whig vineyard, and to suppress the feelings with which his conduct in public and private life filled them, rather than encounter his vengeance and risk the loss, the temporary loss, of mob applause. How base does such conduct now appear, and how noble is the contrast of Lord Chatham's manly deportment in the eyes of impartial posterity!

But the fall, the rapid and total declension, of Wilkes's fame-the utter oblivion into which his very name has passed for all purposes save the remembrance of his vices-the very ruins of his reputation no longer existing in our political history -this affords also a salutary lesson to the followers of the multitude,-those who may court the applause of the hour, and regulate their conduct towards the people, not by their own sound and conscientious opinions of what is right, but by the desire to gain fame in doing what is pleasing, and to avoid giving the displeasure that arises from telling wholesome though unpalatable truths. Never man more pandered to the appetites of the mob than Wilkes; never political pimp gave more uniform contentment to his employers. Having the moral and sturdy English, and not the voluble and versatile Irish, to deal with, he durst not do or say as he chose himself; but was compelled to follow that he might seem to lead; or at least to go two steps with his followers that he might get them to go three with him. He dared not deceive them grossly, clumsily, openly, impudently-dared not tell them opposite stories in the same breathgive them one advice to-day and the contrary tomorrow-pledge himself to a dozen things at one and the same time; then come before them with every one pledge unredeemed, and ask their voices, and ask their money too, on the credit of as many

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more pledges tendered for the succeeding half year-all this with the obstinate and jealous people of England was out of the question; it could not have passed for six weeks. But he committed as great, if not as gross, frauds upon them; abused their confidence as entirely, if not so shamefully; catered for their depraved appetites in all the base dainties of sedition, and slander, and thoughtless violence, and unreasonable demands; instead of using his influence to guide their judgment, improve their taste, reclaim them from bad courses, and better their condition by providing for their instruction. The means by which he retained their attachment were disgraceful and vile. Like the hypocrite, his whole public life was a lie. The tribute which his unruly appetites kept him from paying to private morals, his dread of the mob, or his desire to use them for his selfish purposes, made him yield to public virtue; and he never appeared before the world without the mask of patriotic enthusiasm or democratic fury-he who in the recesses of Medmenham Abbey, and before many witnesses, gave the Eucharist to an ape, or prostituted the printing-press to multiply copies of a production that would dye with blushes the cheek of an impure.

It is the abuse, no doubt, of such popular courses, that we should reprobate. Popularity is far from being contemptible; it is often an honourable

acquisition; when duly earned, always a test of good done or evil resisted. But to be of a pure and genuine kind it must have one stamp-the security of one safe and certain die; it must be the popularity that follows good actions, not that which is run after. Nor can we do a greater service to the people themselves, or read a more wholesome lesson to the race, above all, of rising statesmen, than to mark how much the mockpatriot, the mob-seeker, the parasite of the giddy multitude, falls into the very worst faults for which popular men are wont the most loudly to condemn, and most heartily to despise, the courtly fawners upon princes. Flattery, indeed! obsequiousness! time-serving! What courtier of them all ever took more pains to soothe an irritable or to please a capricious prince than Wilkes to assuage the anger or gain the favour by humouring the prejudices of the mob? Falsehood, truly! intrigue! manœuvre ! Where did ever titled suitor for promotion lay his plots more cunningly, or spread more wide his net, or plant more pensively in the fire those irons by which the waiters upon royal bounty forge to themselves and to their country chains, that they may also fashion the ladder they are to mount by, than the patriot of the city did to delude the multitude, whose slave he made himself, that he might be rewarded with their sweet voices, and so rise to wealth and to power? When