Those in whom the appetite for news on which we have already commented
is very strong, must wonder how our forefathers existed without
newspapers; for so it happened that the lieges of these realms did get
on very well without them up to the days of the first of the Stuarts.
But although they had no printed newspapers, they could not and did not
do without news; conveyed orally in the form of gossip, or by means of
manuscript intelligencers. Friendly communications containing the gossip
of the town for the enlightenment of cousins in the country are as old
as pen and ink, and much older than paper; for many, still extant in the
British Museum, were written on vellum. By-and-bye, the writing of such
letters became a profession, and every country family of pretension
could boast of “our own correspondent.” These writers were generally
disbanded military officers, younger sons very much “about town,” and,
not unfrequently, clergymen. Shirley in his “Love Tricks” draws the
portrait of one of these antecedents of the present race of Editors.
“_Easparo._ I tell you, Sir, I have known a gentleman that has spent
the best part of a thousand pounds while he was prentice to the trade
in Holland, and out of three sheets of paper, which was his whole
stock, (the pen and ink-horn he borrowed,) he set up shop, and spent a
hundred pounds a year. It has been a great profession. Marry, most
commonly they are soldiers; a peace concluded is a great plague upon
them, and if the wars hold we shall have store of them. Oh, they are
men worthy of commendation. They speak in print.
“_Antonio._ Are they soldiers?
“_Eas._ Faith so they would be thought, though indeed they are but
mongrels, not worthy of that noble attribute. They are indeed
bastards, not sons of war and true soldiers, whose divine souls I
honour, yet they may be called great spirits too, for their valour is
invisible; these, I say, will write you a battle in any part of Europe
at an hour’s warning, and yet never set foot out of a tavern; describe
you towns, fortifications, leaders, the strength of the enemy, what
confederates, every day’s march. Not a soldier shall lose a hair, or
have a bullet fly between his arms, but he shall have a page to wait
on him in quarto. Nothing destroys them but want of a good memory, for
if they escape contradiction they may be chronicled.”
By the time James the First began to reign, this employment had so
completely moulded itself into a regular craft, that news-writers set up
offices and kept “emissaries,” or reporters, to bring them accounts of
what was going on in various parts of the metropolis. These reports were
sifted, collected, and arranged by the master of the office, or
“Register,” who acted as Editor. To Nathaniel Butter, a news-writer of
that period, was the British public indebted for the first printed
newspaper. Ben Jonson in his “Staple of News” gives a vivid picture of
Mr. Butter’s office before he took to printing.
_Enter Register and Nathaniel._
_Reg._ What, are those desks fit now? Set forth the table,
The carpet and the chair; where are the News
That were examined last? Have you filled them up?
_Nath._ Not yet, I had no time.
_Reg._ Are those News registered
That emissary Buz sent in last night,
Of Spinola and his eggs?
_Nath._ Yes, sir, and filed.
_Reg._ What are you now upon?
_Nath._ That our new emissary
Westminster gave us, of the golden heir.
_Reg._ Dispatch; that’s news indeed, and of importance.—
_Enter a Country-woman._
What would you have, good woman?
_Woman._ I would have, sir,
A groat’s-worth of any News, I care not what,
To carry down this Saturday to our vicar.
_Reg._ O! you are a butter-woman; ask Nathaniel,
The clerk there.
_Nath._ Sir, I tell her she must stay
Till emissary Exchange, or Paul’s send in,
And then I’ll fit her.
_Reg._ Do, good woman, have patience;
It is not now, as when the Captain lived;
You’ll blast the reputation of the office,
Now in the bud, if you dispatch these groats
So soon: let them attend in name of policy.
To have served his gaping customers too quickly, would have seemed as
though the News was _made_ instead of being collected; so thought the
Register.
Respecting the first English printed newspaper, the public have lain
under a mistake for nearly a century. Some ten years ago, however, Mr.
Thomas Watts of the British Museum exploded the long prevalent fallacy
that the “_English Mercurie_,” dated in 1588, was originally the
progenitor of modern journals. A copy of such a paper exists in the
Birch Collection; but it is a manifest forgery, the concoction of which
was traced to the second Lord Hardwicke. It pretends to give news from
the expedition against the Spanish Armada; but, besides a host of
blunders in dates, it is printed on paper made posterior to the date it
bears. The truth is that no periodically printed newspaper appeared till
thirty years after.
