“When I returned to England, in 1800, after an absence from the country parts of it of sixteen years, the trees, the hedges, even the parks and woods, seemed so small! It made me laugh to hear little gutters, that I could jump over, called rivers! The Thames was but a creek! But when, in about a month after my arrival in London, I went to Farnham, the place of my birth, what was my surprise! Everything was become so pitifully small! I had to cross in my post-chaise the long and dreary heath of Bagshot; then, at the end of it, to mount a hill, called Hungry Hill; and from that hill I knew that I should look down into the beautiful and fertile vale of Farnham. My heart fluttered with impatience, mixed with a sort of fear, to see all the scenes of my childhood; for I had learnt, before, the death of my father and mother. There is a hill, not far from the town, called Crooksbury Hill, which rises up out of a flat, in the form of a cone, and is planted with Scotch fir-trees. Here I used to take the eggs and young ones of crows and magpies. This hill was a famous object in the neighbourhood. It served as the superlative degree of height. ‘As high as Crooksbury Hill’ meant, with us, the utmost degree of height. Therefore, the first object that my eyes sought was this hill. I could not believe my eyes! Literally speaking, I, for a moment, thought the famous hill removed, and a little heap put in its stead; for I had seen, in New Brunswick, a single rock, or hill of solid rock, ten times as big, and four or five times as high! The post-boy going down hill, and not a bad road, whisked me in a few minutes to the Bush Inn, from the garden of which I could see the prodigious sand-hill where I had begun my gardening works. What a nothing! But now came rushing into my mind, all at once, my pretty little garden, my little blue smock-frock, my little nailed shoes, my pretty pigeons that I used to feed out of my hands, the last kind words and tears of my gentle and tender-hearted and affectionate mother. I hastened back into the room. If I had looked a moment longer, I should have dropped. When I came to reflect, what a change! I looked down at my dress—what a change! What scenes I had gone through! How altered my state! I had dined the day before at a Secretary of State’s in company with Mr. Pitt, and had been waited upon by men in gaudy liveries! I had had nobody to assist me in the world—no teachers of any sort—nobody to shelter me from the consequences of bad, and no one to counsel me to good, behaviour. I felt proud. The distinctions of rank, birth, and wealth, all become nothing in my eyes; and from that moment (less than a month after my arrival in England) I resolved never to bend before them.”
The determination to start a daily paper was wise on the part of Mr. Cobbett, as far as his experience in Philadelphia had shown how possible it was for him to entertain a large circle of readers; but unwise, in that he had scarce capital enough with which to print the numbers for a single week. Yet the opportunity for carrying out his plan without risk was placed at his disposal; and there are few incidents in Cobbett’s whole career which redound so greatly to his credit as the refusal of this offer. The pride with which, in after-years, he told and retold the story, may be estimated very differently by different minds; but the spirit with which the refusal was made is unexceptionable. There was no other way out of it, if he meant Independence. If glimpses of grandeur had really not contaminated that honest heart, nor weakened the impulses of that patriotic soul, how should he live, and move, and work, and fight, with his hands not free?
And this is the story [he is addressing Mr. George Rose]:—
“John Heriot was at that time the proprietor of two newspapers, called the Sun and the True Briton—the former an evening and the latter a morning paper. I had heard that these two papers had been set on foot by you, who were then one of the Secretaries of the Treasury, and that, when set on foot, the profits of them had been given to Heriot. Now mark, that Mr. Hammond, who was then Under-Secretary of State in the Foreign Department, offered to me the proprietorship of one of those papers as a gift; and I remember very well that he told me that this offer was made in consequence of a communication with you, or your colleague Mr. Long, I forget which. This was no trifling offer. The very types, presses, &c., were worth a considerable sum. Mr. Hammond, who was a very honest as well as a very zealous and able man, had behaved with great kindness to me; had invited me frequently to his house, where I dined, I recollect, with Sir William Scott, with Lord Hawkesbury (now Lord Liverpool), and several other persons of rank; and, in short, had shown me so much attention, that I felt great reluctance in giving the following answer to his offer:—‘I am very much obliged to you, and to the gentlemen of whom you speak, for this offer; but, though I am very poor, my desire is to render the greatest possible service to my country, and I am convinced that, by keeping myself wholly free, and relying upon my own means, I shall be able to give the Government much more efficient support than if any species of dependence could be traced to me. At the same time, I do not wish to cast blame on those who are thus dependent; and I do not wish to be thought too conceited and too confident of my own powers and judgment to decline any advice that you, or any one in office, may at any time be good enough to offer me; and I shall always be thankful to you for any intelligence or information that any of you may be pleased to give me.’ Mr Hammond did not appear at all surprised at my answer; and I shall always respect him for what he said upon hearing it. His words were nearly these:—‘Well, I must say that I think you take the honourable course, and I most sincerely wish it may also be the profitable one.’ I ought not, upon this occasion, to omit to say that I always understood that Lord Grenville, who was then Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, was not one of those who approved of the baseness and dependence of the press.”
