The early-mid 19th century was a tumultous time for Scottish politics. The cessation of the Napoleonic Wars saw a working-class push in Scotland for recognition, representation, and rights. This exhbition, composed of entries created by Zac Cash as part of his 2023 Undergraduate Research Project, aims to map this era of discontent and change, contributing to and complementing the wider movement of European Radicalism that the 'Barricades' website is centred around. In the summer of 2023 he visited archives and historical sites in Edinburgh, Glasgow, and London to uncover manuscripts and other artefacts pertaining to Scottish Radical politics. The blogs contained within this exhibition are the result of this research.  These posts explore a wide variety of aspects within the Scottish Radical movement in this period, including the diary of weaver and 1820 'Radical Rising' participant John MacKinnon, the visit of King George IV to Scotland in 1822, and the 'Martyrs' Monument' on Calton Hill.

William Tait, the recipient of James Browne’s letter in 1835, founded Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine in 1832, claiming that “there is a demand at this time for a magazine of liberal principles, of independent spirit… bringing out the sympathies of mankind” . A strong supporter of the Whig party and a member of the Edinburgh Citizens’ Society that provided hospitality to prominent Radical figures such as Daniel O’Connell, Tait was deeply sympathetic towards the push for reform; that his magazine was founded in the same year that saw the passing of the landmark 1832 Great Reform Act was no coincidence. The attached essay to Browne’s letter, entitled ‘the Spirit of the Time’ which “traces a fitful, tempestuous half-century of political liberalization from American Independence to the present Reform crisis” , was first published within the April edition of Tait’s 1832 series, and the original article was more extensive that Browne’s extract (likely because Browne’s excerpt was crammed onto one side of parchment!). Browne copied up to the penultimate line of the fourth page of the article (“perfidy, too, did its part”), therefore covering the American War of Independence, the French Revolution and Europe’s reaction to it, and Napoleon’s rise to power and his subsequent fall from grace. The article continues past Browne’s extract by stating that although “rivers of blood had apparently been poured out in vain” over the Napoleonic Wars, these sacrifices were not fruitless but rather saw that the monarchy could never be “re-constituted on its ancient principles; aristocracy received a blow from which it could never recover… and the abominably iniquitous principle of primogeniture… [was] forever abrogated” . This new order asserted its legacy, since “the generation which grew up in the course of its progress became unconsciously the inheritors of its principles… persons who are… resolute to maintain and defend all the great interests its created” . The piece also comments on the suicide of Viscount Castlereagh, announcing that although through his work the “old Bourbon incubus” was restored in France, his death saw the demise of “the system of Pitt… [and the] Holy Alliance” , before finally subsequently turning to the July Revolution of 1830. The Revolution established the July Monarchy of Louis Philippe I, who promised to follow a characteristically centrist juste milieu (‘happy medium’) form of rule. This is something that Tait’s clearly supported within the early 1830s, expressing “confidence in our present rulers” , especially since the House of Lords was characteristically hostile to the passing of the 1832 Reform Act, in opposition to what the article deemed to be the “united wishes of the King, the Commons, and the people” . Tait’s was conceived as a “Radical riposte” to Blackwood’s Magazine, a Tory-supporting publication which itself was borne out of a need to counter the Whiggish Edinburgh Review. This appears to be best illustrated through articles such as that which focuses on Manchester, a place which, the piece professes, “the public are very imperfectly acquainted” . Within this case study, the author charts the anti-Radical sentiment of the city in the late 18th century, with the people “all staunch Church-and-King men, who took great delight in hunting through the streets, hooting and abusing any poor reformer of that day” , as well as the tussles that occurred within the early 19th century between the Conservative and Radicals (or, as the article somewhat sarcastically labels them, the “respectables” and the “disaffected”). The piece also covers the Peterloo Massacre of August 1819 and the public reformist meetings that were arranged upon the success of the 1830 July Revolution in France . One particularly interesting additional inclusion within the article, however, is that it despite it clearly carrying pro-reformist messages the piece explicitly condemns Radicalism as a movement. For instance, when discussing the political parties of Manchester, they deem the Radicals to be “led by imprudent and violent individuals, and have done much to being political public meetings into disrepute” . I find this especially significant because of the nature of Tait’s as a Radical publication; it seems odd that a magazine that endorses Radical politics would permit the inclusion of an article that so evidently criticises the makeup of the movement and their impact. This decision may have been made for several reasons. Firstly, although the article does not favour Radicalism in terms of its composition, it is clearly sympathetic to the reformist agenda and thus correlates largely with the aims of Radicalism as a movement; Tait may have overlooked this short passage in favour of the wider message. Secondly, Tait may have actively distinguished between working-class Radicals and their representatives in Parliament. Radical MPs could not have been credibly labelled as “imprudent or violent individuals”, and so the editorial position of the magazine could have been to support Radicalism as a political ideology advocated within Parliament by elected officials, but to distance themselves from its working-class body. I find this interpretation not to be particularly convincing though, not least because the distinction between Radical MPs and their working-class constituents/supporters was not always tidy; Scottish Radical MP Joseph Hume, (who, with the support of Tait, established the Calton Martyrs Monument beginning in 1837) was a proponent of militant Radicalism through his early support of the London Working Men’s Association, alongside his formation of the Radical Constitutional newspaper in 1836 . Thirdly, it is possible that Tait allowed its inclusion for tactical benefit on two fronts, both of which pertain to Tait’s readership; although he was an “independent radical” , Tait was also explicit in his desire for his magazine not to express allegiance to any one political party. Tait may have seen the article’s slander on the Manchester Radicals as motivation to prove wrong their assumptions on those with Radical beliefs and consequently inspire, rather than diminish, the Radical cause (this may have been left to the individual in terms of what their reaction consisted of – namely, either to reject the labels of imprudence and violence and pursue their Radical beliefs through a more moderate methodology, or to proudly adopt such branding and wield it within their struggle). In tandem, although the piece lambasts Radicalism, it is much more glowing in its assessment of Liberalism. Since the readership of Tait’s also consisted of a large number of Whig and Liberal Party supporters, the decision to retain this passage of the article could have been made in a bid to reconcile the makeup of the various pro-reformist parties together and unite them in a common front against the Tories. This is especially pertinent since the Lichfield House Compact, which had been passed in the same year, was an agreement made by the Radicals and the Irish Repeal Party to act as one political body against Tory opposition. Tait may have been trying to employ a similar tactic through his retention of this article. Notable contributors to the magazine included John Stuart-Mill, Thomas Caryle, Sir Edwin Chadwick and Sir William Molesworth . But although the magazine clearly encouraged writers both Scottish and otherwise to contribute, Odile Boucher Rivalain in article ‘Reviewing Radical Poetry in Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine and The Westminster Review in the 1830s and 1840s’ observes that Tait’s could not deny its inherent Scottishness. This may have “irritated” the young Radicals who had associated themselves with the early Westminster Review but became disillusioned with it after it fell into financial difficulties in 1828 and was eventually sold to another interested party. This in turn prompted the formation of the London Review, which was financially backed by Molesworth . As Rivalain’s piece explicates, the establishment of the London Review enabled reviews of ‘Radical Poetry’ to come to the forefront, which had been previously ignored by its predecessor . Through the publication of seminal articles, Tait’s “had already drawn the focus of the public to this type of poetry” . But although Tait’s was the “champion” of Radical Poetry within the 1830s, the London Review also made a distinct effort to prioritise literature that “[awakened] man’s moral conscience… and [motivated] him to adopt a responsible attitude and play an active part in society” . Tait’s combined with Johnstone's Edinburgh Magazine in 1834, a publication initiated by John and Christian Isobel Johnstone which itself was founded in 1832, in light of the developments surrounding the Great Reform Act. James Bertram, in his Some Memories of Books, Authors, and Events, labels Mrs Johnstone as the “working genius” of the magazine, who “passed judgement on the articles offered and… [contributed] both in fiction and criticism” . Johnstone, in keeping with the progressive stance of Tait’s, was also an early feminist, and it was rumoured that although her husband had agreed with William Blackwood (the owner of the politically conservative Blackwood’s Magazine) to engage in a joint venture to buy the copyright of the Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle, the agreement was eventually called off because of their contrasting political opinions . Other corollaries that occurred as a result of the merger of Johnstone’s and Tait’s were a reduction in price to the magazine, as keeping with the wishes of the Johnstones that it could be available to as wide a sect of the public as possible, alongside the significant fact that Mrs Johnstone became “the first woman to serve as paid editor of a major Victorian periodical” . Lastly, it is worth mentioning that in the same year that Johnstone became editor of the magazine, Tait’s was also intimately involved with accusations made by Peter MacKenzie to Alexander Richmond. As discussed in my post on Richmond, MacKenzie attacked Richmond on various charges, such as but not limited to the claims that Richmond fabricated the entire plot and that he specifically acted as an agent provocateur. Tait’s published the last of MacKenzie’s books – namely The Exposure of the Spy System - outlining these accusations; Richmond in return “raised an action against Tait’s London booksellers, Simpson and Marshall” , but Richmond was nonsuited in the trial, and hence the defence was successful .