When the reign of James the First was drawing to a close; when Ben
Jonson was poet laureate, and the personal friends of Shakspeare were
lamenting his then recent death; when Cromwell was trading as a brewer
at Huntingdon; when Milton was a youth of sixteen, just trying his pen
at Latin verse, and Hampden a quiet country gentleman in
Buckinghamshire; London was solicited to patronise its first Newspaper.
There is now no reason to doubt that the puny ancestor of the myriads of
broad sheets of our time was published in the metropolis in 1622, and
that the most prominent of the ingenious speculators who offered the
novelty to the world was Nathaniel Butter. His companions in the work
appear to have been Nicholas Bourne, Thomas Archer, Nathaniel Newberry,
William Sheffard, Bartholomew Downes, and Edward Allde. All these
different names appear in the imprints of the early numbers of the first
Newspaper—THE WEEKLY NEWES.[1] This prime, original progenitor of the
acres of news which are now rolled out from the press failed, after many
lapses and struggles, chiefly occasioned by the Star Chamber. Its end
was untimely. The last number appeared on the 9th of January, 1640.
Could it have survived a little longer it might have run a long career,
for the incubus which smothered it was itself stifled—the Star Chamber
was abolished in 1641.
Footnote 1:
The Fourth Estate, by F. K. Hunt.
Butter’s print was succeeded by a host of “Mercuries,” but none of them
were long-lived. They were started for particular objects, to advocate
certain views, and sometimes to circulate the likeliest lies that could
be invented to serve the cause espoused. Each of these was laid down
when its mission was accomplished. During the civil war, nearly thirty
thousand journals, pamphlets, and papers were issued in this manner. In
the heat of hostilities, each army carried its printing-press as part of
its munitions of war. Leaden types were employed with as much rancour
and zeal as leaden bullets. These were often headed as News, such as
“Newes out of Worcestershire,” “Newes of a bloody battle,” fought at
such a place, &c. In 1662 a regular periodical, called the “Kingdom’s
Intelligencer,” was started, and in the following year the
“Intelligencer, published for the satisfaction and information of the
people,” was set up by Sir Roger L’Estrange.
All these were superseded by a journal, which has stood its ground so
well that the last number came out only yesterday. This was the “Oxford
Gazette,” set up in that city in 1665, and now known as the “London
Gazette.” For many years after the Restoration this was the only
newspaper; for the law restricted any man from publishing political news
without the consent of the Crown. Charles and James the Second withheld
that consent whenever it suited them, and put those who took “French
leave” into the pillory.
As a specimen of a newspaper, when these restrictions were abated, after
the flight of James the Second, we may instance the “Universal
Intelligencer.” It was small in size, and meagre in contents. It
appeared only twice a week, and consisted of two pages; that is to say,
one leaf of paper a little larger than the page on which the reader’s
eye now rests, and with hardly so much matter. The number for December
11, 1688, boasts two advertisements. A small paragraph amongst its News
describes the seizing of Judge Jefferies, in his attempt to escape from
the anger of his enemies. Besides this interesting morsel of
intelligence, the paper has sixteen lines of News from Ireland, and
eight lines from Scotland; whilst under its News of England, we have not
very much more. One of the items tells us, that “on the 7th inst. the
Prince of Orange supt at the Bear Inn, Hungerford.” There are other
headings, such as “Forrain News” and “Domestick News.” Each item of
intelligence is a mere skeleton—more in the nature of memoranda, or
notifications of events, than accounts of them. “Further particulars”
had not been invented then.
By Anne’s time, journalism had improved, and—when the victories of
Marlborough and Rooke, the political contests of Godolphin and
Bolingbroke, and the writings of Addison, Pope, Prior, Congreve, Steele,
and Swift, created a mental activity in the nation which could not wait
from week to week for its News—the first daily paper was started. This
was the Daily Courant, which came out in 1709. Other such journals
followed; but three years afterwards, they received a severe check by
the imposition of the Stamp Duty. “All Grub Street,” wrote Swift to
Stella, “is ruined by the Stamp Act.” On the 7th of August, 1712, he
writes:—
“Do you know that Grub Street is dead and gone last week? No more
ghosts or murders now for love or money. I plied it pretty close the
last fortnight, and published at least seven penny papers of my own,
besides some of other people’s, but now every single half-sheet pays a
halfpenny to the Queen. The ‘Observator’ is fallen; the ‘Medleys’ are
jumbled together with the ‘Flying Post;’ the ‘Examiner’ is deadly
sick; the ‘Spectator’ keeps up, and doubles its price; I know not how
long it will hold. Have you seen the red stamp the papers are marked
with? Methinks it is worth a halfpenny the stamping.”