He also ventured to remind Mr. Hammond
“of the fable of the wolf and the mastiff, the latter of which, having one night, when loose, rambled into a wood, met the former all gaunt and shagged, and said to him, ‘Why do you lead this sort of life? See how fat and sleek I am! Come home with me and live as I do, dividing your time between eating and sleeping.’ The ragged friend having accepted the kind offer, they then trotted on together till they got out of the wood, when the wolf, assisted by the light of the moon, the beams of which had been intercepted by the trees, spied a crease, a little mark, round the neck of the mastiff. ‘What is your fancy,’ said he, ‘for making that mark round your neck?’ ‘Oh!’ said the other, ‘it is only the mark of my collar that my master ties me up with.’ ‘Ties you up!’ exclaimed the wolf, stopping short at the same time; ‘give me my ragged hair, my gaunt belly, and my freedom;’—and, so saying, he trotted back to the wood.”
Opportunities for reflecting upon the comparative states of dependence and independence crowded apace. He could scarcely turn, among his new circle of friends, without discovering some new Government parasite, some new candidate for ministerial favour, some new office-hunter or aspiring sinecurist. Mr. Pitt disdained the society of newspaper-people, but was only too willing to pay them for their praises. And it must not be left unnoticed that the practice of liberally rewarding this class of writers has often been justified by circumstances. The case in point, viz. the fight which was going on against democracy, required that the enemy should be fought with his own weapons; only it very unfortunately happened that all the talent was on the other side, and, where quality was lacking, the fight must needs be kept up with the aid of gold and silver. Mr. Cobbett would, indeed, have been worth buying, if his price could have been named; while there was a Paine, or a Thelwall, or a Godwin to be withstood.
The following brilliant and humorous passage of Cobbett’s, written in his old age, will complete our illustration of this topic:—
“At the time of my return, the great Government writers and political agents were John Reeves, who had been chairman of the Loyal Association against Republicans and Levellers; John Bowles; John Gifford; William Gifford; Sir Frederick Morton Eden, Bart.; the Reverend Mr. Ireland, now Dean of Westminster; the Reverend John Brand; the Reverend Herbert Marsh, now Bishop of Peterborough; Mallet Du Pan; Sir Francis D’Ivernois; and Nicholas Vansittart. These were all pamphlet-writers, supporting Pitt and the war through thick and thin. They, looking upon me as a fellow-labourer, had all sent their pamphlets to me at Philadelphia; and all of them, except Marsh, Vansittart, and the two Frenchmen, had written to me laudatory letters. All but the parsons called themselves ’Squires in the title-pages of their pamphlets. Look at me now! I had been bred up with a smock-frock upon my back; that frock I had exchanged for a soldier’s coat; I had been out of England almost the whole of my time from the age of [twenty]. We used to give in those times the name of ’Squire to none but gentlemen of great landed estates, keeping their carriages, hounds, and so forth: look at me, then, in whose mind my boyish idea of a ’Squire had been carried about the world with me: look at me, I say, with letters from four ’Squires and from Reverends on my table; and wonder not that my head was half turned! Only think of me (who, just about twelve years before, was clumping about with nailed shoes on my feet, and with a smock-frock on my back) being in literary correspondence with four ’Squires, two Reverends, and a Baronet! Look at me, and wonder that I did not lose my senses! And if I had remained in America, God knows what might have happened.
