ere taking place in political affairs at home
which were full of importance to the coming time. William Pitt had
taken office; not, indeed, an office important enough for his genius,
but still one which gave him an opportunity of making his power felt.
The King still detested him; all the more, perhaps, because it was now
becoming more and more evident that the King would have to reckon with
him as Prime-minister before very long. The stately form of Pitt was,
indeed, already throwing a gigantic shadow before it. Henry Fox, too,
was beginning to show himself an administrator and a debater, and, it
may be added, a political intriguer, of all but consummate ability.
Murray was beginning to be recognized as a great advocate, and even a
great man. Lyttelton was still making brilliant way in politics, but
was even yet hovering somewhat uncertain between politics and
literature, destined in the end to become another illustration of the
career marred for both fields by the effort to work in both fields. On
the other hand, Chesterfield had given up office. He had had a dispute
with his colleagues when he was strongly in favor of making a peace,
and they would not have it, and he left them to go their own way. He
refused the title of duke which the King offered him. He withdrew for
the remainder of his years to private life, saying: "I have been behind
the scenes both of pleasure and business; I have seen all the coarse
pulleys and dirty ropes which exhibit and move all the gaudy machines;
and I have seen and smelt the tallow candles which illuminate the whole
{275} decoration to the astonishment and admiration of the ignorant
multitude." He seldom spoke in Parliament afterwards; he was growing
deaf and weary. In 1751 he broke silence, and with success, when he
delivered his celebrated speech on the reform of the calendar. He was
"coached," as we should say now, by two able mathematicians, the Earl
of Macclesfield and Mr. Bradley. The ignorant portion of the public
were greatly excited by what they considered the loss of eleven days,
and were strongly opposed to the whole scheme. Years later, when Mr.
Bradley was sinking under mortal disease, many people ascribed his
sufferings to a judgment from Heaven for having taken part in that
"impious undertaking."

The "impious undertaking" was a very needed scientific reform in the
calendar, which had long before been adopted in some other countries.
Julius Caesar was the f