The Battle of The Press

"The Socialists and Chartists preach at one another, but don't discuss. I have offered to fight the Bishop of Exeter for them if they will guarantee me £200 for five years; it will take that time to settle the question. The Government is bound to prosecute. Lord Melbourne is now in the same predicament as to Owen as he was with me and the Rotunda. He will be goaded to prosecution, though Owen has sent round circulars advising his followers to drop theology. They have nothing else to talk about. I am glad the life of Frost is saved; but I wished to see the Chartists put upon their mettle, if they have any, for I doubt if they have. They are quite down in London. Socialism is the only thing that lives here, and that must go down. It has no living principle."

"Enfield, February 26th, 1840.

"The office I was seeking in London was a place in a good situation for business. They who could or would help me to an official situation are afraid of my name. Heywood, of Manchester, I hear, is prosecuted for Haslam's letters; he cries out and says he would rather give £50 and the stock of publication than stand the prosecution. We shall see what sort of martyrs they make. I cannot tell you my secret yet I pass incog, as a man of respected and admired talent; you shall see the proofs of this some day. I fear that I have lost two papers, merely by the knowledge of my handwriting.

It is a case, too, where an amanuensis or copyist cannot be trusted. I have sketched a petition to the House of Lords, if an outcome be found to present it, stating that as the Church is founded upon Jewish history, the way to establish it well is to correct the current errors of that history, return to the original Jewish philosophy, and remove all the heresies of the last eighteen hundred years. I ask the Lords to make the Lords Spiritual a Committee of Enquiry on this subject so interesting to all nations. The Ham Common School (Bronson Alcott's) is a failure. There was nothing generous in it, save that my Gloucestershire friends paid the expenses. I have sadly lost by it in my income. It has from beginning to end been a bad project. In all your preparations for heaven, I hope all your family will find it. I have great need of a warmer climate, but unless I am transported for treason, do not know how I shall ever get there. When the sun is out I am alive, when not I am dead.

"Most of the reformers or pretended reformers that I have known have been flighty men, flying about after everything without solidity to rest on, and accomplish anything. They are, as such, too often deficient in moral character."

"Enfield, March 11th, 1840.

"I see by the Times yesterday that memorials are being sent to the Protestant monarchs to combine and send the Jews back to Palestine at this struggle for Syria between the Sultan and the Pasha. Would the Jews go back? that is the question. No! they know better. They are commercial men and could have very little commerce in Palestine. I never knew an unemployed Jew living retired without business. I am now writing leaders for the country papers of Liberal principles. I find I am so far master of all political and theological subjects that I could write-equally well for any party and please them all in turn. I find, too, that there is much good to be done in this way.

All that is required is to support the cues and bent of the paper and party, and you may introduce any good sentiments under that guise. I got a famous letter on blasphemy into the Cheltenham Free Press, of February 29th, signed 'Christian'. The editor wondered how a Christian could write so. My politics never consisted of property burning or the assassinating of innocent people, nor did yours; and I would willingly give evidence against any such cases, to serve better political principles."

"July 9th, 1840.

"Cogswell's imprisonment was fully reported in the Gauntlet. I supported his family. His wife died during the prosecution, for she too was prosecuted. He afterwards married her sister, who came to look after the children. I have found him a very grateful, honest fellow. I feel content with myself in not having joined either the Socialists or the Chartists. There will be something better coming up by and by."

"Enfield, August 6th, 1840.

"I had not heard of the death of Abner Kneeland, and I have reason to think he is still living in Boston, U.S."

"October 13th, 1840.

"I made a declaration last Sunday that there was a mistake between me and the public, that I had not recanted a sentence I ever published, but had only gone on another tack in my warfare with superstition. When I box up the Gods in the human head as I do, making it the heaven, the earth, the garden of Eden, the ark, the tabernacle, the temple, depend upon it, I will not let them roam abroad in the physical world for superstitious mischief.

"I would be bound to bother Acland, though I confess he is on his best ground. I had a fine triumph over him about the Poor Laws, in the Bolton Theatre, and never before nor since did I hear the phrase of 'Three cheers for Carlile'."

"November 13th, 1840.