“Luckily I came to England, and that steadied my head pretty quickly. To my utter astonishment and confusion, I found all my ’Squires and Reverends, and my Baronet too—all, in one way or other, dependents on the Government, and, out of the public purse, profiting from their pamphlets. John Reeves, Esquire, who was a barrister, but never practised, I found joint patentee of the office of King’s Printer—a sinecure worth, to him, about 4000l. a year, which he had got for thirty years, just then begun. John Bowles, Esquire, (also a briefless barrister) I found a Commissioner of Dutch Property; and the public recollect the emoluments of that office, as exposed in 1809. John Gifford, Esquire, I found a Police Magistrate, with a pension of 300l. a year besides. William Gifford, Esquire, I found sharing the profits of Canning’s anti-Jacobin newspaper (set up and paid for by the Treasury), and with a sinecure of 329l. a year besides. My Baronet I found with rent-free apartments in Hampton Court Palace, and with what else I have forgotten. My Reverend John Brand I found with the living of St. George, Southwark, given him by Lord Loughborough (then Chancellor), he already having a living in Suffolk. My Reverend Ireland I found with the living of Croydon, or the expectancy of it, and also found that he was looking steadily at old Lord Liverpool. The Reverend Herbert Marsh I found a pension-hunter, and he soon succeeded to the tune of 514l. a year. Mallet Du Pan I found dead, but I found that he had been a pensioner, and I found his widow a pensioner, and his son in one of the public offices. And Nicholas Vansittart, Esquire, who had written a pamphlet to prove that the war had enriched the nation, I found, O God! a Commissioner of Scotch Herrings! Hey, dear! as the Lancashire men say; I thought it would have broken my heart!
“Of all these men, Reeves and William Gifford were the only ones of talent—the former a really learned lawyer, and, politics aside, as good a man as ever lived—a clever man; a head as clear as spring water; considerate, mild, humane; made by nature to be an English judge. I did not break with him on account of politics. We said nothing about them for years. I always had the greatest regard for him; and there he now is in the grave, leaving, the newspapers say, two hundred thousand pounds, without hardly a soul knowing that there ever was such a man! The fate of William Gifford was much about the same: both lived and died bachelors; both left large sums of money; both spent their lives in upholding measures which, in their hearts, they abhorred, and in eulogizing men whom, in their hearts, they despised; and, in spite of their literary labours, the only chance that they have of being remembered, for even ten years to come, is this notice of them from a pen that both most anxiously wished to silence many years ago. Amongst the first things that Reeves ever said to me was: ‘I tell you what, Cobbett, we have only two ways here; we must either kiss,—or kick them; and you must make your choice at once.’ I resolved to kick. William Gifford had more asperity in his temper, and was less resigned. He despised Pitt and Canning and the whole crew; but he loved ease, was timid; he was their slave all his life, and all his life had to endure a conflict between his pecuniary interest and his conscience.
“As to the rest of my ’Squires and other dignified pamphleteers, they were a low, talentless, place-and-pension-hunting crew; and I was so disgusted with the discoveries that I had made, that I trembled at the thought of falling into the ranks with them. Love of ease was not in me; the very idea of becoming rich had never entered into my mind; and my horror at the thought of selling my talents for money, and of plundering the country with the help of the means that God had given me wherewith to assist in supporting its character, filled me with horror not to be expressed.”
[1] The Right Hon. George Rose, M.P., a Government official, and one of the luckiest sinecurists of his day. His “success” in life aroused, alternately, the ridicule and the wrath of his cotemporaries:—
“George Rose, Esq., Secretary to the Treasury, &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c.”—Mathias: “Pursuits of Literature.”
“Greedy:—George Rose’s moderation, and not satisfied.”—Pigott’s “Political Dictionary” (1796).
“Who in his lifetime held situations worth 10,000l. per annum, and whose family, it has been calculated, received in principal and interest, nearly two millions of the public money.”—“Black Book; or Corruption Unmasked” (1820).
Mr. Rose was, nevertheless, one of the best public servants this country ever possessed.
[2] “Council dinner: Hammond, Canning, Frere, Malone; Cobbett, alias ‘Peter Porcupine,’ whom I saw for the first time; Pitt, and George Ellis; Canning’s cousin.”—“Diary of the Right Hon. William Windham” (Longmans, 1866), p. 430.
[3] The total population, at the same time, being less than eleven millions.