King George IV visited Scotland from the 12th-29th of August 1822. Two years prior, the country had seen a Radical uprising, the figureheads of which demanded various reforms and supposedly the ultimate establishment of a Provisional Government. King George’s visit brought about two standout effects. Firstly, at least from the documents I examined, there appeared to be a resurgence of loyalist sentiment, in contrast to the dissenting climate that imbued Central Scotland in the onset of the 1820s. Yet simultaneously (and not necessarily paradoxically), there was also a more definitive sense of national identity that began to emerge as a result of the King’s visit. I recognise that my research on King George’s visit is inherently lopsided because of the nature of the sources that I viewed. These were largely letters sent by Scottish universities that were addressed to the King upon his arrival in Scotland. Although they evidently reflect loyalist passion towards the Crown, this is not necessarily representative of the true breadth of such a feeling. University provosts and those in similar forms of office likely remained sympathetic to the Crown throughout the Radical developments post-1815 and thus are unable to reflect the full extent of loyalist emotion felt by the Scottish people at this time. However, I do not think that this completely undermines their views expressed within their respective letters and, indeed, warrants a greater focus on what they say. The very fact that those in the high echelons of Scottish society – such as university masters – were able to express their deep allegiance to the Crown and shore it up as a prevailing rather than diminishing institution underscores that the King’s visit was placed in a highly significant time of tussle between separatist and loyalist factions. Hence, although I did not examine sources that remained true to Radicalism and continued to propagate a sectarian line of thought, the abundance and availability of pro-Crown sources symbolises a conscious (and successful) push for a change in perspective. The eventual complete failure of post-Waterloo Radical campaigns presented those in government and in positions of high societal power with an opportunity to swing the momentum in their favour; through the royal visit, loyalist rhetoric was more easily and less-divisively disseminated than it had been previously. In turn, although discordant voices certainly remained, loyalism had at least established a foothold in the Scottish political arena after the summer of 1822. Both the Universities of Glasgow and Edinburgh drafted and issued letters addressed to the King in anticipation of his visit. Interestingly, both seem to be rather similar in terms of their content (and also mimic other forms of literature produced for the royal visit), suggesting that they were intentionally standardised prior to their distribution through official guidelines or by corresponding with each other. For instance, they both emphasise the importance of “the moral and intellectual cultivation of the people” which they claim to be “the most solid basis of a nation’s prosperity” . Glasgow in particular recognizes the responsibility that they purport to possess as a university – namely, that they must instill into the minds of the youth “those principles which shall lead [them] to support the Constitution, adorn the literature and advance the prosperity of their country” – thus exhorting the value of loyalism to their students. Moreover, both schools express their “strongest feelings of national pride and gratitude” and “devoted loyalty and attachment” towards King George, alongside the “most gratifying proofs of the advantages” that Scotland derives from being under British monarchical rule. This final aspect of their addresses hints at a related effect of the King’s visit. Not only did his tour of Scotland evoke loyalist sentiment, but it also elicited reflections of national pride that were tied up not with movements of independence but a feeling of Scotland as a participant within the wider conglomerate of the United Kingdom unified by the monarchy. This sense of the Scottish nation as a coalescent body with the monarchy is reflected in other documents regarding the occasion; for example, the Highland Society of Scotland issued a letter addressed to the King upon his arrival and speaks on behalf of all Scottish people to assure King George of their “unalterable loyalty” and “faithful attachment” . The remarks of the Highland Society are significant for two reasons. Firstly, not only did it begin as a society in reaction to an inherently Scottish issue – namely the subsistence crises of the early 1780s – but, unlike the university addresses which spoke for a small minority of high-ranking officials, the Highland Society also represented a diverse (and evolving) range of Scottish inhabitants and their interests. For instance, although one of its main objectives was the “preservation of the language, poetry and music of the Highlands” , this was something to be accessible and relatable to the entire Scottish nation, with them holding a show in Edinburgh a matter of months after the King’s visit in which sixty to seventy-five breeds of Highland cattle were displayed . Moreover, by 1834 it had changed its name to ‘The Highland and Agricultural Society of Scotland’ as it had moved away from promoting the sole concerns of the Highlanders and instead focused on agricultural matters that pertained more to the nation as a whole. Hence, by acting on the behalf of an ever-growing body of people, the loyalist remarks of the Highland Society underscore this affinity between Scottish national identity and the monarchy. Secondly, the assertions of the Highland Society also connect to the Highlands as a marker of cultural representation and a body of national significance. Their comments hold additional weighting because of the choice made by the organiser of the royal visit, Walter Scott (who, perhaps not coincidentally, was an active member of the Society) to include various manifestations of tartan throughout the occasion. Perhaps most famous of these was the inclusion of tartan kilts, with David Wilkie’s official portrait of the King (commissioned specially for the royal visit) displaying the King adorned not just with a tartan kilt but in full Highland dress. Wilkie’s depiction of King George thus exemplifies how tartan in turn became less of a solely ‘Highlandised’ feature and instead was adopted as an emblem of national identity. But this cultural evolution of symbols such as tartan and kilts was not something that merely occurred within the reign of King George IV but was indeed catalysed by the King himself. The unification of the Highlands and Lowlands through their shared acceptance and celebration of previously culturally-guarded markers such as tartan was only possible by monarchical intervention, therefore reinforcing the sense of Scotland as a country intrinsically and necessarily connected with a higher power.

I came across the Monthly Repository while researching Harriet Taylor Mill. Her husband, JS Mill, wrote for the magazine, and so I thought it would be interesting to examine some of its publications. Although not a Scottish periodical, it revealed various links with the Scottish reformist movement, alongside echoing a clearly sympathetic line with regards to the wider Radical developments that occurred during its lifespan between 1806-1838. Spanning thirty-two years of publication, I could not realistically read every issue from every year. Thus, I decided to focus on a small selection of the magazine’s output – namely, April 1820, April 1829 and June 1832. I chose these dates because they coincided with notable progressive events: the ‘Radical War’ of 1820, Catholic Emancipation in 1829 and the passing of the Great Reform Act (and its Scottish equivalent) in 1832. Not every article that I uncovered within each issue was related, at least directly, to the connected event of that month. However, there almost always was some correlation between the entry and the event, with some links being more tenuous than others. The issue in April 1820 sees an interesting entry, dated 5th of April, dedicated to wishing King George IV well after a “short but dangerous illness which seized him almost immediately after his accession to the throne” . The article subsequently contains a prayer for the King’s health, upon which a selection of remarks regarding the poem were taken from an “Evangelical church magazine” for inclusion into the article. It is clear that these remarks (and the article in general) are much more religiously-oriented than politically-minded. For instance, they express concern that the use of the word “severest” within the prayer is inappropriate, since they assert that “we ought not… to speak of any of [God’s] dispensations towards his creatures as ‘severe’” . Moreover, the remarks further object that whole sentence which contains the word acts as a “oblique panegyric on the King for his trust in God… than a direct thanksgiving to God himself” . However, this is not to say that the entry never crosses into the political sphere. Firstly, the most glaring political connotation of this article is that it was written at the same time as the Radical War of 1820. Of course, a piece about the King’s health was clearly necessary during a time when it was threatened. Yet, it cannot be abstracted from the political context and therefore was surely not entirely coincidental that it was included at a time when in the north of the Kingdom, subjects were pushing to supposedly establish a ‘provisional government’. Furthermore, the lines between the religious and the political are blurred somewhat as one of the remarks declares that “a still greater defect… is that [the prayer] only prays to God to accept his Majesty’s thanks; not a word is said of the nation joining them” . The remarker clearly finds it abominable that we “pray God to accept the thanks of the King as if we had no concern in him ourselves” . Hence, the objection is stuffed with loyalist connotations; from their perspective, the King’s subjects should not merely be passive, but active and supportive, in such monarchical affairs. Additionally, in the same way that an objection is made regarding the appropriate use of language when referring to God within the prayer, they posit that “’our sovereign lord the King’ is a phrase so much oftener heard at the bar than in the reading-desk… surely it is an offence against… his loving subjects to repeat such a form of words as this misguided Thanksgiving” . What I do find intriguing is how an article that seems to be so abjectly staunch in its support of the King was permitted to feature within a magazine as politically radical as the Repository. This may have been because the article adopted a more religious than political angle. Indeed, anything political, such as the expectation that the nation prays for the health of the King, is evidently subsumed within the religious. Interrelatedly, at least from the perspective of both the Evangelical magazine and the Repository, there may not have been anything political about the expectation of national monarchical support. Although an anti-loyalist stance was being adopted in some areas of Scotland during this time, overtly criticising the monarchy as an institution or even demanding its abolition would not have been a widely-shared position within broader Radical circles, despite shared agreement on other socio-economic issues. Nonetheless, it remains significant that, aside from the fact that the magazine ran an article that evoked such stark political connotations, the issue contains no mention of the Radical War at all, since it embodied a movement that shared a great deal of