"I have been rolling restlessly on the bed all this week since my return from London on Sunday, incapable of lying still any way for a quarter of an hour at a time, with a high (more than usual) inflammation of the chest. This is my first salute for the winter. I am now worse on Friday than on Monday, and have some fear that I shall not be able to go out soul saving on Sunday next. I shall go if there be a possibility to stand up and talk. I find that I have reached a point in my ever sanguine calculation, and that is that the time has come in which I can excite more interest in London than any of the Socialist or Chartist leaders. I have restored a lost audience to the Hall of Science, and have drawn well there; moreover, I have pleased. Have sold my books freely, and have brought home about £5 in four weeks, which is a welcome addition to my slender income. I work now on Sunday afternoons, as I have no evening vacancy. I am enquiring for a place of my own – but my health!"

"Enfield, March 17th, 1841.

"You would have been delighted on Sunday, the 27th, I had a Brindly-like opponent, who, however, could but regret that such splendid talent as he had to his astonishment witnessed that evening should be prostituted to so bad a purpose; and yet he talked himself quite round to me; paid me high compliments, and came to shake hands warmly. Owen, I hear, is veering round to some new point about colonisation, and offending his community party. Sir H. R. Inglis brought up my name in the House of Commons last Friday in the question of Jewish Emancipation. He wanted to know how a Jewish alderman could have met me? I immediately drew up a petition of my whole case, briefly as possible, praying for two things: examination on the question of ancient Jewish history, and compensation for damage and merit as soon as the Jews are introduced among the legal authorities of the country. Peel moves well in the item of scientific schools. I have told him this week that he has only to move into the Church with them to be all right. I will send your books with Baraclory's parcel. I may keep out one for my very good friend Charles Roach Smith, the chemist, of 5, Liverpool Street, City, who came out enthusiastically to lecture at the Rotunda when Mr. Taylor was sent to Horsemonger Lane Gaol. Mr. Smith is a young man much respected among the antiquarians. His papers are read in the Antiquarian Society, consisting of bishops and all sorts; and lately the Marquis of Northampton sent him a card of admission to his soirée as President of the Royal Society; so we swim. I feel myself growing daily in public interest, though the money does not flow in yet. My passion for doing public good is as strong as ever; it is tempered a little with the discretion of experience. I am now a regular correspondent of the Bolton Free Press; my signature is – 'A Reformer of the People.'"

CHAPTER VI. CARLILE'S LAST YEARS

Here are two letters of much later date, and the last we have of his to Isis, except the one dated the 7th of December, 1842, with which we commenced the story of his life. By this time Carlile and Isis have come to the settled stage of ordinary married people.

"Richard Carlile to Elizabeth Sharples Carlile, Julian Carlile, and Hypatia Carlile.[22 - Julian and Hypatia Carlile. Theophila was not born at that time.]

"Loves, – To you, Mrs. Carlile, I know I shall be worth all the more and be all the more lovely as I can earn money, though I grant that you have borne the want of it much better than I might have expected. I hope that I am beginning to turn over the new leaf, but I will not again talk about making the hit I have been so long talking about. But I will tell you what I have so far done in Brighton. I have not made one unpleasant step. Beyond the detervation of Mr. Colbatch, I have not encountered one public reproach. You will have seen the letters in the two papers. I wish you to send the papers to your mother, as I shall reprint the letters and syllabus of lectures in a small pamphlet. I found here two of the Owenites whom I knew, a Mr. Wood and a Mr. Stonie. They have been very active and very generous. Mr. Wood wished me to take my meals altogether at his house. He has raised a subscription of several pounds to pay all my expenses of advertisement. Another friend has given me the free use of the best, and best situated lecturing rooms I have had out of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. It is a large new-built shop on the ground-floor of one of the most respectable streets, without any house over it. It makes a room fully as large as that of Shipyard, and quite as good in appearance, with everything that is desirable for entrance and convenience, save a little ante-room for the lecturer, so that I am now set in for a fair trial of my powers in Brighton. I have had but one dissenting minister visit me this (Monday) morning, who has gone off to read the Bill and consider the subject. My letters have produced the same effect here as my pamphlet did in Plymouth. I have not heard of any pulpit abuse. I was stopped in writing the above through a number of visitors, and shall not now get you off this on Monday evening. I must do so to-morrow evening, because when I set in for lecturing twice a day I shall be very busy. However, if I send you some money, you will excuse me in much writing.