Mr. Cobbett’s facile pen could not remain completely at rest, whilst the project of a newspaper was yet only in the bud. On the 30th August he issued a sixth (and final) number of the Rushlight, wherein he reviewed the circumstances of his career, and the tenor of his writings in the United States. This fugitive number is not only very temperate in style, but elegant, unless exception be taken to its strong anti-gallican spirit; calling, as it does, upon the Americans to shun “all connexion with that den of monsters, France.” With reference to his own war-whoop, he says,—
“I studied the interests of my country. To make the name of Englishmen a friendly sound, to recommend an imitation of our Government, our fashions, our propensities, and finally to make them pay a tribute to England, through the medium of her manufactures, was the object nearest my heart.”
At last, in the course of the ensuing month, an advertisement appeared of the projected newspaper; and the public were invited to ask for a prospectus at the house of William Cobbett, at No. 18, Pall Mall. It was to be called The Porcupine, and to appear every morning at the office, No. 3, Southampton Street, Strand.
The prospectus of the Porcupine was on the lines of anti-Republicanism. The editor confessed that it was with the utmost astonishment and indignation that he found a portion of the press endeavouring to bring down upon his native country the calamity and disgrace attendant on revolution; still preaching fanaticism and infidelity, and “still bawling for that change which they have the audacity to denominate Reform.” It was not for him to fold his hands and tamely listen to the insolent eulogists of republican governments, who had seen republican officers of state offering to sell their country for a few thousand dollars, who had seen republican judges become felons, and felons become judges, &c., &c. The paper should be distinctly anti-gallican:—
“The intrigues of the French, the servile, the insidious, the insinuating French, shall be an object of my constant attention. Whether at war or at peace with us, they still dread the power, envy the happiness, and thirst for the ruin of England.… Had they the means, they would exterminate us to the last man; they would snatch the crutch from our parents, the cradle from our children; and our happy country itself would they sink beneath those waves on which they now flee from the thunder of our cannon.… While we retain one drop of true British blood in our veins, we never shall shake hands with this perfidious and sanguinary race, much less shall we make a compromise with their monkey-like manners and tiger-like principles.”
The Porcupine would also resist the mischievous portion of the press, and pay much less regard to the feelings and interests of fanatical and factious booksellers than to the cause of religion and loyalty. The editor held it to be the duty of men in power to employ the pen, as well as the sword, in defence of Government, yet,—
“The peculiar circumstances, under which I now come forward, demand from me an explicit and solemn assertion of my INDEPENDENCE. My undertaking is my own; it was begun without the aid, without the advice, and even without the knowledge, of any person either directly or indirectly connected with the ministry; if, therefore, I hope to yield some trifling support to that ministry, it is not because I have received, or ever shall receive, any gratification at their hands; but because I am most sincerely persuaded that, next to the virtues of His Majesty and the general loyalty of his subjects, this country owes its preservation to the wisdom and integrity of Mr. Pitt and his colleagues.”
But all this should never make the Porcupine “the blind instrument of party, the trumpet of indiscriminate applause.” The prospectus concluded with further references to the writer’s long-continued solicitude for the happiness and glory of England.
The first number of the Porcupine appeared on Thursday, Oct. 30th, and the price was 6d. It bore the motto—Fear God, Honour the King. The proprietor had received five columns of advertisements, notwithstanding a previous announcement that the “obscene and filthy boastings of quackery” would, on no consideration whatever, be admitted. So the paper had a very fair start. In the third week, the early numbers were being reprinted; and on the 9th December, the circulation had reached 1500. Also,—
“The Porcupine cannot boast of being seen in the numerous pot-houses of this metropolis: but we have the superior advantage of being generally read by persons of property, rank, and respectability.”
This was probably the case, for the Anti-Jacobin Review condescended to back up Mr. Cobbett thus:—
“… A daily paper, under the title of the Porcupine, has been most deservedly admitted as a desirable appendix at the breakfasting-table of every true friend to their king, to their country, and to decency.”
Mr. Pitt’s resignation of office, early in 1801, although ostensibly caused by his difference with the king upon the Catholic question, had for its object, more probably, the substitution of a minister who could consistently negotiate with Buonaparte. This was suspected by many; and it appeared conclusive, upon the almost incredible announcement that Mr. Addington was to take the helm of affairs. That arch-mediocrity, owing his promotion entirely to royal favour, had filled the Speaker’s chair with tolerable credit, but was without any of the gifts entitling him to rank among statesmen; and, until it was discovered that Mr. Pitt was still chief wire-puller, the nation could hardly credit the appointment; and, as far as can now be judged, it was the beginning of a more widely-spread distrust of Pitt.
