LITMIR.BIZ

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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 execution of the criminal law of the country." And this doctrine has been so fully acquiesced in since, that members of both Houses have in more than one instance been imprisoned on conviction for libel.

      The legality of the species of warrant under which Wilkes had been arrested was, however, a question of far greater importance; and on that no formal decision was pronounced on this occasion, the Lieutenant of the Tower, in his return to the writ of habeas corpus, and the counsel employed on both sides, equally avoiding all mention of the character of the warrant. But it was indirectly determined shortly afterward. The leaders of the Opposition would fain have had the point settled by what, in truth, would not have settled it—another resolution of the House of Commons. But, though it was discussed in several warm debates, Grenville always contrived to baffle his adversaries, though on one occasion his majority dwindled to fourteen.[9] What, however, the House of Commons abstained from affirming was distinctly, though somewhat extra-judicially, asserted by Lord Camden, as Chief-justice of the Common Pleas. Wilkes, with some of the printers and others who had been arrested, had brought actions for false imprisonment, which came to be tried in his court; and they obtained such heavy damages that the officials who had been mulcted applied for new trials, on the plea of their being excessive. But the Chief-justice refused the applications, and upheld the verdict, on the ground that the juries, in their assessment of damages, had been "influenced by a righteous indignation at the conduct of those who sought to exercise arbitrary power over all the King's subjects, to violate Magna Charta, and to destroy the liberty of the kingdom, by insisting on the legality of this general warrant." Such a justification would hardly be admitted now. But, in a subsequent trial, a still higher authority, the Chief-justice of the King's Bench, Lord Mansfield, held language so similar, that, once more to quote the words of Lord Campbell, "without any formal judgment, general warrants have ever since been considered illegal."

      However, the release of Wilkes on the ground of his parliamentary privilege gave him but a momentary triumph, or rather respite. The prosecution was not abated by the decision that he could not be imprisoned before trial; while one effect of his liberation was to stimulate the minister to add another count to the indictment preferred against him, on which he might be expected to find it less easy to excite the sympathy of any party. Wilkes had not always confined his literary efforts to political pamphlets. There was a club named the Franciscans (in compliment to Sir Francis Dashwood, Lord Bute's Chancellor of the Exchequer, who, as well as Lord Sandwich, the First Lord of the Admiralty, was one of its members), which met at Medmenham Abbey, on the banks of the Thames, and there held revels whose license recalled the worst excesses of the preceding century. To this club Wilkes also belonged; and, in indulgence of tastes in harmony with such a brotherhood, he had composed a blasphemous and indecent parody on Pope's "Essay on Man," which he entitled "An Essay on Woman," and to which he appended a body of burlesque notes purporting to be the composition of Pope's latest commentator, the celebrated Dr. Warburton, Bishop of Gloucester. He had never published it (indeed, it may be doubted whether, even in that not very delicate age, any publisher could have been found to run the risk of issuing so scandalous a work), but he had printed a few copies in his own house, of which he designed to make presents to such friends as he expected to appreciate it. He had not, however, so far as it appears, given away a single copy, when, on the very first day of the next session of Parliament, Lord Sandwich himself brought the parody under the notice of the House of Lords. If there was a single member of the House whose delicacy was not likely to be shocked, and whose morals could not be injured by such a composition, it was certainly Lord Sandwich himself; but his zeal as a minister to support his chief kindled in him a sudden enthusiasm for the support of virtue and decency also; and, having obtained a copy by some surreptitious means, he now made a formal complaint of it to the House, contending that the use of the name of the Bishop of Gloucester as author of the notes constituted a breach of the privileges of the House. And he was seconded by the bishop himself, whose temper and judgment were, unhappily, very inferior to his learning and piety. It

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