"Tuesday noon. – Everything promises well. My bills are read with great curiosity and avidity, and without reproach. Depend on it, I have at last hit the right ground of procedure. The fanatics cannot abuse me on this ground. If ever a man was worthy of support in going through a country as a public teacher, I feel that I am. I have not heard from you since I have been here. I shall have to buy a Bible to-morrow morning. You may send in by Richley, to be booked in Gracechurch Street, a parcel containing the small Bible. I do not recollect its being at home. I should like the two volumes of Greek and English Testament, and the American book by Fellows on 'The Exposition of the Ancient Mysteries and Freemasonry'. I first sent you a parcel, then a letter to Mr. Vickery, and two newspapers. The newspaper published to-day has nothing new but my advertisement. I had a letter in the Gazette and another in the Herald, both of which I hope you have seen.

Kiss me Julian and Hypatia. I hope they will keep in good health, and I have not a doubt but that by the time they can judge and think of the thing, they will see and hear me before large, respectable, and approving audiences; so as to make them proud of the name of Carlile. My heart's desire is that they hear you, too, before approving audiences. I have had no preachers visit me this morning, but I had three yesterday. You might have seen a paragraph in one of the Brighton papers stating that the quondam Miss Wright has been mobbed in Philadelphia for meddling with the banking system. I am glad to see her in America again."

"Richard Carlile to Elizabeth Sharples Carlile.

"Love, – I am exceedingly sorry that you have not kept clear of a quarrel with Mr. Vickery – you ought to have done this, say what he would. His age should atone for a thousand faults, and above all things, I think you should not have said anything to him about his son. As to who visits him in company with his son, it is his business, and not yours and mine to enquire; but as to who shall take up a lodging in my house, it is my business to decide, and I decide that no 'Aurelia' shall sleep under that roof with my consent, and certainly not at all if I were there. Ours is a marriage unlicensed by the priest, but I know of nothing disreputable in it, or I could never have tolerated it for an hour. But where there are avowedly two husbands to one wife all living together, there must be something so base, mean, filthy, and dastardly in all three, as to make them a disgrace to society, and I do feel disgraced in having either of them put a foot in my house. Poor Julian, when I see the children here drawn about the town and seaside in a little carriage by a goat, I wish I had him here. I do not wish to see him a milksop boy, afraid of everything and everybody about him. But then, let Mr. Vickery's age be an apology, he is past reproof and if he cannot be happy with us and the children, we can part with him, but we cannot part with the children. I soberly and seriously think you have been wrong altogether in your carriage to Moses, and it is the fault of you very lively, sprightly people, that there is no happy medium with you; but that you are always in extremes; sometimes too gay for sober observation, sometimes too sad even to be worth pitying. But it is no use, where there is no pursuit of knowledge, what is in the bone will not come through the flesh. I wish you to come to Brighton, not that I want you for money taking, because I think you are out of place there; but I am absolutely keeping a shop with what books I have. I sold an Isis for 20s. this morning, and a 'Volney' and other things. I found I could not do without somebody, so I sent for Tom Paine. We are lodging at 8s. a week for two bedrooms. My bed is a large one. We breakfast and tea at the lodging, and we have a standing pressed invitation to every day's dinner with Mr. Woods, the co-operative. Our expenses are small, certainly within 25s. a week. You would add but little if you would be content with where I am. It is a decent house in a good street, and near my lecture room. I am really set in for business here. I should mention that we could not dine in the house, and that would be awkward. But I will take another lodging after you come. I will never consent to be saddled with any person's housekeeping at Enfield Highway but that which you shall appoint. I could be satisfied with the washerwoman's mother if she were disengaged; or if Ann Collis could spare sufficient time from her school to attend to Mr. Vickery – I do not mean in school hours, but after. My present prospect is that I am likely to stay at Brighton some time. I cannot now say how long. I will come up for you any day after Wednesday if you write for me. But I wish Hypatia and Julian to be with some careful person if you leave them. I shall send you as many pounds as I have with this. I have paid £2 17s. 6d. for printing bills, cards, and advertisements. If you send a parcel and there is only fourpence and twopence booking between a letter and parcel, send two volumes of Isis and a bundle of the letter to Peel. I think I could sell some of the numbers of Isis from 12 to 22, as far as you find them folded. Brighton has never had anything of mine. I am a new man among them. I have picked up a volume that has some of the first tracts I ever wrote, which you have not seen and which will amuse you. You'll say that they are better than the last. I wrote to the High Constable of Brighton to say that I should address the public on the Steyne to-morrow, Sunday; he has just called upon me to say the magistrates have expressed their disapprobation of my attempt and will send a reporter; but I learned from him that if nothing unfavorable was reported, nothing would follow. It happened that the High Constable of the town dined at the City of London Tavern in 1826, to celebrate on Paine's birthday my liberation from Dorchester Gaol. He is a right sort of man. I shall want an answer to this immediately, to be sure it gets to you safe. I think I may calculate on picking up for books and lecturing a couple of pounds per day here for some time. I was uneasy until I heard from you and not easy after. Mrs. Cooper and Elizabeth and your Daniel are here. I called there yesterday, and she was threatening to 'hide' Elizabeth because she did not speak French to a French waiter in the house who cannot speak English. The woman is to be pitied, and the girl much more so. I particularly want as another book for reference one that lately came from America called 'The Phoenix'. It was lent to Mrs. Guiver, but she returned it. I have received the others all safe. I shall send a few things to wash to make a parcel. I intend to get this off by the mail on Saturday with a hope that you will get it on Sunday morning by Guiver. Be a good girl and have no more quarrelling with anybody. I do not intend to quarrel with any person hereafter, I see it wiser not to do so.