The Porcupine had consistently praised the “heaven-born” minister, and continued to do so, more or less, during its whole career. It began to diverge in opinion on the day of the above announcement. It was high time “for all true Englishmen to rally round the Throne,” for the granting of the proposed concessions to the Catholics “would undermine and finally overthrow,” &c., &c., according to the long-buried tenets of High-Toryism. A few weeks afterward, some sarcasm, directed toward Pitt’s paper-financing, appeared, but was disavowed next day by the editor, who had not seen the paragraph before it appeared in print, and who continued to entertain, “in common with a vast majority of the nation, the highest opinion of that gentleman’s talents as a financier.” Upon a report that Mr. Pitt was intending [July] to sell Holwood, he remarked that “we shall ever continue to think that to suffer a man, who has rendered such services to his country in particular, and to Europe in general, to feel the consequences arising from a confined income, is to incur a national disgrace.” But, by the end of the year, Mr. Cobbett was in opposition, along with the new party under Mr. Windham’s leadership.
Before dismissing the Porcupine newspaper, the reader will be entertained with a few characteristic illustrations. The editor very early began to display his pugnacity toward the opposition press. Not that he was singular, but that he excelled all his cotemporaries in the art of hitting straight when attacked. The newspapers of that day were largely occupied in throwing dirt at one another,[1] and one column was often taken up by a string of paragraphs, containing laboured sarcasms directed toward public men or the other public prints. The True Briton was especially industrious in this way. But here is Porcupine:—
“The Detector.—Under this title, it is our intention to devote a column or two of our paper, once a week at least, to the detecting and exposing of the ignorance, perverseness, and falsehood of the Jacobinical and stock-jobbing prints, which, to the great scandal and reproach of the nation, are not only tolerated, but read. From our experience, acquired in a country where the spirit of Jacobinism is, if possible, still more daring and violent than in England, we are convinced that, to succeed in a warfare such as we have commenced, defensive measures will not do,” &c.
“The Times calls the Chronicle the ‘leading print of Opposition,’ which compliment the Chronicle returns by styling the Times the ‘leading print of Government.’… What can entitle them to the epithet ‘leading,’ we are at a loss to discover, except it be their superiority in point of turpitude … if falsehood and hypocrisy admit of degrees of comparison, we are rather disposed to give the Times the scandalous pre-eminence.”
“The Morning Chronicle was yesterday seized with the horrors,” &c.
“To Correspondents.—Nimrod is surprised that we should have condescended to notice the Oracle, and advises us to pursue a nobler game; but he should do us the justice to recollect that, when game are not to be found, sportsmen sometimes amuse themselves by destroying vermin.”
“Ignorance and perversity: For these two amiable qualities the Morning Post and the Times are eminently distinguished.”
(The Observer): “The occupation of this print is to scrape together the orts of the week, and hash them up,” &c.
“The Monthly Magazine, a periodical miscellany, which we have already mentioned with due abhorrence.”
“The Morning Herald, in the delirious enjoyment of its puns and conundrums.”
“Profound Morning Post! poor innocent! what does it know of the existing differences between this country and America? No more, we dare engage, than do the footmen and chambermaids who read its conundrums with such delight.… We would indeed earnestly recommend the Morning Post to avoid politics altogether. Its company will always be welcome in the kitchen, and sometimes in the nursery.”
The Porcupine had the smaller difficulties to contend with; as when several country subscribers complained of “other papers being foisted on them;” and “the flagrant imposition of some of the hawkers in Wimpole Street, who have charged eightpence for the Porcupine.” In fact, there was a little too much communicability on the part of the editor toward his correspondents, at the same time that correspondents were permitted to be very plain-spoken. One of them suggested that satire would be more keen if conveyed in the most polished language: he thought that “the comparison, some days ago, of the dog returning to his vomit, or any ideas or expressions bearing upon coarseness, offend the more refined inhabitants of this kingdom.”
In inviting correspondence for his paper, Mr. Cobbett adopted a course which is not usually taken, viz. that of requesting that communications be not accompanied with the real name of the author. He was, besides, much plagued with unpaid letters—a circumstance which he had often to complain of both before and after this period. Some of his correspondents were people of real distinction, among them being Lord Grenville, who wrote letters under the name of Sulpicius. Jeremy Bentham, also, contributed a long article upon the projected Population Bill; which appears in the Porcupine of Dec. 1st, 1800, and is reprinted in Bentham’s collected writings.