values that the Repository’s editorial board held dear. I examined the subsequent issue to see if there was any belated reference to it, but to no avail. The next edition of the magazine I explored was that of April 1829. This tied in with the passing of the Catholic Relief Act, a major reformist victory which brought about Catholic Emancipation throughout the United Kingdom. The issue of Catholic Emancipation, and indeed the knock-on effects that it had on other issues such as the push to repeal the Acts of the Union, connects to other posts about Scottish Radicalism within this series – for instance, the letter sent by James Browne to William Tait expressing his anger at the invitation sent by the Edinburgh Citizens’ Society to Daniel O’Connell, an eminent Emancipationist and later proponent of repeal. But articles within this issue also connect to wider societal concerns that Radicals across the Kingdom wished to address. One example is discussed within the April 1829 edition of the Repository – namely, the question of ‘National Education for Ireland’, as the article is titled. Of course, as the title asserts, the focus of the article is on Ireland, not Scotland. But this is not to say that there was no crossover between the Radical movements between those in Ireland and Scotland. Despite the fact that the article discusses national education in an Irish context, they display awareness that the “radical error” concerning all schemes of national education “is that they are schemes for the poor” . Thus, despite a man requiring “even more skill and dexterity in his art because the minds in which he is to work are in an inferior state of cultivation”, scarcely any talented man “will take charge in a pauper school” – though, the article asserts – he should take no issue with this “if he is to be one of a profession” . Hence, “the… machine of national education should furnish teachers for both [wealthy and poor schools]” so as to improve the lives and futures of pauper children. As was the case in Scotland as well as Ireland, the article refers to education that was conducted by religious authorities in replacement of governmentally-funded schools, and the problems that this alternative raised. Some issues with this were inherently Irish – for instance, in the south of Ireland “the plan of having two separate days for religious instruction, one for Catholics and one for Protestants, may do very well” , whereas in the north “it would never do” since “the divisions of Protestants among themselves would… render three days at least necessary for them alone” . But there is clearly some overlap between them; potential educational inequalities raised by the variation of religious inclination across Irish populations were realised in Scotland, where despite religious education widening “by the 1830s and 1840s… to include various other forms of schooling including mission schools, Bible societies, and improvement classes” , these forms of education were only open to Protestants. An additional link to Scottish Radicalism that this article provided was that it contained a quote from an article written nine years prior titled ‘[an] Essay on the Evils of Popular Ignorance’, alternatively titled ‘The New Plan of Education for England’, within the British (its founders were a mixture of Englishmen and Scotsmen) Edinburgh Review. The Review, which was by 1820 in its third installation (having been established and then disbanded twice before, in 1755-56 and 1773-76), and, as a Whig supporting magazine, regularly called for political reform. The ‘Education for England’ article within the Review, despite evidently being concerned with the state of English education, also correlates to the question of Scottish education reform since with the problem of population growth “it became increasingly apparent that Scotland's educational system would collapse without… state aid” . Thus, the Review dispelled what they deemed to be “fallacious” arguments proposed by those who doubted the “expediency of the government interfering with the instruction of the people” , and made the case for government intervention within the education sector. Serious attempts made by the state to improve the condition of schooling within Scotland, however, would not be launched until nearly twenty years after the 1829 publication of the Repository, or thirty in the case of the Review. These forays would culminate ultimately in failure, but they would provide precedent for the 1872 Scotland Education Act which “took the control of education away from the churches and… into the hands of local popularly elected school boards” , as well as “mandated compulsory education for children aged 5 to 13” (with some exceptions in both cases). Lastly, I explored the June 1832 edition of the Repository, Within the issue, it includes the ‘Reform Song’ which appears to be an adapted version of the 1793 song Scots, Wha Hae. The original song depicted Robert Bruce addressing his soldiers at the battle of Bannockburn in 1314, in which the Scots fought the army of the English King Edward II, and contained lines such as “Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward’s grave?”, “Wha for Scotland’s King and Law, Freedom’s sword will strongly draw. Freeman stand or freeman fa’, Let him follow me!” and “Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty’s in every blow! Let us do or die!” . Indeed, the original 1793 version was not short of political controversy. As the lines given as examples clearly illustrate, their emphasis on liberty and freedom from their oppressors could be tied neatly with the desire for Scottish reform within the 1790s, which also coincided (and was likely exacerbated by) the French Revolution. Considering this alongside the fact that King Louis XVI had been executed in January 1793, it would have been a deeply contentious piece for Burns to write at the time – so much so, that “when it was published in the Morning Chronicle in 1794 Burns could not publicly acknowledge it” . But, because of its politically inflammatory nature, it became a favoured song among both Scottish reformists, and Radical bodies more widely, hence its inclusion within the Repository in 1832. With regards to the political backdrop of the time, however, the song was adapted and utilised not for usage within a strictly Scottish Radical context but within a broader reformist climate – namely, the passing of the 1832 Great Reform Act of England and Wales (with its equivalent in Scotland passed at the same time). Thus, certain lines had been altered to fit the triumphant mood within reformist circles; for example, “See the front o’ battle lour” was amended to “freedom is our nation’s dower”, and “Wha for Scotland’s King and Law, Freedom’s sword will strongly draw” was changed to “Gather like the muttering storm, wake your thunders for REFORM” . What I find particularly notable about the inclusion of the Scots, Wha Hae adaptation within the Repository, though, is that it reconciled Scottish Radical calls for change and interrelated movements (such as the French Revolution) of the late 18th century with 19th century advances in reform embodied by the 1832 Reform Acts. By replacing the wording of Scots, Wha Hae but retaining its spirit, the ‘Reform Song’ represented a new era in Radicalism which symbolised that, firstly, reform and the democratic representation that it brought was possible and, secondly, that those who desired change could not rest on their laurels but should instead reject satisfaction or complacency so as to effectuate further progress. But this epoch was only possible through the work done by the Scottish Radicals and reformists of the late 18th century, as well as those much earlier movements such as that of Robert Bruce’s in 1314 that laid the all-important foundations for later change. Scots, Wha Hae, and its form within the ‘Reform Song’, therefore reflects not individual and fractured moments of reformist thought, but rather a legacy of Scottish resistance towards the status quo and steadfast desire for change.

Although I conducted the majority of my research within archives, there were various other means through which I obtained information surrounding 19th century Radical movements. One such method was the examination of monuments, graves and other markers that commemorated reformist individuals and their actions. A particularly prominent example of this was the Martyrs Monument in the Old Calton Burial Ground on Calton Hill, Edinburgh. The Monument was significant for two key reasons. Firstly, it was erected in 1844 in memory of five individuals – namely, Thomas Muir, Thomas Fyshe Palmer, William Skirving, Maurice Marcarot and Joseph Gerrald – some of whom (Muir and Skirving) were instrumental in establishing the Edinburgh-based Society of the Friends of the People. The ‘Society of the Friends’ was a political reform group in the late-18th century that were likely inspired by the ideals that were central to the French Revolution, as per its societal counterpart in England. Fyshe Palmer was a member of the short-lived Dundee reformist group ‘Friends of Liberty’ and was involved in the revision, publication and distribution of an address to the public which called for universal suffrage, and also critisised the government over their war taxation policy . Others, such as Gerrald and Marcarot, held more Radical views than the Society of Friends and joined the London Corresponding Society. In 1793, all five were arrested on charges of sedition and sentenced to transportation to Australia. Skirving and Gerrald died of dysentery and tuberculosis respectively in New South Wales, while Muir, Marcarot and Palmer died outside of Australia (Muir in France, Marcarot in England and Palmer in Guguan, now modern-day Guam). The second notable aspect of the Martyrs Monument regarding my research concerns the erectors of the statue. The plan to establish a monument commemorating the five men and their objectives was formulated in 1837 by the Radical politician David Hume; building did not begin until seven years later. The proposal was buttressed by other propagators of Radicalism – for instance, William Tait, the founder of the Radical-supporting Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine, placed a request at the same time as Hume’s proposal asking for land to be made available on Calton Hill for the statue . What I think is particularly significant about the decision made by Hume to erect the monument is that it was clearly not merely established for historical reasons – or, at least, Hume was not purely confined to motivations of historical reminiscence. Rather, it is clear that by constructing a statue commemorating past reformists, Hume aimed to connect the Radical aims of the past and present and thus reinforce the Radical cause concomitantly with the rise of new reformist groups with Radical aims, such as the Chartist movement (Hume was an early supporter of the London Working Man’s Association, a reform body formed in 1836 that was foundational to early Chartism). Moreover, in 1837 Hume created the Constitutional newspaper which appealed to the militant wing of the Radical movement . Since certain individuals commemorated on the monument were either directly involved in more militant activities in the late 18th century, such as Margarot and Gerrald, or indirectly in the case of Skirving, the establishment of the monument further served to fuse Hume’s interests and objectives with historical precedent. In turn, upon the statue’s completion in 1844, Hume could demonstrate that the cause of the people, which both himself and the five ‘martyrs’ of 1794 were devoted to, would (in the words of Thomas Muir as inscribed on the side of the monument) “ultimately prevail [and]… finally triumph” .

