Then one cavalier, with dark, piercing eyes and a
pointed black beard, wearing a red feather in his cap,
said: "We invite you to eat and to drink with us,"
and pointed to an empty chair.
Wesley at once took the place indicated, but before he put in his mouth a bite of food or drank a drop, said: "It is my custom to ask a blessing; stand all!" Then the spectres rose.
Wesley began his accustomed grace, "The name of God, high over all——" when suddenly the room darkened, and all the apparitions vanished.
The story of the creation, subsequent history, and extinction of those English boroughs which were swept away by the Reform Bill of 1832, and which were commonly designated as pocket or rotten boroughs, is too curious an episode in Parliamentary history to be allowed to remain in the limbo of Parliamentary reports—a charnel-house of the bones of facts—unclothed with the personal reminiscences and local details which invest these dry bones with flesh, and give to them a living interest.
In a very few years there will not be a man alive who can recall the last election for them. Their story is this: They were creations of the Crown when its tenure of power was insecure, and the object aimed at was to pack the House of Commons with members who were mere creatures of the Crown. The shock of the Reformation had upset men's minds. What had been held sacred for ages was sacred no longer, and the men who had been encouraged to profane the altar were ready enough to turn their hands against the throne. The revolt of