The newspapers this week have said nothing about me, save my advertisements. I am selling books very well. By Michaelmas I hope to have money for rent at Enfield and Shipyard, besides many other things. A surgeon has bought the 'Diegesis', and tendered me half a sovereign to give him a private lecture to-morrow evening. I am afraid I shall be too busy money-making to pay you much attention when you come. Send down a parcel – a 'Volney's Ruins' in boards, on the shelf at the top of the stairs. I send you four pounds, which is all I have. I have cleared all expenses except a printer's bill for work just done. Write by return of post, or send a parcel by first coach. Kiss me Julian and Hypatia. I salute you with a holy kiss; but you are not quite a Christian yet."

Late in the year of 1842 Isis went to visit relatives in Torquay, her health was not of the best, and a change of air and scene became necessary to its restoration. Carlile's eldest sister came from Devonshire to keep house for the family during her absence. She spent the holidays there and was greatly improved in health and spirits, and had already written that she would soon return, being much improved by the change. In the meantime Carlile had decided that if he would do business with any kind of satisfaction, he would have to go to London to do it, even if he had to imprison himself in his bedroom during the winter months. The lease of the Enfield cottage having run out, he decided to move to London in preference to renewing the Enfield lease, and he arranged to move before Isis returned, and so surprise her, and at the same time relieve her of all the care and trouble of the change. He had an interest in the premises No. 1 Bouverie Street, corner of Fleet Street. His son Alfred having the management of a book store there in his father's name. Carlile knew the danger of the London winter in his own case, but November and December having passed and January nearly so, he thought that he would be able to hold out till the spring, which was then close at hand; and so he might have done, but that the exertion of moving was too much for him, and combined with the horrors of asthma and a great fright which he received by the temporary loss of his little son Julian, which caused him much apprehension and fatigue. He was so exhausted by all these circumstances that in a letter to Turton we find him complaining of a bad night's rest, of tossing about all night, of being unable to get warm, etc., always, however, looking forward to being better in a few days, always hopeful and cheery to the last. Unfortunately, he did not get better, and it was soon seen by the family, all except Isis, who was still in Torquay, that Carlile had only returned to Fleet Street to die. To die on the old ground, where for twenty-seven years he had waged such a stern fight against tyranny and injustice. But where could a place be found that was more fitting than this for the death of the hero of a hundred fights, the battlefield itself? And there is a satisfaction, a meagre one, 'tis true, in the thought that he died in Fleet Street, where his great conflict was carried on for a period of twenty-seven years.