1832 and 1833 were immensely significant years for Scottish reform. 1832 saw the Scottish equivalent of the 1832 Great Reform Act, more formally known as the Representation of the People Act 1832, passed around the same time as it did in England and Wales. 1833 was noteworthy in terms of Burgh (a type of autonomous municipal corporation – essentially a town – in Scotland) reform, since both the Burgh Reform Act and the Burgh Police (Scotland) Act were passed in this year. Much like in England and Wales, the 1832 Scottish Reform Act greatly boosted the electorate, ensuring that suffrage was no longer a privilege that belonged to a select few families. 60,000 Scottish male citizens received the right to vote overnight, magnifying the electorate from 5,000 inhabitants to 65,000. In percentage terms, the passing of the act saw a growth in representation from 0.2% to 13% of the male population, a mark-up of 1400% (as opposed to an 80% increase in England) . It is also worth noting that this progression in representation continued to gather speed as the 19th century went on. By 1867, about one-third of males were able to vote in Scotland, a figure consistent with the electoral composition of England and Wales . And with the passing of the Third Reform Act in 1884, which applied to the whole of the United Kingdom, all men paying an annual rental of £10 and all those holding land valued at £10 now had the vote regardless of whether they lived in the countryside or urban areas . But there continued to be exceptions. The ballot remained non-secret post-1832, and landowners could also legally manipulate the vote by distributing £10 gifts so as to enfranchise those living in their jurisdiction who were willing to endorse them in upcoming elections . Moreover, although sweeping changes were effectuated in 1884, live-in-servants, soldiers housed in barracks and (under the principle of ‘no taxation with representation’) those who did not pay rates still could not vote . And women, of course, had to wait until 1918 before they received enfranchisement. Aside from increasing the electorate, the 1832 Scottish Reform Act also had implications for the burghs and counties which sent MPs to Parliament. Edinburgh and Glasgow now had two MPs (in clear contrast to the situation pre-1832 explicated above). ‘Parliamentary Burghs’ such as Paisley were established alongside other older ‘Royal Burghs’, including such as Aberdeen and Dundee, who sent MPs to Parliament for the first time . Although, unlike the burghs, the counties continued to elect one MP per county, there were exceptions to six counties who, prior to the passage of the Act, elected an MP only in alternate Parliaments. This setup was amended in 1832 – but the solutions varied between each constituency pairing. Clarkmannanshire would be merged with Kinross-shire, and Cromarty and Nairnshire with their respective neighbouring counties – namely, Ross and Elginshire . Buteshire and Caithness had, despite being geographically disparate from each other, prior to the 1832 Act sent representatives alternately to Parliament. The passing of the Act saw both Buteshire and Caithness each send one of their own. A year later, two notable acts were passed which further concerned burgh reform and representation. Firstly, the 1833 Burgh Reform Act “swept away the corruption of self-perpetuating town councils by introducing proper elections for town councillors” instead of elections led by the councils. For instance, it introduced “annual elections of councillors by men with the same qualifications as parliamentary electors, for the annual election of one-third of the councillors” . Moreover, although the 1833 Burgh Reform Act did not weed out all such privileges – for instance, Royal Burghs were allowed to keep their own registers of sasines (a legal document that records the transfer of ownership, usually a sale or an inheritance, of a piece of land or of a building ) post-1832 - such benefits were rooted out of all but the largest and most powerful Royal Burghs by later 20th century reform . Interestingly, municipal reform had been attempted over ten years prior to the passing of both 1833 bills by Lord Archibald Hamilton, MP for Lanarkshire from 1802 to until his death 1827. Opposition to the bill ostensibly derived from concerns that change to the municipalities would “violate the treaty of union and infringe chartered rights”, but de facto disdain for bill came from the fear that “municipal reform would entail parliamentary reform” . Hamilton’s advocation for reform did enact change in the shape of minor economic reform (burgesses were allowed to complain to the Lord Exchequer if they felt that town funds were being mismanaged), but reformists lamented that the bill left untouched the self-elective principle which they deemed to be the “real root of evil” that was preventing meaningful change . Hansard sheds further light on the mood of the reformists; a debate on the bill on the 17th of June 1822 saw that although the Lord Advocate argued that the bill was “consistent with the report of the committee up stairs, and that it went directly to remedy the evils complained of”, Hamilton rebutted that in no way did the bill’s passing assuage “the abuses complained of by the inhabitants of the royal burghs of Scotland, and confirmed by the three reports of committees of that House” . He further argued that “to call it a remedy for these admitted abuses, was a total misapplication of terms… [as it] did not meet the paramount abuse of self-election, from which alone so many mischiefs originated” . Joseph Hume echoed the thoughts of Hamilton, asserting that “no effectual relief could be given, unless by a modification of the absurd and dangerous principle of self-election. The defect of this measure was, that it did not go to the root of the evil” . Indeed – until 1833 – nothing would. The Burgh Police Act, of the same year, implemented two significant reforms alongside the changes brought about by the 1833 Burgh Reform Act. The first was the ability for burghs to adopt powers that would see an improvement in various services within the burgh, such as cleaning, lighting, paving and water supply . The second saw royal burghs, as well as burghs of barony, be permitted to hold elections for police commissioners to ensure the safety of the burgh . However, Michael Pugh notes that despite (or perhaps as a result of) its lofty ambition, the Act was “more effective in principle than in practice, due to significant defects in its design” . One of the most notable defects Pugh spotlights was the sheer inability for burghs to access funding from taxation and loans, meaning that even Scotland’s larger, more wealthier towns failed to fund drainage, water and sewage schemes . Moreover, new burghs such as Johnstone and Galston were not even eligible for this funding as the Act did not cover the erection of new towns . Its ‘partner’ act in England and Wales, the 1835 Municipal Corporations Act, entailed similar reforms for English and Welsh boroughs; that act would be repealed 10 years earlier than the 1833 Burgh Police Act with the 1882 Municipal Corporations Act, although the Police Act would undergo changes before 1892 with acts in 1847 and 1850. These tweaks did not ultimately assuage the feeling that burghs required “more extensive and wider-ranging powers” to combat the problems highlighted in 1833. These powers were granted in the 1892 Burgh Police Act, seeing commissioners being given authority to “[fix] the width and level of new streets [and] the making [and maintaining]… of sewers and drains” . It also specified that “power should be given to contiguous burghs to take joint action in constructing sewers” . In terms of police commissioners, as David Barrie explicates in his 2007 article ‘'Epoch-Making' Beginnings to Lingering Death: The Struggle for Control of the Glasgow Police Commission, 1833-46’, although some police boards in small towns continued to co-exist with reformed town councils (displaying the presence and impact of both Scottish municipal reform acts in 1833), the vast majority of elected police commissions within larger cities were incorporated in local government throughout the mid-late 19th century . Pugh further posits that “the local autonomy conceded under such legislation was typically conditional and circumscribed in practice”, with Parliament in Westminster enjoying sovereignty (as it does in the present-day as per the constitution) and therefore demonstrated reluctance to vest sovereign power on a municipal, local level . Moreover, “the general police legislation did not entertain burghs forming across county lines, even where this would have been most practicable or desirable” , reflecting the lack of rational governance that underpinned the conditional and often-restricted application of the legislation. He also highlights that although police burgh representatives were not permitted to style themselves as provost (chief magistrate) bailie (magistrate) or councillor until 1900, in reality this presented no barrier to them doing so . This, combined with other aspects of the new police burghs that intended to provide a false sense of history and tradition to what were essentially fledgling communities (such as the establishment of custom-built town halls), could imbue an observer with the notion that the act lacked significance or potency, and therefore needed to be cloaked in “ersatz historical provenance and ceremony” to make-up for its shortcomings. But Pugh is clear that this should not legitimately inform one’s judgement of the 1833 Police Act. For all its flaws, Pugh states, the Police Act (and indeed the Burgh Reform Act as well) importantly symbolised a concession of the principle of local self-government . This represented the presence of so-called ‘civic republicanism’ in Scotland, where administration of a community is entrusted to the people of that community rather than a higher, centralised power, in turn bolstering the notion of ‘civic nationalism’ which was growing within Scottish towns and urban communities during the early-mid 19th century . The 1833 Acts provided the crucial first step in the push for local self-government, enabling further progress in subsequent years demonstrated through the passing of an improved Police of Scottish Towns Act in 1850 which answered calls for “an enabling framework for local self-government” – in other words, a practical apparatus for the powers gleaned by burghs as a result of the seminal legislation passed in 1833.

