that statesman resigned his office in unconcealed indignation. Having got rid of the real master of the ministry, Bute's next step was to get rid of its nominal chief, and in the spring of 1762 he managed to drive the Duke of Newcastle from the Treasury, and was himself placed by the King at the head of the administration. So rapid an elevation of a man previously unknown as a politician could hardly fail to create very widespread dissatisfaction, which was in some degree augmented by the nationality of the new minister. Lord Bute was a Scotchman, and Englishmen had not wholly forgiven or forgotten the Scotch invasion of 1745. Since that time the Scotch had been regarded with general disfavor; Scotch poverty and Scotch greediness for the good things of England had furnished constant topics for raillery and sarcasm; and more than one demagogue and political writer had sought popularity by pandering to the prevailing taste for attacks on the whole nation. Foremost among these was Mr. John Wilkes, member for Aylesbury, a man of broken fortunes and still more damaged character, but of a wit and hardihood that made his society acceptable to some of high rank and lax morality, and caused his political alliance to be courted by some who desired to be regarded as leaders of a party; many of the transactions of the late reign having, unfortunately, not been favorable to the maintenance of any high standard of either public or private virtue. On Lord Bute's accession to office, Wilkes had set up a periodical paper, whose object and character were sufficiently indicated by its title, The North Briton, and in which the diligence of Lord Bute in distributing places among his kinsmen and countrymen furnished the staple of almost every number; while in many the Princess of Wales herself was not spared, as the cause, for motives not obscurely hinted at, of his sudden elevation. So pertinacious and virulent were the attacks thus launched at him, coinciding as they did, at least in one point, with the prejudices of the multitude, that they were commonly believed to have had some share in driving Lord Bute from office, which, in the spring of 1763, he suddenly resigned, hoping, as it might almost seem, thus to throw on his successor the burden of defending his measures. The most important of these measures had been the conclusion of the Treaty of Versailles, which, when it was first announced to Parliament, had been vehemently attacked in both Houses by Pitt and his followers, but had been approved by large majorities. Wilkes, however, not without reason, believed it to be still unpopular with the nation at large, and, flushed with his supposed victory over Lord Bute, was watching eagerly for some occasion of re-opening the question, when such an opportunity was afforded him by the King's speech at the prorogation of the Parliament, which took place a few days after Lord Bute's resignation.
Lord Bute had been succeeded by Mr. George Grenville, who had for a time been one of his colleagues as Secretary of State; and on him, therefore, the duty devolved of framing the royal speech the opening sentences of which referred to 'the re-establishment of peace' in terms of warm self-congratulation, as having been effected 'upon conditions honorable to the crown and beneficial to the people.' Wilkes at once caught at this panegyric, as affording him just such an opportunity as he had been seeking of renewing his attacks on the government, which he regarded as changed in nothing but the name of the Prime-minister.[4] And, four days after the prorogation,[5] he accordingly issued a new number of The North Briton (No. 45), in which he heaped unmeasured sarcasm and invective on the peace itself, on the royal speech, and on the minister who had composed it. As if conscious that Mr. Grenville was less inclined by temper than Lord Bute to suffer such attacks without endeavoring to retaliate, he took especial pains to keep within the law in his strictures, and, accordingly, carefully avoided saying a disrespectful word of the King himself, whom he described as 'a prince of many great and amiable qualities,' 'ever renowned for truth, honor, and unsullied virtue.' But he claimed a right to canvass the speech 'with the utmost freedom,' since 'it had always been considered by the Legislature and by the public at large as the speech of the minister.' And he kept this distinction carefully in view through the whole number. The speech he denounced with bitter vehemence, as 'an abandoned instance of ministerial effrontery,' as containing 'the most unjustifiable public declarations' and 'infamous fallacies.' The peace he affirmed to be 'such as had drawn down the contempt of mankind on our wretched negotiators.' And he described the present minister as a mere tool of 'the favorite,' by whom 'he still meditated to rule the kingdom with a rod of iron.' But in the whole number there was but one sentence which could be represented as implying the very slightest censure on the King himself, and even that was qualified by a personal eulogy. 'The King of England,' it said, 'is not only the first magistrate of the country, but is invested by the law with the whole executive power. He is, however, responsible to his people for the due execution of the royal functions in the choice of ministers, etc., equally with the meanest of his subjects in his particular duty. The personal character of our present amiable sovereign makes us easy and happy that so great a power is lodged in such hands; but the favorite has given too just cause for him to escape the general odium. The prerogative of the crown is to exert the constitutional power intrusted to it in such a way, not of blind favor and partiality, but of wisdom and judgment. This is the spirit of our constitution. The people, too, have their prerogative; and I hope the fine words of Dryden will be engraven on our hearts, 'Freedom is the English subject's prerogative.''
