The first demand was for political enfranchisement. In 1832, in 1867, and in 1884 the franchise was extended, and every interest found a voice in Parliament. But, with the exception of the sharp struggle between the tenant and landlord after the Reform Act of 1867, the effects of enfranchisement on Wales have been very few. Two Acts alone have been passed as purely Welsh Acts—the Sunday Closing Act, and the Intermediate Education Act. In Parliament, the voice of Wales is weak even though unanimous; it can be outvoted by the capital or by four English provincial towns. Until quite recently its semi-independence—due to geography and past history—was looked upon as a source of weakness to the Empire rather than of strength. Its love for the past appeals to the one political party, its desire for progress to the other, but its distinctive ideals and its separate language are looked upon, at the very least, as political misfortunes. Education and justice have suffered from official want of toleration; the appointment of a County Court judge who could not speak Welsh, within living memory, has been justified by Government on the ground that Englishmen resident in Wales object to being tried by a Welsh judge. Far more important to Wales than the Reform Acts are the Local Government Acts which followed them. When the Reform Act of 1884 added the agricultural labourer to the electors of representatives in Parliament, every interest had a voice. A further extension of the franchise would not affect the balance of parties, it was thought; and a British Parliament has no time or desire to think of sentiment or theoretical perfection. The Parliament found it had too much to do, the multiplicity of interests made it impossible to pay effective attention to them. The result has been that half a century of extension of the franchise has been followed by half a century of extension of local government. The County Council Act came in 1888, and the Local Government Act in 1894. Of all parts of Britain, Wales had least local government, and needed most. Its justices of the peace were alien in religion, race, and sympathy; they were either country squires who had lost touch with the people, or English and Scotch capitalists who, with rare exceptions, took no trouble to understand the people they governed, or to learn their language. The vestry meeting had been active enough during the early part of the eighteenth century; but religious difficulties made it impossible for a semi-ecclesiastical institution to represent a parish. The Tudor policy had separated the people from the greater land-owners; the iron masters and coal-owners had not yet become part of the people; there was not a single institution except the Eisteddvod where all classes met.