This post focuses on Henry Monteith of Carstairs, a Scottish businessman and Tory politician who was twice the Lord Provost of Glasgow between 1814-1816 and 1818-1820. Monteith was frequently in communication with Henry Addington, 1st Viscount Sidmouth, who was Home Secretary for both of Monteith’s tenures as Lord Provost, as well as other Tory MPs who were concerned with the rise of Radical movements in Scotland after the cessation of the Napoleonic Wars. The selection of letters that I examined within the Monteith Correspondence are dated between the 1st of January 1819 to the 8th of April 1820 (the latter date being the end of the 1820 Scottish insurrection), although I did not read every letter within that timeframe, and there were a great number more letters that came after the 8th of April that unfortunately I ran out of time to read. However, I feel that I was able to get a wide range of content concerning the attitudes of both Monteith and others on Radicalism. I began by examining a letter sent by Sidmouth to Monteith on the 1st of January 1819. Viscount Sidmouth’s reputation for holding reactionary ideals underscores not simply this letter, but indeed their entire correspondence. His time as Home Secretary was marked with several moves that served to crack down on advocates of reform, such as the suspension of Habeus Corpus in 1817 or the passing of the 1819 Six Acts in response to the riots brought about by the Peterloo Massacre. Although it was admittedly difficult to read, it certainly discusses the quashing of Radical dissenters. From what I was able to extract from the document, Sidmouth asserts the importance of restraining newspapers from the “publication of seditions and blasphemous libels” . Further documents discussed the renewal of the 1800 Police Act, which established a professional police force in Glasgow and were particularly instrumental in suppressing post-1815 Radical uprisings, as well as the “proposed statue labour bill” . The closest bill that I could find that was being debated in the Commons around this time was the ‘labourer’s wages bill’, which was proposed by Edward Littleton, 1st Baronet Hatherton (who was key in passing other reforms such as Catholic Emancipation and the 1835 Municipal Corporations Act). The bill’s objective was to “relieve the labouring poor in manufacturing districts from being obliged by their employers to take their wages not in money but in groceries and other articles of consumption, upon which the employer had a profit, and whereby the labouring man was deprived of his option in disposing of his earnings to what he conceived the best advantage for his family” . Perhaps more significant, though, were two pieces of documentation sent to Monteith by individuals in Birmingham. One was a print of resolutions agreed in a committee meeting held by “merchants, manufacturers and traders” to aid the “severe distress” felt throughout the “manufacturing districts” . The other was an attached letter by Joshua Schofield, the High Balliff of Birmingham (whose son later became the first Lord Mayor of Birmingham) referring to the agreements made between the three parties. Schofield also requests Monteith’s help in “obtaining a petition from your town to cooperate with us, if it meet [sic] your approval in the object of our meeting” . This is especially notable because it reflects that reformist developments often involved both officials of their localities (such as Schofield) and others outside of their immediate vicinity. Indeed, in this case it is clear that reform was not solely driven by Radical, working class groups but that the resolutions were an agreement borne out of cooperation from various social strata as a result of a Parliamentary enquiry, and that Monteith was only made aware of the resolutions passed because of Schofield’s communication with him through his status as High Balliff. In the case of the Clydesdale Journal however, a Radical newspaper that supported “loyal and liberal principles” such as “universal suffrage, annual parliaments and election-by-ballot”, HM Borthwick (the founder of the newspaper) directly contacted Monteith asking if he wished to subscribe to the Journal for a discounted price. Yet both examples represent the hope of inspiring change that progressive movements felt, and the practical means in which they could achieve this change, such as corresponding with officials both inside and out of their vicinities. Another insightful aspect of the Monteith’s Correspondence is the communication that he has with various individuals during the ‘Radical War’ in April 1820. For instance, a letter sent to Monteith on the 3rd of April explains that “the working classes here are all idle and assembled in crowds… several of Calton Mill began in the morning at work, but have struck since breakfast” . This likely refers to the general cessation of work in the morning of the 3rd of April. There is also a particularly interesting manuscript within the correspondence – namely, an announcement from King George IV – that was given to Monteith by Lord Sidmouth, which asserts that the printers and distributers of the proclamation that was placed around Glasgow in the morning of April 1st must be brought to justice. Moreover, the call to justice also reveals that the King will give a full pardon to anyone (including other printers and distributors), alongside a £500 reward, who gives information that leads to the “detection of the authors and printers” and their subsequent arrest . The final letter I examined was sent by an individual named Thomas Sharp. I am unsure as to what role he held within the city, but it is likely to be in an official and relatively high-standing capacity since he had prior communication with Monteith (he references a letter he sent on the 5th of April within his letter on the 8th) and is clearly far-removed from the events in Glasgow, not just in a geographical sense but also regarding his sympathies for the movement. For instance, although there were reports of a “general rising”, Sharp did not “attach much credit” to this, claiming that “[h]ad the workmen in Scotland abstinently held out the whole week, I have not a doubt that they would have deserted their work here… on Monday, but the accounts from the North… check that situation” . Although Sharp may not necessarily be providing a moral judgement here on validity of the strike, he is equally not expressing any pro-reformist rhetoric; moreover, his language, such as his constant use of “they” or “their”, further underscores his likely standing (not dissimilar to that of Monteith) as a council or government official far removed from any intimate or immediate relations with Radical groups.

These manuscripts were the work of John MacKinnon, a Glaswegian weaver who was involved in the 1820 Scottish insurrection and later became a clerk in the Carnbroe ironworks. His correspondence consisted of two different manuscripts. The first is a collection of letters addressed to his son James, recalling his escapades during the 1820 uprising. The second is titled a Political History of Glasgow, which gives a more objective (although it is still interspersed with MacKinnon’s own remarks and commentary) and narrative account of the wider political background of the city. Letters to James: The collection also includes an amusing, fascinating and somewhat self-aggrandizing insert of a poem about the life of MacKinnon, written in 1858, presumably by MacKinnon himself. His letters to James began the subsequent year and covers almost every major event in his life. For the purposes of my research, I focused mainly on his recollection of events in 1820 and his own involvement in the uprising, but began by examining his account of the discontent that arose in Scotland post-1815, starting on page 45 (out of 116 pages in total). After the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo, unemployment levels soared due to the immense number of ex-soldiers who had previously found employment in the army. This sudden and sharp spike in unemployment was coupled with the passing of the Corn Laws in 1815, which, as MacKinnon explains, “cut off our trade with… a number of the continental nations” since its passing underscored a protectionist focus on British mercantilism rather than foreign grain. Its impact on the manufacturers, combined with the benefits it supplied to the land-owning classes, caused “the people [to petition] for Parliamentary reform in order to remedy the evil” . However, their protests fell on deaf ears. MacKinnon subsequently mentions the passing of another bill, Peel’s Bill, three years after the Corn Laws. Peel’s Bill resumed the conversion of money to the gold standard, reversing the effects of the 1797 Bank Restriction Act which removed the requirement for banks to convert paper money into gold. The bill was met with outrage by radicals, as it favoured the interests of the landed classes, with reception in Scotland being equally negative since “the £1 note ha[d] been the currency in Scotland since 1695 when the Bank of Scotland was established” , implying that the passing of the Bill also symbolised the political hegemony of England over Scotland. By the winter of 1819 therefore, “wages of all kinds fell while… rent remained the same. The people began to think that any change might be for the better… it was this feeling that made many people fall in with the Radicals” . What MacKinnon openly conveys is the complete disdain for which the authorities, ruling classes and the Tories reserved for the radicals. As far as these groups were concerned, the radicals had no legitimate political claim or motive. Rather, “whenever and wherever they were spoken of by the Tories, they were represented as a clad of men who had no real cause of complaint, were dissatisfied with having to labour for their bread, and who wished to seize upon other people’s property and apply it to their own uses” . This sheer contempt, and the desire to quash all inklings of reformist inclination, is reflected in acts such as those conducted by the Magistrate of Paisley in late 1819, in which he ordered the imprisonment of a band of musicians after they played {something} at a reform meeting. Hatred towards the radical movement was clearly not restricted to the radicals themselves, but any affiliated bodies or individuals. MacKinnon then recalls his experiences with the 1820 insurrection. He notes that the “famous proclamations” were put up throughout the night of Saturday 1st of April and that “in the morning [of the Sunday] they were read by thousands” . Furthermore, although a selection of citizens had arms readily available, some of which “found their way to the Radicals”, MacKinnon himself had “no arms, nor money to buy them” although he does note that for many, this posed no obstacle, as they opted to simply make their own pikeheads. MacKinnon, alongside his friend James Robb, decides to journey to Paisley on Tuesday 4th of April, a town with a large weaver population that were greatly immersed in the 1820 Radical War. However, their escapades in Paisley were not entirely successful, nor eventful. After meeting with some acquaintances, they hear a “rush of people” towards them and, panicked, MacKinnon accidentally breaks a pane of glass in a window. This deeply concerns him as “he had no money to pay for it” , and becomes increasingly anxious to get home – which they both eventually do. The following days are more lively; although on the previous pages most of MacKinnon’s narrative is occupied by his ventures to Paisley, he does illustrate the extent of the British military presence in Glasgow, citing artillery, local yeomanry, sharpshooters within the city on Monday, with reports on Tuesday that a large body of British troops was to descend imminently onto Glasgow. Page 59 of his account sees MacKinnon obtain pikeheads that were “concealed in [his] shop” for