Toward the close of the Porcupine’s career, the negotiations for peace came to a conclusion, and that paper stood almost alone in opposition. The perilous task of boldly attacking the First Consul was pursued:—
“We request our readers to observe that henceforth we shall be very particular in what we say about the most illustrious sovereign, Consul Buonaparte. Oh, how we shall extol him! We shall endeavour to give our readers the earliest information when he rises, breakfasts, dines, sups, and spits.”
And, as all this was in direct violation of the popular feeling of the moment, a catastrophe occurred which, in all probability, contributed to bring the Porcupine and Anti-gallican Monitor to an untimely end. Mr. Cobbett was repeatedly urged to bend before the blast, but that was not in him.
The story appears to be this. Lauriston, the bearer of the despatches containing the preliminaries of peace, received an ovation from the mob, immediately upon his landing. On his reaching London, “a vile, degraded rabble, miscalled Britons, took the horses out of the carriage,” and dragged the vehicle round the parks and the West-end in triumph.
The Porcupine was horrified: this was all in the French style, and the nation was prostrate at the feet of Buonaparte. But, among all reflecting politicians, the peace was derided; and, several persons declining to light up their windows in token of rejoicing, had the mortification of seeing them broken. On the 7th October, all the windows on the east side of Berkeley Square were damaged; and Bond Street and the neighbourhood displayed similar evidences of popular displeasure. On Saturday, the 10th, a general illumination took place; and there were few who dared to run the risk of being counter to that displeasure. Among those few, however, was the publisher of the Porcupine, who had in the morning’s paper reiterated his objections to the proposed treaty; and now, in the evening, resolutely kept the windows in darkness, both of the house in Pall Mall, and of that in Southampton Street. Of course, both houses were sacked, the cheerful rabble keeping up a siege of six or seven hours’ duration,—the person in charge, at the newspaper office, narrowly escaping with his life.
There was a great demand for this Saturday’s paper. On Monday, however, the editor was “under the necessity of apprising his readers that the publication of the Porcupine must cease until the ‘delirium of joy’ shall have subsided.” This interregnum lasted two days. On Thursday commenced the publication of a series of letters, addressed to Lord Hawkesbury, “on the peace with Buonaparte.” They were signed William Cobbett, and continued to appear at intervals until the 4th of November.
But the Porcupine was doomed. In spite of an increasing circulation, the paper was a financial failure; it was interfering with the bookselling business in Pall Mall, and the proprietor was getting dissatisfied with the annoyances entailed upon him. “He who has been the proprietor of a daily paper for only one month wants no Romish priest to describe to him the torments of purgatory.” So, in the course of November, the paper became the property of Mr. John Gifford; and on the 1st of January, 1802, it finally disappeared, being merged in Heriot’s paper, the True Briton.
The “Letters to Lord Hawkesbury” have been highly extolled, and not without reason, for they contain arguments against the peace of Amiens, which were very shortly after their publication completely justified by events. The “Letters” were immediately collected into a volume (together with three letters to Mr. Addington on the same topic), and ran through more than one edition. And the historian of the period, when that genius arrives among us, will regard them as classic writings, as well for their eloquence as for the clearness and cogency of their reasoning.
Among the personal matters of this year must be mentioned the opening of Mr Cobbett’s shop in Pall Mall. On the 23rd of March, a notification was made in the Porcupine to the effect that Mr. Cobbett had
“formed a partnership with Mr. John Morgan, late of Philadelphia, to whom he has been long attached by a friendship founded on a concurrence of political principles, and on a similarity of conduct at a time when few Englishmen were to be found loyal and bold enough openly to defend the character of their king and country.”
This was accompanied by an advertisement of the new business,[2] and another announcing the forthcoming publication of Porcupine’s works in 12 vols. 8vo.
The re-crystallization of parties, which took place in consequence of the proposed peace, drew together a band of gentlemen under the leadership of Lord Grenville and Mr. Windham. This clique was known as the “New Opposition;” and they became separated from their former colleagues on the ground that Mr. Pitt had violated his solemn declaration not to make peace with France until the political balance of Europe should be restored.