In the meantime poor Isis, in happy ignorance of all these things, was enjoying herself at the home of Henry Halse, one of the first discoverers of animal magnetism or mesmerism, and she proved a most agreeable subject for his experiments, was frequently put into a mesmeric state, and was very useful in diagnosing cases for Mr. Halse, who was utilising the new science in the cause of health. One morning he had placed her under the influence as usual, but she was so troubled and disturbed, and seemed to be suffering so much mental anxiety that Mr. Halse hastened to release her from the condition. On awakening, her sole thought was of London. "I must go to London at once," she cried, "I am needed in London, there is trouble there, I must go at once." Her friends tried to calm her, and said they would send to London and find out anything that might be taking place there; all to no purpose, they could not stay her for a moment. Her preparations were made in a very short time, and the first conveyance taken that could be had. Arrived in London, she went straight to No. 1, Bouverie Street, to learn if there was anything wrong at Enfield, only to find the whole household there, Enfield a thing of the past, and her beloved husband lying on what was to prove his death bed. She was in time only to be recognised and to assist in nursing him. The shock must have been terrible to her, from happiness to misery in a day. A few days of hope, of fearing, of watching with ceaseless anxiety, and all was over. As it neared the end Carlile roused himself from apparent unconsciousness, and with almost a superhuman effort said, with the greatest difficulty to those around him, "I am the same man I have always been, I have gone neither to the right nor to the left. My aim has been to accomplish one great purpose." This expression was uttered by a powerful effort of nature, and was the last that ever issued from his lips.

CHAPTER VII. THE LAST DAYS OF ISIS

After the death of Carlile, and as soon as Isis had recovered somewhat from the shock, she went to visit awhile with the Ebworth ladies, taking her two daughters with her, a home being found for the little boy Julian at Harmony Hall, Robert Owen's school. Carlile having died intestate, his eldest son, Richard, succeeded to the business and stock of books, etc., as also a few months afterwards to the annuity, while Isis had only the furniture and personal property. She was thus left totally unprovided for. The sum of £200 a year which had been promised to her by the hitherto generous friends, and upon which Carlile relied, was not forthcoming, and Isis was left perfectly helpless, with three children under ten years of age to be fed, clothed and educated. In a few weeks she was given charge of the sewing room of the "Concordium", as Alcott House was named, where she for some months supported herself and her little daughters, Hypatia and Theophila; but the health of the former giving way she was removed to Charing Cross Hospital. Isis did not remain very many months at Alcott House, but having a small legacy left her by an aunt she removed to London, and taking a large house she furnished apartments. In this way and with the help of some generous friends she managed to keep her little family together. She devoted herself to their care and education, and being an expert needlewoman she always kept them and herself well and comfortably dressed. Being still young and very attractive she had many admirers and would-be lovers, and, as might be expected, many offers of marriage. Such offers had no attraction for her, but rather troubled her than anything else. Her children had some amusing stories to tell of baffled lovers and rejected proposals. Her beauty became rather an annoyance than a pleasure to her, because of the notice and attention it caused her. She seldom went out, and when she did she was always thickly veiled; yet her form and carriage drew the same attention.

Isis struggled along for six or seven years, devoting herself to the care and education of her children, turning every stone to advance them in their studies; in this she was ably assisted by one or two faithful friends. A literary and scientific institute was established at the back of the Warner Street Temperance Hall. A fine lecture room was built and classes of all kinds inaugurated, a debating society formed, and quite a respectable library got together. This promised well at first, and probably would have been successful in other hands, that is, the hands of some experienced business man or woman; but as the manager of the details of such an establishment, Isis was out of place, and acknowledged it. She could grace a rostrum, but failed completely as a "server of coffee". To this place came many respectable young men, and quite a good membership rolled up, and it was in every respect a fitting and a proper place for the youth of both sexes, as educational and moral pursuits (with the relaxation of singing and dancing) only were countenanced.