These were the last sentences of No. 45. And in the present day it will hardly be thought that, however severe or even violent some of the epithets with which certain sentences of the royal speech were assailed may have been, the language exceeds the bounds of allowable political criticism. With respect to the King, indeed, however accompanied with personal compliments to himself those strictures may have been, it may be admitted that in asserting any responsibility whatever to the people on the part of the sovereign, even for the choice of his ministers, as being bound to exercise that choice 'with wisdom and judgment,' it goes somewhat beyond the strict theory of the constitution. Undoubtedly that theory is, that the minister chosen by the King is himself responsible for every circumstance or act which led to his appointment. This principle was established in the fullest manner in 1834, when, as will be seen hereafter, Sir Robert Peel admitted his entire responsibility for the dismissal of Lord Melbourne by King William IV., though it was notorious that he was in Italy at the time, and had not been consulted on the matter. But as yet such questions had not been as accurately examined as subsequent events caused them to be; and Wilkes's assertion of royal responsibility to this extent probably coincided with the general feeling on the subject.[6] At all events, the error contained in it, and the insinuation that due wisdom and judgment had not been displayed in the appointment of Mr. G. Grenville to the Treasury, were not so derogatory to the legitimate authority and dignity of the crown as to make the writer a fit subject for a criminal prosecution. But Mr. Grenville was of a bitter temper, never inclined to tolerate any strictures on his own judgment or capacity, and fully imbued with the conviction that the first duty of an English minister is to uphold the supreme authority of the Parliament, and to chastise any one who dares to call in question the wisdom of any one of its resolutions. But The North Briton had done this, and more. No. 45 had not only denounced the treaty which both Houses had approved, but had insinuated in unmistakable language that their approval had been purchased by gross corruption (a fact which was, indeed, sufficiently notorious). And, consequently, Mr. Grenville determined to treat the number which contained the denunciation as a seditious libel, the publication of which was a criminal offence; and, by his direction, Lord Halifax, as Secretary of State, issued what was termed a general warrant-a warrant, that is, which did not name the person or persons against whom it was directed, but which commanded the apprehension of 'the authors, printers, and publishers' of the offending paper, leaving the officers who were charged with its execution to decide who came under that description, or, in other words, who were guilty of the act charged, before they had been brought before any tribunal. The warrant was executed. Wilkes and some printers were apprehended; Wilkes himself, as if the minister's design had been to make the charge ridiculous by exaggeration, being consigned to the great state-prison of the Tower, such a use of which was generally limited to those impeached of high-treason. And, indeed, the commitment did declare that No. 45 of The North Briton was 'a libel tending to alienate the affections of the people from his Majesty, and to excite them to traitorous insurrections against the government.' Wilkes instantly sued out a writ of habeas corpus, and was without hesitation released by the Court of Common Pleas, on the legal ground that, 'as a member of the House of Commons, he was protected from arrest in all cases except treason, felony, or a breach of the peace;' a decision which, in the next session of Parliament, the minister endeavored to overbear by inducing both Houses to concur in a resolution that 'privilege of Parliament did not extend to the case of publishing seditious libels.'
In his life of Lord Camden,[7] who was Chief-justice of the Common Pleas at the time, Lord Campbell expresses a warm approval of this resolution, as one 'which would now be considered conclusive evidence of the law.' But, with all respect to the memory of a writer who was himself a Chief-justice, we suspect that in this case he was advancing a position as an author engaged in the discussion of what had become a party question, which he would not have laid down from the Bench.[8] The resolution certainly did not make it law, since it was not confirmed by any royal assent; and to interpret the law is not within the province of the House of Commons, nor, except when sitting as a Court of Appeal, of the House of Lords. We may, however, fully agree with the principle which Lord Campbell at the same time lays down, that 'privilege of Parliament should not be permitted to interfere with the