himself, Robb and for another party of about 120 men, who were to join “another body of men on the banks of the Great Canal” , headed by a man named Craig (perhaps John Craig, who in reality was an undercover government agent), and guided by another named Crawfurd. MacKinnon records that concerns were raised within the party as to whether the detention of an absentee who was due to join up with the group was by “accident or design”. If it was by accident, MacKinnon notes, then this would have less serious consequences than if it was by design, as surely “they would be followed by a military force sufficient to overpower them” . A vote is taken as to whether they should proceed as a united group or return to Glasgow disbanded – “by a majority of one [it was decided] that they should return” . Resultantly, “the men then sunk their pikes in the canal till the heads held in the mud… and they returned to their homes” . The final development from the section of the letters that I read sees MacKinnon learning from Robb that on the following morning, “a [military party] accompanied by a civil force… went straight to the banks of the canal, where they drew a number of pikes out of the water” . This invokes suspicion within MacKinnon – he rightfully questions “how could the authorities go straight to the place where the pikes were, if they had not been told?” . He concludes that Crawfurd was the spy, noting that Craig had been apprehended by the police on Sauchiehall Street on trumped-up charges of drunkenness and ‘breaking a street lamp’ (it had actually been broken by another member of the party who had been careless with his pike), but if MacKinnon’s Craig is the same as John Craig, then it is likely that MacKinnon was incorrect. A Political History of Glasgow: The second facet of the MacKinnon Correspondence that was pertinent to my research interests was the narrative account authored by MacKinnon regarding Glasgow’s Political History. Much of his account is complementary to the letters he wrote to James (or vice-versa). For instance, he begins by discussing the fluctuating levels of employment experienced by the Glasgow weavers throughout the Napoleonic Wars, caused by the disruption and re-establishment of global trade routes, which were themselves contingent on military developments. MacKinnon subsequently maps the push for reform prior to 1815, which was spearheaded by the Glasgow weavers’ ultimately unsuccessful drive for “fixing a minimum wage of muslin weaving” . Two committees, one of manufacturers and of weavers, “were chosen to debate the question of wages before the Justices” , the delegates of which were named Kirman Finlay and Alexander Richmond. The weavers ultimately covenanted to strike, although there was no violent disturbance, and “everything was peaceable and quiet” – although, after the strike, “a number of the Tory manufactur[ers]… hinted to the government that there was a great number of weavers in the militia regiments, and that they might combine” to threaten the stability of the government . This in turn prompted the arrival of a “large military force” in Glasgow, as well as the removal of every Scottish militia regiment in England and Wales. Finlay and Richmond’s influence was more keenly felt after Napoleon’s defeat, as Finlay employed Richmond as a spy to “communicate any information as to any plots that might be forming against the government” . Richmond’s involvement in the exposure and trial of a dissenting committee is discussed in a separate article. MacKinnon also underscores the anger directed at what he labels the “mischievous” Corn Laws, stating that “the wages of cotton operatives during the [the winter of 1815] feel about 30 per cent” . Combined with poor harvests and a stark increase in the cost of living, MacKinnon remarks “is it any wonder that the people became discontented?” . The Scottish working-classes fared better in 1817 and 1818. Work “become more plentiful” and the harvest had evened out after deficiencies in 1815 and 1816. However, come 1819 “another dark cloud [arose] over Glasgow” with the introduction of Peel’s Bill, also referred to in MacKinnon’s letters to James. But “in order to reduce the number of notes in circulation, [Peel] refused to discount a great number of bills for merchants” . Consequently, “the merchants failed in scores”, which had knock-on effects for the manufacturers and in turn, the workers in the manufacturers’ employment . Therefore, shortly “thousands of unemployed workmen thronged the streets of Glasgow” , with no hope of relief supplied by a chance of an occupation in the army as there had been previously. Moreover, “the scarcity of money caused goods to fall in value” , causing financial ruin for the merchants and manufacturers. This turmoil was blamed on the government, and the “demagogues and the unemployed… petitioned for Parliamentary reform and extension of the suffrage, so [that they] might get better men to represent them and who would sympathise with them in their distress” . MacKinnon, rather poetically, illustrates the re-establishment of secret societies, observing that “drowning men will clutch at straws” . With the remark that the principles and objectives of these reformists, now called ‘Radicals’, “spread far and near” , MacKinnon’s account arrives at the eve of the 1st of April 1820 which saw the physical plastering of these Radical ends “in the towns and villages for twenty miles around” .

The letter from Browne to Tait: The writer James Browne (1793-1841) engaged in correspondence with William Tait, the founder of the eponymous radical print Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine, in 1835. Browne was infuriated at the proposed citizens’ dinner for the Irish Radical Daniel O’Connell that had been organized by the Edinburgh Citizens’ Society, of which Browne and Tait were both members. At first, I had simply assumed that Browne was against the dinner because – despite his presumably radical sympathies due to his association with Tait – he did not agree with the “extreme opinions” that would be conveyed, presumably by O’Connell, throughout the course of the evening. However, upon reflection I think there is a more nuanced reading as to why Browne adopts such a hostile tone. He evidently expresses frustration that the dinner would inevitably be reduced to a “Trades’ Dinner” . Post-Catholic Emancipation in 1829, O’Connell moved to push for the repeal of the Acts of the Union. Such Acts, which had passed thirty years prior, ruled that Ireland was to hold no legislative independence and would be instead be represented in the UK Parliament by 100 Irish MPs. For O’Connell, the issue of repeal had political connotations, being a manifestation of British hegemony that had to be banished. But, although the Trade Unions also supported repeal, their objectives were not political like O’Connell, but socio-economic; they desired the restoration of Dublin as the “economic paradise [it had been]…. twenty years before the act of union” . Thus, although O’Connell saw the success of Catholic Emancipation as a major prerequisite for the chances of repeal, the artisans of Dublin lamented “what advantage is it to the tradesmen of Ireland that thirteen hundred situations have been thrown open by emancipation? . . . Has it given a loaf of bread to any of the thousand starving families of the poor operatives of this city?” . Tensions between them came to a head in 1833 when, agitated by the resounding defeat of the repeal motion in April of that year, O’Connell moved to delay the repeal question, clashing with the Unions who wished to continue to push for repeal. With O’Connell’s abandonment of the issue, the common ground of repeal that they shared had been lost . Indeed, O’Connell had not dropped the repeal issue, nor had he spoken out against it. Rather, he had simply shelved the issue “to avoid the coercive measures he felt would be the inevitable consequence of a renewed repeal campaign” . But the Trade Unions saw this as a major betrayal on the part of O’Connell. This could have in turn caused O’Connell to feel frustration at the Unions’ unwavering championing of repeal when he so clearly saw the tactical benefits of pausing the campaign. By 1835, hostility between the Unions and O’Connell had been solidified, animosity which may have been further exacerbated by the Lichfield House Compact . Tensions would eventually boil over in an 1838 public debate where by the end O’Connell was in “quite actual physical danger” . Therefore, it could be that the negative connotations that Browne surrounds his use of the word “extreme” are not because he was necessarily anti-radical or that he does not support the work of O’Connell, but instead simply that the issue of repeal had become too convoluted and partisan for any civilised or meaningful discussion. Moreover, since both O’Connell and the Unions were united on the side of reform, Browne may have been exasperated at the in-fighting that hindered the progression of the campaign – with O’Connell’s dropping of support, the movement was necessarily checked since the Trades Political Union had been flooded by O’Connell’s middle-class followers four years prior and consequently “lacked an organ of expression” of their own. Hence, it appears likely that Browne’s opposition to O’Connell attending the citizens’ dinner was not a result of O’Connell’s radical status, but instead a protest against what the issue of Irish political independence had become. ‘The Spirit of the Time’: Enclosed alongside Browne’s letter to Tait was a short essay entitled ‘The Spirit of the Time’. I initially thought that this was an essay written by Browne in 1835, but in later research I realised that this was in fact a section of an entry in Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine in 1832 (indeed, as the article within the issue does not have an author, it is entirely possible that Browne had written the whole entry and selected the first half of the article to send to Tait). Crammed onto one side of parchment, the piece charts the birth and spread of the radical movement that had grown increasingly prominent both in Scotland and wider Europe by his time of writing. The essay begins by asserting that the “change [that] has now come over the Spirit of the Time” cannot be ignored. Rather, “mighty questions have been stirred, deep interests have been created, vast masses of men… have suddenly begun to heave to and fro with the force of a newly-inspired animation… all things are coming new” . The essay’s objective, as Browne explicates, is to map these clear changes that the Spirit of the Time has undergone, and “what consequences are likely to follow from this mighty revolution of opinion” . The first chapter in this epoch of radical thought was instigated by the American War of Independence, as “the first volley of musketry [that] was fired at the bosoms of the colonists… had its origin in… a great principle of humble liberty, namely that taxation without representation is tyranny” . The founding ideals of democracy and equity that characterised the American Enlightenment, which in turn provided the spark for the American Revolutionary War, were heavily influenced by the earlier writings of the Radical Whigs, a section of 18th Century British Politicians and political commentators who supported American Republicanism. They also proposed a series of political reforms in Britain; although meaningful reform in Britain would not arrive until approximately eighty years after their dissolvement, the seed was sown. Indeed, Browne emphasises that the material success – that is, the ejection of the British – of the American Revolution was not in and of itself the patriots’ greatest achievement. Rather, what had an even greater impact was that the Americans’ victory gave “a new impulse to the human mind… [and] roused it from their lethargy in which it