So, upon his return home, Mr. Cobbett was not welcomed by his spiritual adviser; who even went so far as to refuse the keys of the belfry to those persons who, just then, were so desirous of adding all they could to the clamour of rejoicing.
The Rev. Mr. Baker is a character, in his way. There are some sad stories of him in Cobbett’s Register, which the reader may discover, if his tastes lie in that direction. How he was horsewhipped in the public street,—how he actually professed disbelief in Revelation, while declining to meet the consequences of a public admission of the same,—how he cheated at market, and so on.[1]
There were many such characters in the Church in those deadened days, who, when they entered into the lively election contests of the time, would lead the way of violence. Your political parson could be a famous “rough,” when opportunity served.
So Mr. Cobbett had made another set of enemies—the very set, too, who, if they had given themselves a moment’s opportunity for consideration, would have discovered that he, of all public men, was the one who could serve their cause the best. Instead of that, numbers of the clergy started up as anti-Cobbettites, writing useless tracts on “disaffection,” or meeting him at public gatherings, and trying to shout him down. And this sort of thing lasted as long as Cobbett lived; the clergy never made friends with him again; there were far too many idle shepherds, who thought their interest must suffer if a misguided populace had all that it asked; and who, consequently, resisted Reform with all their might and main.
The country squires were dreading, too, the possible effects of Mr. Cobbett’s vigorous writings.
His influence amongst the middle-classes was increasing; and the artisans and labourers were beginning to club together to buy the Register; readers were more numerous than ever.[2] But the landed interest could not, or would not, understand him. The farmer could not see the identity of interest which properly existed between himself and his labourers; and the man who preached this theme was, of course, not to be trusted when dealing with other topics. He told them that ruin was impending; that, immediately upon a cessation of the war, prices would go down, and the consequences would be disastrous. There was no chance of escape, but by immediate Reform, by which means there should be a searching reduction in the public expenditure. The poor-rates were now nearly eight millions. Government annuitants were swelling their numbers with every year of war; dignitaries of state had higher salaries, and courtiers larger pensions; army-contractors and stock-jobbers were swallowing up the wealth of the country, and elbowing out the squires.
So, when the Corn Bill was proposed, Mr. Cobbett was standing alone again, or very nearly alone.[3] In vain did he point out that it would tend to keep up the high price of food, which was already driving the able-bodied out of the country; that the principal reason for keeping up high prices was, that the land might continue to pay the exorbitant taxes, and so continue to support a multitude of idlers. The Corn Bill became law; peace was signed, but plenty came not along with it; and the farmers straightway fell to pieces, dragging all the industry of the country along with them.
During these three or four years (1812-1816), there was more revolution in personal property in England, than there had been seen, in the same space of time, since the Restoration. The terrible load which weighed upon the people may be judged of by the fact that Cobbett was paying, the year after the war, several hundred pounds in direct and indirect taxes. It is not difficult, then, to understand how intolerable would be the burden upon the land, for people whose only resource was the land; and all the more so, that inflated prosperity had engendered improvidence. Tea, coffee, wine, spirits, and other exciseable articles had taken the place of beer on the tables of the farmers; their wives and daughters had found sofas, carpets, and parlour-bells necessary to existence. A generation had grown up which must needs send its butter and eggs to market, instead of carrying them; silk stockings had usurped those of worsted; the fashions were finding their way into the farm-houses. So, in a little while, the poor farmers were breaking stones on the highway by hundreds.
But, if the LAND did not, as yet, understand Mr. Cobbett, the Workshop did. Very soon after he came out of prison, he drew the attention of his readers to the ominous disturbance at Nottingham, on the part of the Luddites. The change which had come over the people—that they should break machinery, disturb the peace, and refuse to sing “God save the King”—was ominous indeed. But how did this come to pass? Not all at once: these things (he pointed out) had been growing up by degrees. Disloyalty and misgovernment ever went hand in hand. The people were beginning to see that the governing classes were occupied, as much as any traders, in looking exclusively after their own interests, and the interests of their adherents.