In 1873 the Gladstone Government, now drawing towards the close of its remarkable history, introduced a great measure of licensing reform, known at the time as Mr. Bruce's Bill. It was a wise and statesmanlike scheme, and if it had been carried it would have wrought a beneficent social revolution in this country. But the Government, in their attempt to deal in a practical way with the evils of our drink system, had to face not only the opposition of the unholy alliance of the pulpit and the beer-shop, but the hostility of the United Kingdom Alliance and its supporters throughout the country. It was from the friends of the Permissive Bill, rather than from the friends of the Tory party and the publicans, that the Government scheme received its death-blow. The fanatical opposition of extreme politicians had not proved fatal to Mr. Forster's Education Bill, and as a consequence we have had for thirty years a great national system of education at work in England, producing results of immeasurable value. But the fanatics did kill Mr. Bruce's Licensing Bill, and the thirty years that have followed have in consequence seen no amelioration of the greatest of our social evils. The _Leeds Mercury_ gave an uncompromising support to the Government proposals with regard to the licensing system, and I thus roused against myself the anger and ill-will of the adherents of the United Kingdom Alliance, who were no less bitter against me than were the extreme Radicals and Dissenters. I have no desire to fight my battles over again in these pages, but the reader will understand that the editor of a Liberal newspaper who was thus placed in a position of antagonism to more than one important section of his party had not an altogether happy lot. Yet I enjoyed it. I had my full measure of confidence in the soundness of my own opinions, that great characteristic of the young journalist, and in my many encounters with the foes of my own household I always tried not to come off second-best. The year 1873 was memorable to me in another and more personal sense. On the 26th of March I married again. My second wife, who, I am glad to say, still survives, was Miss Louisa Berry, of Headingley, Leeds. This union brought with it settled domestic happiness, and gave me once more what I needed--solace and sympathy under my own roof. Here perhaps, as I have touched upon private affairs, is the right place to speak about my children. The eldest, John Alexander, was born in London, and is the only child of my first marriage. The other two, my daughter Eleanor and my younger son Harold, were born at Headingley, during my later Leeds life. Surely nothing to a man immersed in public work can be more helpful than the loving devotion--it was never denied to me--of those who turn what would otherwise be a mere dwelling place into a home. CHAPTER IX. A NEW ERA IN PROVINCIAL JOURNALISM.