had sunk” . The notion of ‘public opinion’, separate from the ruling ideology of the hegemonic classes or power, began to gather strength. Furthermore, it rightly notes that the American victory in 1783 produced a powerful backlash in Britain, but that this simply “minister[ed] to that new-born appetite which was destined to grow by what it was fed on” . In order to denunciate the American triumph, the British Parliament necessarily had to confirm the existence of a new Spirit of the Time which had compelled the American subjects to take action. The “revolutionary spirit” that had imbued the Americans to defy their British oppressors subsequently spread to France, where “misrule had reached that point where endurance ends and resistance begins” . Much like in America, the French viewed the hierarchical status quo not with contentment but with “indignation and disgust” . And although the nations of Europe “threatened to blot her out as a nation from the map of Europe” and destroy the newly-formed French First Republic, Browne notes that “victory followed fast on the heels of victory” , its termination only occurring at the hands of Napoleon Bonaparte in 1804. Yet, although this initial republic ceased to exist post-1804, the contempt towards the “profligacy of an overgrown hierarchy” that the French Revolution embodied did not. What followed in France for the next sixty-six years was an age of tumult that pitted the radical legacy of the French Revolution against the repeated attempts of the Monarchy to re-assert itself at the highest echelon of French society. The struggle concluded in 1870 with the formation of the French Third Republic after Napoleon III’s defeat in the Franco-Prussian War. But what is particularly significant about Browne’s inclusion of the piece is why he felt such retrospection was necessary in the first place. The reason for its original composition and inclusion within Tait’s was the sense of crisis that imbued the political atmosphere in April 1832, but it remains significant that Browne chose to attach the piece to his letter. For instance, Burgh Reform in Scotland had also been achieved the year after the 1832 Reform Act, with fellow movements such as the Irish Repeal campaign having undergone major periods of turbulence by 1835. The time of Browne’s correspondence with Tait also coincided with the initial stirrings of the Chartist movement. In turn, by reraising ‘The Spirit of the Time’ Browne may have wished to emphasise both the continual importance of championing the name of the common man instead of an exclusive sect of the population, and the need to view prior events as part of an interconnected timeline of progressive and democratic thought rather than as an exercise in nostalgia. Yet, alongside this, I also feel that there is something to be said about the particular relevance of its attachment with Browne’s letter to Tait. As previously discussed, it is clear that Browne expresses deep frustration within his letter to Tait about the Edinburgh’s Citizens’ Society’s invitation to O’Connell. By including ‘The Spirit of the Time’ within his correspondence with Tait, I think that Browne aimed to remind Tait about the impact of effective reform, and thus the need to endorse such movements when they require support and to distance themselves from causes which lack efficacy. For Browne, the issue of Union repeal had become tarnished and stagnated by infighting, and was therefore seen by him as a campaign that had lost validity within the push for reform. Moreover, Browne evidently felt that the common aim of change had been seconded by partisan objectives that, although may have had the interests of reformist progression at heart, detracted away from the sense of unity and the collective Radical spirit that was so clear within ‘The Spirit of the Time’. Since the Irish repeal movement lacked the spirit that existed within ‘The Spirit’, Browne may have been reminding Tait of the importance of this element’s presence within reform movements and the individuals involved within them, indirectly urging him to rescind O’Connell’s invitation.

Harriet Taylor-Mill had been immersed in the ideas of Radicalism for her whole life, her friendship with her future husband John Stuart-Mill blossoming out of their shared passions for women’s rights, alongside other social reform interests. Despite not having a publication year, this particular letter was written sometime between 1851 and 1858, since she addresses herself as ‘Harriet T. Mill’ (thus signifying her marriage to John Stuart-Mill), with her death being in 1858. Although the letter itself does not have Radicalism as its subject, it certainly relates to the Radical movement in various ways. Firstly, the addressee of the letter, Dr Alexander Bain, was a deeply close friend to John Stuart-Mill through their mutual interests in Philosophy and reform. Bain himself wrote for the Westminster Review, a newspaper formed in 1823 by the ‘Philosophical Radicals’ (which included both John Stuart-Mill and his father James Mill). As two-time Lord Rector of the University of Aberdeen, he was also greatly involved in student rights and related reform movements, overseeing the formation of the Aberdeen University Students’ Association. Taylor-Mill’s letter also references the recent death of her father, Thomas Hardy. Taylor-Mill records the reaction to his death, with many political and social figures such as essayist and East India Company official Thomas Love Peacock, and Radical Politician William Molesworth, being deeply affected by it . Both Peacock and Molesworth wrote for the Westminster Review and therefore had, connections to Radicalism (although both the fealty that Molesworth swore to his Radical beliefs , as well as the extent of the impact that his Radicalism had on the political landscape , has been questioned). Their aggrievement is an interesting detail since Hardy was a surgeon, and not immersed within political reformist movements, although Peacock met Stuart-Mill in 1836, around the same time that Molesworth became acquainted with James Mill, so it is likely that they were close with Hardy by the time of his death despite Stuart-Mill not actually marrying Taylor-Mill till 1855.

John MacKinnon frequently mentions Alexander Richmond and Kirkman Finlay in his Political History of Glasgow, describing their involvement in the emergence of Radical movements post-1815. I supplemented this information with my own independent secondary research, utilising in particular a JSTOR article titled Alexander Richmond and the Radical Reform Movements in Glasgow in 1816-17 by W.M Roach. MacKinnon’s account sees Finlay and Richmond meet in 1812 as the representatives of the manufacturing and weaving bodies. But their more significant contact was after the Napoleonic Wars, when Finlay hired Richmond as a spy to infiltrate the various political reform groups that had arisen in Scotland to push for change largely as a result of the “deteriorating economic situation” . Reports were issued to Parliament which purported to contain “secret information relative to the disordered state of the country” , claiming that such Radical groups did not merely desire “universal suffrage and annual parliaments” but that some were instead plotting to “[totally overthrow] all existing establishments” . In light of this information, Parliament moved to both suspend Habeus Corpus until the beginning of July 1817 and pass the Seditious Meetings Act in order to utterly suppress their activities . As Roach states, much of the existing scholarship on these events is based on the views of Peter MacKenzie, a Glaswegian journalist whose writings in the 1830s “tried to show that the secret conspiracy and the threat to government were created by Alexander Richmond” and that he specifically acted as an agent provocateur. MacKenzie’s work has since been endorsed by other scholars, with one local historian claiming that he invented the conspiracy to claim the government reward . Roach argues that there was “much secret activity in the Glasgow area in 1816-17” , that Richmond did not invent the conspiracy nor act as an agent provocateur, and that “much of the information provided was inaccurate whereas that provided by another spy (George Biggar) was of much greater value” . MacKinnon’s Political History of Glasgow does not seem to correlate with MacKenzie’s view of Richmond, but nor does it serve to refute it. Rather, the only critical claim of his narrative was that “the movement was magnified ten times the actual amount to alarm the timid and make them cling to the government” , something that Roach also agrees on, stating that despite the clear attempts that were being made to expand and to make contact with English reformers, thus embodying a threat to established government, the government seems to have exaggerated the importance of an association that was not well organised and was poorly financed . MacKinnon’s letters to his son James are more hostile towards Richmond but also interestingly critisises MacKenzie for accusing another member of the reformers, McDowall Peat, to be a spy instead of Richmond. Of course, it is entirely possible that MacKinnon merely read one of MacKenzie’s books in which he does charge Peat instead of Richmond and then never followed-up on his subsequent work. MacKenzie’s claims against Richmond began in 1830, so this near-15 year gap between the events and MacKenzie’s accusations against Richmond could have allowed MacKenzie time to reflect on previous work and alter his views accordingly. Alternatively, although Richmond was a spy in 1816, he was not the following year. Hence, this particular book of MacKenzie’s that MacKinnon could have read and then referenced may have, unbeknownst to MacKinnon, referred to the developments of reformist groups in 1817 and would therefore not focus on Richmond. However, this seems less plausible, since the book would have undoubtedly included a timeframe and – had it not concerned events in 1816 but rather 1817 when Richmond was not immersed in Radical movements – then it would have been unlikely to spur MacKinnon to passionately claim that “no one will make me believe that Peat was a spy” and that he was instead “duped by some designing knave like Richmond” . MacKinnon, damning but limited in his claims about Richmond, was ultimately right about his undercover status. MacKenzie, on the other hand, grossly exaggerated the role that Richmond played as a spy, particularly regarding his supposed role as an agent provocateur and the subsequent influence he had on establishing relations with other reformist groups. One leader of a group infiltrated by Richmond, John McLachlan, “published a long affidavit blaming Richmond for trying to persuade reformers to take measures that they would otherwise not have considered” , including encouraging those in the group to “try to establish contact with groups in England” . Moreover, in August 1817 an individual covertly named ‘A lover of truth and an abhorrer of spies' wrote “there can be produced hundreds of witnesses to prove that he was in the constant practice of boasting of his intimacy with gentlemen of great respectability and wealth in Glasgow, Edinburgh and elsewhere” . But this status placed on Richmond by MacKenzie is refuted by Roach – “it was later claimed that Richmond provided the reformers with [a] secret oath and encouraged them to send delegates throughout Scotland and to England, [but] from the precognitions we learn that… Richmond was not present when discussion about and preparation of the oath took place” and thus likely merely relayed the oath back to Finlay once it had been performed . Lastly, MacKenzie additionally claimed that Richmond essentially “create[d] the conspiracy as it developed” in order to enable the government to arrest their political opponents and curtail the liberties of the people . MacKenzie’s