Catholic loyalty, ☞ upon the subject of Government and Obedience, delivered in a SERMON before the King and Queen, in His Majesties Chapel at Whitehall, on the 13 of June, 1687, by the Revnd. Father Edward Scaraisbroke, priest of the Society of Jesus. Published by His Majesty’s Command. Sold by Raydal Taylor, near Stationers Hall, London.
Up to this time advertisements only appeared in threes and fours, and rarely, if ever, exceeded a dozen, in any newspaper of the day. They were generally stuck in the middle of the diminutive journal, but sometimes formed a tail-piece to it. They were confined in their character, and gave no evidence of belonging to a great commercial community. Now and then, it is true, sums of money were advertised as seeking investment; more constantly a truss for a “broken belly,” or an “excellent dentifrice,” appeared; or some city mansion of the nobility is advertised to let, showing the progress westward even then, as witness the following:—
The Earl of Berkeley’s House, with Garden and Stables in St. John’s Lane, not far from Smith Field, is to be Let or Sold for Building. Enquire of Mr. Prestworth, a corn chandler, near the said house, and you may know further.—London Gazette, August 17, 1685.
Here is an instance of the singular manner in which fire-insurances were conducted in that day:—
There having happened a fire on the 24th of the last month by which several houses of the friendly society were burned to the value of 965 pounds, these are to give notice to all persons of the said society that they are desired to pay at the office Faulcon Court in Fleet Street their several proportions of their said loss, which comes to five shillings and one penny for every hundred pounds insured, before the 12th of August next.—London Gazette, July 6th, 1685.
Sometimes it is a “flee-bitten grey mare” stolen out of “Mary-le-bone Park,” or a lost lottery-ticket, or a dog, that is inquired after; but they contained no hint that England possessed a commercial marine, or that she was destined to become a nation of shopkeepers. As yet, too, there was no sign given of that wonderful art of ingenious puffing which now exists, and which might lead a casual observer to imagine that the nation consisted of only two classes—cheats and dupes.
From the settlement of 1688 the true value of the advertisement appears to have dawned upon the public. The country evidently began to breathe freely, and with Dutch William and Protestant ascendancy, the peculiar character of the nation burst forth with extraordinary vigour. Enterprise of all kinds was called forth, and cast its image upon the advertising columns of the public journals, now greatly increased both in size and in numbers, no less than twenty-six having been set up within four years after the Revolution. It is observable, too, that from this political convulsion dates a certain rough humour, which, however latent, was not before expressed in the public papers, especially on matters political. Let us further elucidate our meaning by quoting the following from the New Observator of July 17, 1689, setting forth a popular and practical method of parading the Whig triumph:—
Orange cards, representing the late King’s reign and expedition of the Prince of Orange: viz. The Earl of Essex Murther, Dr. Otes Whipping, Defacing the Monument, My Lord Jeffries in the West hanging of Protestants, Magdalen College, Trial of the Bishops, Castle Maine at Rome, the Popish Midwife, A Jesuit Preaching against our Bible, Consecrated Smock, My Lord Chancellor at the Bed’s feet, Birth of the Prince of Wales, The Ordinaire Mass-house pulling down and burning by Captain Tom and his Mobile, Mortar pieces in the Tower, The Prince of Orange Landing, The Jesuits Scampering, Father Peter’s Transactions, The Fight at Reading, The Army going over to the Prince of Orange, Tyrconnel in Ireland, My Lord Chancellor in the Tower. With many other remarkable passages of the Times. To which is added the efigies of our Gracious K. William and Q. Mary, curiously illustrated and engraven in lively figures, done by the performers of the first Popish Plot Cards. Sold by Donnan Newman, the publisher and printer of the New Observator.
The editor of the New Observator was Bishop Burnet, and these political playing-cards were sold by his publisher; perhaps the great Protestant bishop knew something of their “performers.” In the year 1692 an experiment was made which clearly shows how just an estimate was getting abroad of the value of publicity in matters of business. A newspaper was set up, called “The City Mercury, published gratis for the Promotion of Trade,” which lasted for two years, and contained nothing but advertisements. The proprietor undertook to distribute a thousand copies per week to the then chief places of resort,—coffee houses, taverns, and bookshops. Even in these days of the “Times” double supplement such an experiment has often been made and failed; our wonder, therefore, is not that the City Mercury went to that limbo which is stored with such countless abortive journals, but that the interest felt in advertisements should, at that early period, have kept it alive so long.
If the foregoing scheme proves that an attempt was then made to subdivide the duties of a newspaper—that of keeping its readers informed of the news of the day, and of forming a means of publicity for the wants and losses of individuals—the advertisement we are about to quote clearly shows that at the same time there was a plan in existence for combining the printed newspaper with the more ancient written newsletter. It is well known that long after the institution of public journals the old profession of the newsletter-writer continued to flourish. We can easily account for this fact when we remember that during the heat of a great rebellion it was much more safe to write than to print the intelligence of the day. Many of these newsletters were written by strong partisans, and contained information which it was neither desirable nor safe that their opponents should see. They were passed on from hand to hand in secret, and often endorsed by each successive reader. We are told that the Cavaliers, when taken prisoners, have been known to eat their newsletters; and some of Prince Rupert’s, which had been intercepted, are still in existence, and bear dark-red stains, which testify to the desperate manner in which they were defended. It is pretty certain, however, that, as a profession, newsletter-writing began to decline after the Revolution; although we find the editor of the Evening Post, as late as the year 1709, reminding its readers that “there must be three or four pounds a year paid for written news.” At the same time the public journals, it is clear, had not performed that part of their office which was really more acceptable to the country reader than any other—the retailing the political and social chit-chat of the day. We have only to look into the public papers to convince ourselves how wofully they fell short in a department which must have been the staple of the news-writer. This want still being felt, John Salusbury devises a scheme to combine the old and the new plan after the following manner, as announced in the Flying Post of 1694:—