Grub Street was not, however, so easily put down; and from that time to
the days of Dr. Johnson, newspapers had considerably increased in number
and influence. In the Idler the Doctor says:—“No species of literary men
has lately been so much multiplied as the writers of News. Not many
years ago, the nation was content with one Gazette, but now we have not
only in the metropolis Papers for every morning and every evening, but
almost every large town has its weekly historian, who regularly
circulates his periodical intelligence, and fills the villagers of his
district with conjectures on the events of war, and with debates on the
true interests of Europe.”
In Dr. Johnson’s day, the newspaper press was fairly set upon its legs,
and it has gone on with some few vicissitudes to its present condition.
As illustrations of the antecedents of the modern newspaper, we now
purpose giving, at random, a few curious extracts from the earliest of
them.
The Daily Courant, dated March 1, 1711, contains the following
announcement of a publication which is still read with delight, and
which was destined to play an important part in the reform of the coarse
social manners of the time. It runs thus:—
“_This day is Published_,
“A paper entitled THE SPECTATOR, which will be continued every day.
Printed for James Buckley, at the Dolphin in Little Britain, and sold
by A. Baldwin, in Warwick Lane.”
In the first number thus announced, which was written by Addison, the
Spectator says:—“As my friends have engaged me to stand in the front,
those who have a mind to correspond with me may direct their letters to
Mr. Buckley’s, in Little Britain.”
Hogarth never painted a more graphic picture of a horseman of the last
century than that drawn in the Postman of Saturday, August 10, 1710. It
is presented in the form of a hue and cry after a stolen horse.
“A Full Face, Round shoulder Middle sized Man, with a light Bob Goat’s
Hair Wig, a snuff-coloured Secretary Drugget coat, the trimming the
same colour, 2 waistcoats, one of Black cloath, the other blue,
trimmed with silver lace, Black cloath breeches, a Mourning Hatband,
wears a cane with a silver Head, made to screw at the top, a seafaring
man, stammering in his speech, his name William Tunbridge but goes by
the name of William Richardson, rode away from 7 Oaks in Kent the 20th
of July last, with a Sorrel Horse full 14 hands high, a star in his
forehead, white feet behind, high mettled, loth to have his hind feet
taken up, Bob Tail, a black saddle stitched with silver, Tan Leather
stirrup Leathers with a slit crupper buckled on the saddle with 2
buckles. Whoever gives notice of man or horse to Mr. Adams, Postmaster
of Seven Oaks, shall have a guinea reward and reasonable charges.”
The Daily Courant of Thursday, March 15, 1711, puts forth the
announcement of a performance at the Haymarket Theatre, “on the 1st of
April,” to which the Bottle Conjuror’s promised feat must sink into a
mere common occurrence. A gentleman was to sup off several children “to
the music of kettledrums.” The same advertisement appeared in the
Spectator on the day after, namely, Friday, March 16:—
“On the first of April will be performed at the play house in the Hay
Market an Opera called the Cruelty of Atræus. N. B. The scene wherein
Thyestes eats his own children is to be performed by the famous Mr.
Psalmanazaar, lately arrived from Formosa, the whole supper being set
to kettle drums.”
Scattered through the journals of 1712 are advertisements of a patent
medicine, which has not wholly ceased to be imbibed by the ailing of
1850. The Spectator of April 18th has it thus:—
“Daffy’s famous Elixir Salutis prepared by Catherine Daffy, the finest
now exposed for sale, prepared from the best drugs and the original
receipt which my Father Mr. Thomas Daffy having experienced the
virtues of it imparted it to Mr. Anthony Daffy who published the same
to his own great advantage. This very original receipt is now in my
possession, left me by my father under his own bond. My brother Mr.
Daniel Daffy, late apothecary in Nottingham, made this Elixir from the
same receipt and sold it there during his life. Those who know me will
believe me, and those who do not know me may be convinced I am no
counterfeit by the colour, taste, smell and just operation of my
Elixir. Sold at the Hand and Pen, Maiden-lane, Covent Garden, London,
and in many other places in Town and Country.”
Mist’s weekly journal of Saturday, March 6th, 1725, contains an artful
paragraph most likely emanating from a despairing author whose play had
not succeeded:—
“Mrs. Graspall, who has been our customer two years, desires us to
inform the masters of Drury Lane playhouse, that if they please to
play the comedy, called _A Wife to be Let_, within ten days, they will
oblige her and a great many of the quality to whom she has
communicated her design.”
