[In the following excerpt from an essay originally published in 1829, Cobbett expresses contempt for critics while stating the intent of his own writing.]

As to merit, as an author or writer, I have always despised what is generally called criticism. I know well that those who carry on the trade of critics are a base and hireling crew; more corrupt, perhaps, than any other set of beings in the world. The only critics that I look to are the public; and my mode of estimating a writing, is by the effect which it produces. If there be two writings, having the accomplishment of the same object in view, that writing which soonest and most completely accomplishes its objects, is the best of the two. I listen to nothing about style as it is called; or any thing else. As the man, who soonest and best weaves a yard of cloth, is the best weaver; so the man, who soonest and best accomplishes an object with his pen, is the best writer. Taking this as my standard, I know very well, that I am a very good one: but it does, nevertheless, give me singular pleasure to hear you say that you have been taught by me. Perhaps there is no pleasure so great as that which we derive from a conviction that we have produced great effect upon the minds of great multitudes of persons; and especially when we are able to reflect that, as in the present case, the effect has been produced by calm and dispassionate reasoning upon serious and important subjects. Who, besides myself, has, in our day, attempted to gain popularity by dint of fact and of argument, unmixed with any thing to amuse the human mind? If, at any time, I have indulged in a sort of jest I have been almost ashamed of the momentary triumph thereby acquired. I have rested my reputation upon the success of truth supported by dry argument. I knew well that the seeds must lie long in the ground; that the vegetation of the plants must be slow; but I knew also that the growth of them would be sure and that their nature would be durable. "Cast your bread upon the waters," has always been at my tongue's end, when, many years ago, I perceived a disinclination in the People to hear, and when almost any other man would have thrown down the pen in despair. I knew, however, that I was gradually making converts, though I very seldom saw any outward proof of the fact. I waited also for the misery which I knew would be the final consequence, and which I also knew would open the ears of the nation. When that misery came, I redoubled my efforts; and the effect has been that universal conviction of the utility of my efforts, and with regard to which conviction you speak only the voice of the nation at large.