Very difficult as it is to point to a date, at which Cobbett’s name will be forgotten--it is easy to understand why the popular estimate of the man, at the period of his death, still holds good, in the Anglo-Saxon breast: why his character, falling so far short of perfection, is still counted worthy of the lasting honour of Englishmen. For, his faults were the faults of his race: so often virtues in disguise. Coming from the pure Saxon peasant stock, he caused a healthful infusion of fresh blood into the spirit of his age, and so brought his fellow-countrymen to see, once more, the native energy, and pugnacity, and honesty of purpose, which had so often won the battle of freedom, now brought to bear upon new conditions and new circumstances. Thus it is, that the thoughtful and unbiased student looks upon Cobbett’s character and career. Full of faults, it is no incoherent jumble of a character, without principles and without light; but one having brave and high aims. A special lot in life; which must, by its very nature, bring upon the man some measure of contumely: in which a false step or two would count against him a thousandfold. A special career; pursued with a single eye, an honest purpose, and a persevering heart. A life, that needs no Apologist: but presenting a consistent story; worthy of all that has given us renown, and enabled us to dictate the principles of freedom to the whole world. The last uneventful years of Mr. Cobbett’s domestic life were spent, at least as far as the public demands upon his time would allow, among the scenes and the occupations which he loved so well: those of his earliest recollections. The garden at Kensington becoming too small for his ambitious seed-farming experiments, the well-known manor-farm of Barn Elm was occupied for three or four years. But, in the summer of 1832, this was relinquished; and Mr. Cobbett retired farther into Surrey, to a locality not many miles from his birthplace, in the adjoining parish of Ash. Normandy farm (contiguous to that of Wanborough, whence Mr. Birkbeck had departed for the golden west) lies in a lonely, unfrequented district, with a poor, wet soil; and it was one that required a great deal of money expended upon it. But it suited Cobbett’s seed-farming tastes:-- “I took a farm,” he says, in his characteristic way, “for several purposes: 1. To please myself, and to live at the end of my days, in those scenes in which I began them; 2. To make the life as long as nature, unthwarted by smoke and confinement, would let it be; 3. To make a complete Tullian farm; 4. To make a Locust coppice; 5. To raise garden seeds in the best possible manner.”