The _Journal_ overtly and even clamorously threw off subservience to the Colonial government. It followed the lead of the British papers that had already begun the battle for a free press, and carried the fight into the American arena. Many evil and stupid men had been sent to the New World as representatives of the crown, but until the Zenger era they were able to keep the press sufficiently in line. It was the misfortune of Colonel William Cosby, one of the worst and stupidest, to collide with a newspaper that would not give way. In charging Peter Zenger with seditious libel Cosby was acting in accordance with an old habit of the official mind. Until a few years previously, Colonial governors had been specifically commissioned to censor the press, and the tradition still held that journalists had no right to print anything of which the local executive disapproved. His discretion was the criterion, just as the king’s was in Britain. He could set down as “libelous” any report that caused him any uneasiness, and impugn it as tending to excite sedition among the governed. Thus the question of truth was beside the point when printers, publishers, editors, and writers were being prosecuted. Indeed, veracity might only aggravate the charge, for obviously unrest is most likely to follow from a story about stupidity or criminality in government if the news happens to be true. This thought gave rise to a whole theory epitomized in the legal tag, “The greater the truth, the greater the libel.” The journalist was caught coming and going—guilty if his story was false, even more guilty if it was true. Such a theory of seditious libel may sound paradoxical at first, but in fact it had behind it a strong logic based on history. When the British monarchy emerged as absolute during the reign of the Tudors, the relation of king and people was that of master and servants, a relation accepted by the nation almost without demur. Therefore, criticism of the king was illegitimate and _ipso facto_ criminal, and the truth of such criticism was at best inconsequential, at worst an exacerbation threatening to cause a breach of the peace. Hence: “The greater the truth, the greater the libel.” But the law could not stop there, for British politics went through a profound revolution during which Parliament wrested control of the government from the king, who slipped steadily downward into the role of servant to, rather than master of, his subjects. Parallel with this development went a progressive rise in the power of the popular will, one result of which was that criticism of king, ministry, and Parliament became transmuted into an integral part of the British system. Now the distinction was no longer between criticism and no criticism, but between valid criticism and invalid criticism; and one acid test was exactly the question of truth in the charges made. By the end of the eighteenth century the change was virtually complete.