Excerpt from A Short Life of Richard Cobden

On June 3rd, 1804, another grandchild was born, who was called Richard after his grandfather. The little fellow spent the early years of his childhood safely and happily in the snug house where his ancestors had lived so long, but when the child was five years old great trouble came to the hitherto peaceful home. Old Richard Cobden died, and the old home was sold. The bailiff had been a good man of business, but his friends shook their heads, and said the good-natured, thriftless son would never make a living for his family.

Mrs. Cobden was a brave, hard-working woman, a good wife and tender mother. She needed all the h0pe and courage she had to cheer the spirit of her husband, for, as time passed, the prophecies of his neighbours proved to be true; but trouble and ill-luck only bound the little family more closely together. All the children did their best to lighten the father's burdens. Little Richard Cobden, now no longer the youngest of the family, shared the troubles of his elders. He learned to read and write in the old dame's school in the village, and in his playtime used to watch his father's sheep, spending hours in this business every day, making friends, in the sunshine, of the birds and wild creatures that were his only comrades save the sheep.

Every month affairs grew more hopeless. The eldest boy, Frederick, was sent to America to try to make a living among the many emigrants whom hard times were driving away from England. Rent-day began to be dreaded, and the family moved from place to place.

Now, Mrs. Cobden had a sister in London, whose husband was in business in Eastcheap. The bad news of their relatives' ill-fortune reached Mr. And Mrs. Partridge from Sussex, and it was agreed that they should adopt the little shepherd-boy, Richard, who was forthwith sent off to a cheap school in Yorkshire. Ill-taught, ill-fed, ill-used, the next five years passed very slowly with him there.

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