We find by subsequent numbers that Mrs. Graspall’s request was not
complied with.
There is an anecdote of historical interest in the St. James’s Evening
Post of Sept. 17th, 1734. It relates to the Chevalier St. George,
afterwards the rash but chivalric “Pretender” to the British throne. It
appears that when the Spaniards made the Conquest of Italy, and were
sailing for Sicily, the Chevalier was on board one of their ships with
the young King of Naples, the latter, doubtless, a prisoner;—
“When the fleet set sail,” says the ‘special correspondent,’ “a blast
of wind blew the young Chevalier St. George’s hat off his head into
the sea. Immediately there were several officious enough to endeavour
to take it up; but the young Chevalier called out, _Let it alone, let
it alone; I will go and get another in England_. Whereupon the young
King of Naples threw his hat into the sea, and said, _and I will go
along with you_. But they may happen to go bare-headed a long time; if
they get no hats till they come amongst you: for we are well assured
that they will find none in England that will fit their heads.”
The designs of young Charles Edward must have been deeply rooted to have
been entertained so early—for he was then only fourteen years old—and so
long before they were fulfilled. At the end of his ’45 adventures, he
did indeed go bare-headed for months without a hat or a roof to cover
him.
The Daily Post of Thursday, August 17th, 1738, must be a priceless
treasure in the eye of the collector for two remarkable paragraphs with
which it is enriched. On one of them was founded the most pathetic and
popular of Scott’s novels—The Heart of Mid-Lothian. The story of the
girl “of a fine soul,” even as told by the paragraphist is touching. The
communication is dated “Edinburgh, August 20th, 1738.”
“Isabel Walker, under sentence of death at Dumfries for child-murder,
has actually got a remission. This unhappy creature was destitute of
friends, and had none to apply for her but an only sister, a girl of a
fine soul, that overlooked the improbability of success, helpless and
alone went to London to address the Great, and solicit so well (_sic_)
that she got for her, first, a reprieve, and now a remission. Such
another instance of onerous friendship can scarce be shown; it well
deserved the attention of the greatest who could not but admire the
virtue, and on that account engage in her cause.”
The other paragraph records the death of Joe Miller, posthumous sponsor
of the most profitable jest book ever published. He was as innocent of
it as of any one of the jokes; the collection—having been benevolently
made by his friend Jack Mottley for the benefit of Miller’s
widow—eventually proved to be the best benefit ever known in the
theatrical world. The obituary is brief but complimentary:—
“Yesterday morning died Jo: Miller, Comedian, of merry memory. Very
few of his profession have gained more applause on the stage, and few
have acted off it with so much approbation from their neighbours.”
The London Daily Post (there were three “Posts” in those days) of the
same date gives more information on the mournful subject. It says:—
“Yesterday morning died of Pleurisy, Mr. Joseph Miller, a celebrated
Comedian belonging to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane; much admired
for his performances in general, but particularly in the character of
Teague, in _The Committee, or the Faithful Irishman_.”
The papers from which this _mélange_ of extracts has been culled are
pigmies beside the present race of Giants. There is about as much matter
in a single modern London morning newspaper as was contained in a year’s
contents of the Postman, before it had two leaves. To present the
contrast between to-day’s monsters of the press and their antecedents
the more forcibly, we shall conclude with an extract from a paper
recently read by Mr. E. Cowper at the Institution of Civil Engineers,
relative to the _Times_:—
“On the 7th of May, 1850, the _Times_ and _Supplement_ contained 72
columns, or 17,500 lines, made up of upwards of a million pieces of
type, of which matter about two-fifths were written, composed, and
corrected after seven o’clock in the evening. The _Supplement_ was
sent to press at 7 50 P. M., the first form of the paper at 4 15 A.
M.; and the second form at 4 45 A. M.; on this occasion, 7000 papers
were published before 6 15 A. M., 21,000 papers before 7 30 A. M., and
34,000 before 8 45 A. M., or in about four hours. The greatest number
of copies ever printed in one day was 54,000, and the greatest
quantity of printing in one day’s publication was on the 1st of March,
1848, when the paper used weighed 7 tons, the weight usually required
being 4½ tons; the surface to be printed every night, including the
Supplement, was 30 acres; the weight of the fount of type in constant
use was 7 tons; and 110 compositors and 25 pressmen were constantly
employed.”
At the beginning of the reign of Queen Anne, we question whether so many
operatives as are now required, with the help of its extraordinary
machinery, to produce the “Times,” found employment on the whole then
existing newspaper press.