Reeves is perhaps a little too keen to show that Mill was not the dry-as-dust Victorian pedant of popular imagination. It is true that he was arrested for distributing very explicit birth-control pamphlets at the age of 17; even so, he was hardly a laugh a minute and, if he was a firebrand, it was in a very cerebral way — rather like his godson. Mill did have a short period from 1865 until 1868 when he, somewhat unwillingly, served as a Radical-Liberal MP. This period was notable for his opposition to detention without trial for Irish Fenian rebels. Later he was one of the leaders of the campaign against Governor Eyre who suppressed a revolt in Jamaica with quite unnecessary brutality, but who was supported by such pillars of the literary establishment as Carlyle and Ruskin. He spent a large part of his last years at his country home in Provence; but this did not stop him taking a pioneering role in the campaign for female enfranchisement.

Mill’s reputation depended in part on two heavyweight volumes he wrote in the 1840s, one on logic and the other on political economy, which were pored over by people such as miners in pursuit of self-education. While hardly anyone would recommend them as introductions to their subjects today, they raise issues which are still very much with us. For instance Mill did not share the modern preoccupation with economic growth. He looked forward to the ‘stationary state’ in which all opportunities for profitable investment had been exhausted and people did not have to elbow each other aside in the race for material wealth — rather as Keynes did in his 1930 Economic Possibilities for our Grandchildren. It would take us too far afield to discuss why this nirvana is constantly being postponed. But to say the least Mill would have had no patience with the army of financial analysts who treat it as a tragedy if output does not rise by the expected annualised 2 or 3 per cent for a couple of quarters.

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