aggrandised emphasis on Richmond as a figure of reformist espionage, as well as the endorsement of MacKenzie’s view by subsequent scholars, in turn detracts away from the work of more effective acts of infiltration within Radical circles. This includes the actions of George Biggar, who was “employed as a spy by Sheriff Robert Hamilton of Lanar from about the second week in January 1817” after Richmond ceased to be a spy. In contrast to “Richmond's inaccurate reports in December 1816” , in just two weeks, “Biggar had been admitted to the secret association and he was able to give (from personal experience that Richmond never had) information about the oath of secrecy, the bond of union or obligation to remain loyal to the association, the signs and hand grip by which members recognised one another, and the passwords for entry to meetings” . He also “provided a copy of the oath which was sent to Sidmouth on 31 January” and “when the secret sign and oath were altered in February, Biggar informed the authorities of the changes” . The second effect of MacKenzie’s largely baseless accusations was that it completely undermined the validity and credibility of Richmond’s defense in the face of such claims. Richmond “admitted that in 1816 he had been a spy but denied that he had done anything to encourage the plotters” , thus attempting to shed the title of agent provocateur. But, as Lord Cockburn noted, “even although his narrative 'may not be vitiated by purposed falsehood . . . (and) there is a general foundation of truth in it, the details of no such statement can be relied on when they depend entirely on the authority of the narrator'” . All Richmond had to defend himself was simply that – himself. When Richmond charges against MacKenzie and the booksellers that disseminated his books attacking him were brought to trial in December 1834, Richmond “was refused permission to read out a statement” from Finlay and James Reddie, the Glaswegian clerk who had recruited him as a spy in collaboration with Finlay. Furthermore, the defence was conducted by Serjeant Talfourd “who made much of the fact that Richmond brought the case before an English rather than a Scottish court… Talfourd made it appear that Richmond was so notorious in Scotland that he could not hope to prosecute successfully there” . Ultimately, “Talfourd's skill and Richmond's lack of legal expertise led to the charge of libel being dismissed” . Yet a study of the correspondence between “the lord advocate, Finlay, Sidmouth… and others” that shows that Richmond's narrative, which highlights the true extent of both his influence within the Radical associations he infiltrated and conspiracies he uncovered (including his ability to begin one, as MacKenzie claimed) alongside the limited extent of information he provided, is “much more reliable” that MacKenzie’s elaborate claims. Moreover, although one is compelled to learn from MacKenzie and therefore should view Richmond’s information with trepidation, by holding Richmond in too dubious a regard one risks subconsciously rejecting the useful elements of his work. For instance, he firstly contacted a “set of reformers who were particularly interested in the lack of poor relief” but shortly afterwards engaged in correspondence with a group whose objective was “the complete overthrow of existing arrangements and seizure of the property of the higher classes of society” . As Roach accentuates, Richmond shows clearly this disparity and diversity within the Radical movements of Scotland, but because he has been discarded by MacKenzie as both an agent provocateur and the creator of the conspiracy he (according to MacKenzie) conveniently ‘uncovered’, “insufficient attention has been paid to what he wrote” and “the importance of these early reform movements in the development of political consciousness among the lower classes of society in Scotland has been largely ignored” .

Although there were bursts of reformist action in early 19th century Scotland prior to the conclusion of the Napoleonic Wars, such as the Glasgow weavers’ strike of 1812, Radical activity was largely muted from the beginning of the 19th century and only resumed after 1815. In 1816-1817 there were two distinctive reform movements in Scotland. The first was “a widespread series of public meetings where resolutions in favour of a radical reform of the house of commons were passed and petitions drawn up for submission to the Prince Regent”. The second was “a secret conspiracy centred on Glasgow which aimed at change effected by physical force” . In July 1815 Major John Cartwright, the English political reformer, visited Scotland. He travelled the country for thirteen weeks “encouraging people to sign petitions for a radical reform of the commons”. His tour was seemingly successful, with “at least six hundred of his forms of petition… [being] returned to him”. Although his influence waned once he returned to England, October 1816 saw “the first number of meetings in Scotland to press for radical reform”. The most prominent of such meetings was held at Thrusgrove, an estate in north Glasgow, in which the attendees decided that “the oppressive weight of the enormous burdens that have been entailed upon the country by a vile and corrupt faction” could only be remedied by petitioning for radical reform. However, the peaceful campaigning that both Cartwright and groups such as those found in Thrushgrove advocated and implemented was ultimately unsuccessful. Although in late 1816 Cartwright submitted some petitions he had acquired from his time in Scotland to both Viscount Sidmouth (the Home Secretary) and the Treasury “it was apparent… that members [of Parliament] were little inclined to pay attention to a movement that had no support from the landed interest or from the corporate bodies” . Minsters then became convinced that an escalation of Parliamentary powers to either “pass new laws or suspend existing ones” was necessary, since they believed that some reformist groups held different and more violent objectives than the ones expressed at Thrushgrove. Their fears were seemingly confirmed when, after a supposed attack on the Prince Regent’s coach in February 1817, reports were issued to the Commons which stated attempts had been made “to induce the working classes to [conduct]…. A total overthrow of all existing establishments and in a division of the landed and extinction of the funded property of the country” . Furthermore, “it was believed that a system of secret associations had been extended from England into Glasgow and some other populous towns of Scotland… whose object was the overthrow by force of the existing form of government” . In response, minsters suspended Habeus Corpus until July 1817 and passed the Seditious Meetings Act which was “designed to ensure that all reform clubs and societies would be utterly suppressed” . Throughout these developments from the last few months of 1816 to the new year of 1817, Alexander Richmond was employed by Kirkman Finlay to provide him with information regarding Radical activity. He made contact with a variety of reformist groups, ranging from peaceful protest associations borne out of Cartwright’s presence in Scotland to movements who desired the total overthrow of the political establishment. By the middle of January 1817, George Biggar replaced Richmond as the spy within the reformist ranks and reported back to Finlay that “a system of private organization cemented by oaths has actually been formed and a delegation is to be sent by the Central Committee to Lancashire” , confirming both the existence of secret Radical societies and their correspondence with their counterparts in England. Finlay then told Viscount Sidmouth of Biggar’s findings and these, combined with the worry that a potential rapid improvement in trade could induce violent Radical organisations to strike earlier than planned since “reformers knew that they received much of their support from those in economic distress and that support for political reform might evaporate if economic conditions improved” , provoked Sidmouth to order the arrests of the leading reformers in Scotland. By the 27th of February “twenty-six people were in custody” . Once the Radicals had been detained, the onus fell on the government to firstly verify the incriminating information that had been provided by Richmond and Biggar in order to prosecute and imprison the Radicals, and secondly convince the public that their actions were justified so as to not appear to be limiting the freedoms of the people without necessity. The first prisoner to admit involvement with a secret organisation was a spirit dealer named William Simpson, who said that approximately seven weeks previously a weaver named McDowall Peat “called on him and explained that he planned to form an association to compel parliament to grant the petitions for reform” . Simpson then endeavored “to form an association for the purpose of obtaining annual Parliaments and the elective franchise at the age of twenty-one for all the people of Great Britain and Ireland” . He furthermore affirmed that Peat instructed him to “do that by force if necessary” and also admitted “that there had been plans to raise funds to send delegates to Carlisle” . From Simpson’s testimony and other statements given by detained Radicals, the authorities were able to gain an awareness regarding the formation of both a select committee and a secret committee in early February 1817. The former’s role was to “alter the words of the oaths, the signs and the secret grip or handshake” and the latter’s business involved relaying information to the general committee as well as selecting and sending delegates to Radical groups outside of Glasgow (including reformers in England) . The next task facing the government was to persuade the public that their actions were justified . The lord advocate arranged for John Campbell, one of the leaders of the Radicals within Glasgow, to make a full public confession confirming everything that had been said by other arrested reformists, in exchange for a promise of protection. However, when Campbell was called to give evidence to the court, “he was asked if he had received any reward, or promise of a reward for coming forward to give his evidence, he said [he had]” . His answer “completely confounded the Crown lawyers… the lord advocate’s fine speech was thrown away” . Although Campbell “asserted that he had been promised a place in the excise” in exchange for his testimony, “it is more likely that Campbell was very cleverly sabotaging the crown's case” . If his statement that he had been promised a reward was true, “his evidence was inadmissible and doubts were cast on the methods employed by the crown to prepare a case” . If it was not true, Campbell would be guilty of perjury and, consequently, nothing else he might say could be accepted . Although the Crown had called other witnesses, they were largely relying on Campbell’s confession – as a result, “a verdict of not proven was returned” and the prisoners were released. Amusingly, one prisoner reportedly refused to leave until it was explained to him why he had been arrested in the first place, and was eventually forced out of the cell by soldiers with bayonets . The lord advocate’s failure had the unfortunate result of seemingly affirming the public suspicion that the government, through the use of spies, had been fabricating plots themselves, something that MacKenzie accused Richmond of doing. It was felt in Scotland that the methods employed by the authorities “must carry alarm home to every independent mind” . This concern that personal freedom was being endangered was consequently bolstered in 1817 and 1818 as numerous petitions were presented to Parliament by those who felt they had been unjustly imprisoned on counts of conspiracy that they believed had in fact been conjured up by the government .