Mr. Cobbett, then, believing in his heart that England was falling into the grasp of France, and that the nation, besides, was in great peril on account of the increase of the national debt, found himself in the ranks of this new opposition party—not as a party man, however, but solely from his own independent standpoint. They believed in his sincerity, they applauded his wonderful courage and the fine power of his pen, but did not exercise any dictation. They “agreed, and sometimes disagreed, but never attempted to thwart” the course of his mind.[3]
The need for a new organ in the press was manifest; and the project of a weekly review—“something between a newspaper and a magazine,” which should give easy instruction on political topics, not only to the multitude, but also to those who lead the multitude—was submitted by Cobbett to Mr. Windham.
“Such a publication,” (he continues) “conducted with great diligence and care, some talent, unwearied perseverance, and an inviolable attachment to truth, will, if anything can, awaken the dormant spirit of the nation, and form a rallying-point for the now scattered friends of the king and the country.”
The scheme will require 600l. to start it with. But he has already sunk too much in the Porcupine, and he cannot draw any considerable sum from the new promising partnership with Morgan. How the money is to be raised it is not for him to say; yet, should a subscription be set on foot, his own emolument must not be regarded as the object:—
“I disclaim all desire to derive pecuniary advantage from the proposed undertaking, and all idea of personal obligation towards any one who may think proper to contribute towards it. I ask for nothing for myself. I myself want neither remuneration for the past nor aid for the future; I have a business quite sufficient to satisfy all my wants and all my wishes; I ask not for encouragement even in that business. Its success is so certain, and so perfectly independent of every one in England, that I might, without the least injury thereto, shut up my shop, and retire to the country, only taking a ride to London twice a week.… Self-interest was never a pecuniary consideration with me; and I have so long exerted myself for my king and country—I have endeavoured to do, and have really suffered, so much for them, in almost every way that a man can act or suffer, that to desire to promote their interest and their honour is become the leading propensity of my mind. I am, therefore, willing—I am even anxiously desirous—to conduct the publication now proposed; but that desire, great as it is, will not suffer me to do, or to accept of, anything that shall in the smallest degree work a forfeiture of that independence—to preserve which I have all my lifetime practised, and I still do practise, industry and economy to their utmost extent.”
This plan was communicated to Dr. Laurence, and to several other gentlemen of the new opposition, by Mr. Windham. It was warmly adopted; the money was immediately raised, and the new journal started. The first number appeared in January, 1802, and bore the title of “Cobbett’s Political Register.”
[1] A practice which lasted, however, until a recent generation; e.g. see the following tit-bits from the Times of July 26th, 1838:—Of the Morning Post—“this kitchen-stuff journal;” “this cockney out of livery;” “flippant and foolish as its brother blockheads.” And of the Courier—“that abject slave and unprincipled tool of the Ministers.” The Post is also said to “proceed the entire swine,” &c.
[2] “Cobbett and Morgan, Booksellers and Stationers, at the Crown and Mitre, Pall Mall, having commenced business under the patronage of their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales, the Dukes of Clarence, Kent, and Cumberland, and Prince Augustus, beg leave to express a hope that by their earnest and constant endeavours to render their undertaking not altogether unworthy of the protection of their Royal Patrons, they shall not fail to obtain some degree of encouragement from the nobility and gentry, and the public in general,” &c., &c.
[3] A squib of the time (from the Morning Post, reproduced in Spirit of the Journals, 1802) illustrates this topic and the influence which Mr. Cobbett then had with the Windham party:—
“Plan of the Campaign. From our Head-quarters in Pall Mall, April 1, 1802.—General Orders.—The army to be formed into two divisions; the first, commanded in person by General L——d G——e, to occupy the heights; the other, under the orders of Lieut.-General W——m, to attack the enemy in his lower position. The ground to be taken by either division to be previously marked out by Quartermaster-General Cobbett. A copy to be given to each officer, to whom the command of a column may be entrusted; the Quartermaster-General’s advice to be taken, and studiously observed in every operation,” &c., &c.
