newspaper. The reason alleged for this measure was that political
pamphlets had so increased in number and virulence that the queen had
called the attention of Parliament to them, and had recommended it to
find a remedy equal to the mischief, and, in one of her messages, had
complained that 'by seditious papers and factious rumors, designing men
have been able to sink credit, and that the innocent have to suffer.' An
act was accordingly passed by which every printer was obliged to lodge
one copy of each number of his paper, within six days of its
publication, with a collector appointed for the purpose, and at the same
time to state the number of sheets, etc., under a penalty of £20 for
default. Country printers were allowed fourteen days instead of six.
This act, as may easily be imagined, spread confusion and dismay in all
directions. Half-penny and farthing newspapers fell at once before the
fierce onslaught of the red oppressor--a vegetable monstrosity, having
the rose, shamrock, and thistle growing on a single stalk, surmounted
by the royal crown. All the less important and second-rate journals
withered away before the deadly breath of the new edict, and a few only
of the best were enabled to continue by raising their price. Addison, in
the 445th number of the _Spectator_, July 31st, 1712, alludes to this
new tax as follows:

'This is the day on which many eminent authors will probably
publish their last words. I am afraid that few of our weekly
historians, who are men that, above all others, delight in war,
will be able to subsist under the weight of a stamp and an
approaching peace. A sheet of blank paper that must have this new
imprimatur clapped upon it before it is qualified to communicate
anything to the public, will make its way but very heavily.... A
facetious friend, who loves a pun, calls this present mortality
among authors 'the fall of the leaf.' I remember upon Mr. Baxter's