William Cobbett was now in his fortieth year,[1] in the prime of life, blessed with unfailing health, unimpaired talents, and habits of industry, and a sturdy sense of his independence. At this beginning of the year 1802, he could command anything he chose—not the least matter being the ear of thousands of ready listeners. It is very easy to understand and account for the immediate success of the Political Register. The plan had long been in Cobbett’s mind. It partook of the qualities of his Philadelphia Censor, joined to those of a weekly newspaper: parliamentary debates, public official documents, foreign intelligence, weekly prices-current, and diary of the weather, &c., along with the editor’s summary of politics, made up such a journal as was wanted—not only for periodical instruction, but that might furnish a ready means of reference. As projected and as carried out for the first two years, the Register was far in advance of anything that had been hitherto attempted. About three hundred subscribers were found, to start with, the price being 10d. per number, fortnightly. But the two numbers for January were so far successful, that February 6th saw the commencement of a weekly issue.
From this date until June, 1835 (excepting a break of three months, April-June, 1817), the famous Register appeared uninterruptedly. Its form changed from time to time; but its valiant, its unconquerable editor was the ruling spirit and the chief contributor during the long period of thirty-three years. Its readers, its patrons, its friends, its enemies, its own views upon public characters, its own assertions as to the tendency of events, its own beliefs—all changed from time to time. But, with the vicissitudes amid which its intrepid career was run, there was one principle underlying the whole—one foundation from which it was never removed. That was a strong conservative attachment to the constitution of the country, allied to deep affection for its people—sentiments which were never more necessary to be proclaimed than during the hideous misgovernment of the first quarter of this century, and sentiments which were never more constantly proclaimed than through the lips, or by the pen, of William Cobbett. The reader may, in the course of this entertaining history, be able to satisfy himself how true—how very true—is this standpoint.
Meanwhile, let us take a few soundings at the outset; let us see what bottom the lead brings up; steering will then be an affair of confidence—such perplexities as do arise depending mainly upon the conditions of wind and storm, tide and current, and not upon unknown conditions existing beneath the waters. Here, then:—
[1802] “The throne on which God has placed our Sovereign, and our own prosperity, freedom, and public happiness, which have no other basis but that throne, are our first and greatest care.…”
[1817] “A thousand times over have I said that we wanted nothing new. I say so still. We want the laws of England. We want no innovation. We want to destroy neither Kings, Nobles, nor Church. We want the laws of England, and the laws of England we will have.”
[1820] “My principles, then, are as follows:—I hold that it is the duty of us all to do our utmost to uphold a Government in King, Lords, and Commons. That, as to religion, opinions ought to be left as God has made them in our minds, perfectly free, and that persecution on account of religious opinions is of the worst and most wicked kind. That no man ought to be taxed but by his own consent, agreeably to the law of the land. That elections ought to be free.… That the affairs of the nation ought to be so managed that every sober and industrious and healthy man ought, out of his own wages, to be able to support himself, wife, and family, in a comfortable and decent manner.… That it is the weight of taxes which produces all the miseries which this nation now suffers.… That the Debt and other fixed expenses are a mortgage on the labour of every man, woman, and child, in the country.… That, unless a great change speedily take place, this nation will become feeble and contemptible as well as enslaved; and that its capital will be conveyed away to enrich and to give power to rival nations.”
[1833] “I hold that this, which we have here, is the best sort of Government in the world.”
At the commencement of the year 1802, that party represented by Mr. Windham and his friends honestly believed that England was at the feet of Buonaparte; and, so strongly did they urge their opinions, that the advocates of peace were beginning to talk again of war, “should it be found necessary,” even before the definitive treaty arrived in London, in April. Mr. Cobbett’s view was that we were “a beaten and a conquered people;” that John Bull was only a spaniel after all. Not that “Boney” was so much to be feared, as the spirit of the French Republic, which was sapping the foundations of English loyalty. Anti-Gallicanism seemed dying out. Noble sentiments were being overpowered by effeminacy, cant, and the love of money. Loyalty had become “a matter of expedience rather than what it used to be—a principle of equal force with filial affection or the love of life.”
But Mr. Addington and his ministry are pledged to peace, and peace must be tried, if only to expose its inutility. So, while the ministerial papers blow peace-bubbles, and leave off, for a while, calling “Boney” wicked names, Mr. Cobbett sighs to think how the paths of glory do indeed lead but to the grave: for England is approaching her final doom.
The first-fruit of all this is ruffianism in the shape of newspaper abuse and of mob-tyranny. For the time being, Mr. Cobbett is the most unpopular man in London, and he knows it—and he defies it:—