Among the young men who were attracted by the lectures and debates to this institution was Charles Bradlaugh. He was known as the "Boy Preacher". He was a tall, well-developed youth, and was understood to be studying for the ministry, though he was at that time in the office of Green, Son and Jones, coal dealers, in London. It was understood that he was devoting his leisure hours to the necessary preparatory reading before going to a college or school to complete the course. It so happened that the subject for discussion on one particular week was the then comparatively new one of "Is there a God". There were several names enrolled on the books as taking part in this discussion, both for and against, and some were practised debaters. With something of the spirit of the old chivalric knights, Bradlaugh enrolled himself in the lists to fight for the affirmative side of the question. Not doubting for a moment but that he would be victorious, unluckily for him he had read only his own side of the question, and found himself hors de combat at the close of the first night. His opponent, who had been over the ground many times before, knew all the arguments that were likely to be advanced on either side, and thus had a great advantage over young Bradlaugh, who, though clever and intrepid, was very vulnerable to his older and more experienced adversary. The debate lasted three nights. The first night he, Bradlaugh, was thrown; the second night he was vanquished, and the third night he confessed himself completely conquered and threw up his case. But mark the consequence! One morning Julian Carlile, going on the street quite early, met Charles Bradlaugh, who told him that on going home the night before he found the door locked against him. His father speaking to him from a window, bade him never to enter his house again, and denied to his son even a change of linen. He had walked the street all night. On hearing this story from the lips of her son, Isis immediately sent for him, and after a long conference it was decided that he should make his home at the Institution, 1, Warner Place, Hackney Road, sharing the room of Julian, which they did for some time as though they were brothers; and indeed they looked considerably alike, both being of large build, fair complexioned, though Charles was considerably older. But in a few days or weeks he lost his position with the firm, his father withdrawing his security and telling the firm that his son had fallen into bad company. Nor did it rest there; the young man secured more than one position, only to lose it through the misrepresentation of this unnatural father. We know that this has been denied, but it is nevertheless strictly true, and the whole circumstance is as vivid in the mind of the writer (who was then a good-sized girl), as if it were a tale of yesterday; besides there are others living who can corroborate this statement. Bradlaugh then made himself as useful as possible in the Institution as librarian, lecturer, etc., and was to Isis as another son. It was very pleasant to hear him say a few years before his death that he owed all he was or became to her, for had she not counselled him and advised and guided him at that most trying period of his life as she did, he would have been desperate and probably done some rash thing which would have wrecked his life. It was soon after this that the health of Isis began to fail, and though change of scene and circumstances was tried, and some eminent physicians consulted, she was seen to be gradually but steadily losing ground. She had left the Institution by this time and had taken apartments in a very quiet place where there was a nice garden, and where she could have a room on the ground floor, which afforded easy access to the garden, and also a fine view of it from the bed upon which she was beginning to rest longer and longer each succeeding day. Doctors came and looked at her and shook their heads, and spoke outside of the room of her mind and heart, and that it was not a sickness of the body; no-medicine could reach the case. One more sympathetic than the rest suggested her native air, whereupon a kind friend wrote to the mother of Isis, telling what the doctor had said, and asking if they would receive her and let her come to them for a little while; and this was the answer – "As she has made her bed so she must lie". This was the last stroke. In a few days she passed away quietly in her sleep without suffering, indeed she had suffered very little pain during the whole of her illness, just a gradual wasting away of the body. No death could be more peaceful —

"We thought her dying when she slept And sleeping when she died".

The only witness to her passing away was the same little girl of whom the reader has read, now grown larger, but still only a girl.

CHAPTER VIII. MEMORIES

With the writer, as far as life has yet lasted, have lingered some precious memories. The memories of her birthplace made sweet and hallowed by the remembrance of one who was all tenderness and gentleness, and who spent much time with her, working and walking in the pretty garden, and occasionally in the orchard beyond the garden. Sometimes as we walked by the house the old-fashioned latticed window would be thrown open, and a beautiful face, adorned with long ringlets, would smile down upon us; and she remembers what a pretty frame for this beautiful picture the vines, the jessamine and honeysuckles made. There was, too, a pretty lawn, in the centre of which grew a tree with wide-spreading branches, where seats and a table were always ready to receive gathered flowers and weary little girls, who here loved to climb upon father's knee and fall happily asleep. But oh, the mystery of it. How strange it was that wherever she might fall asleep she always awakened in the same place. This took her a long time to understand. She was quite a bit old before she understood how she always awoke in her own bed. But the garden, what a subject of wonder it was with its old-fashioned flowers, chief among which were its wonderful moss roses which grew to such perfection there, and the mignonette so fragrantly sweet; nor can the writer see these roses or inhale the fragrance of mignonette to this day without being instantly transported back to dear old Enfield Highway of half a century and more ago. This little girl was fortunate – or was it unfortunate? – in having so much of the time of this tender and loving father. She learned long afterwards that it was because of his failing health he had to live in the garden in summer and in his room in the winter, because he could breathe nowhere else; and thus the two least competent ones were relegated to the garden and inactivity, the last baby in the family and its failing head. A few yards down the old highway was an inn with a large space in front where coaches stopped and from whence they started. To this place came travelling shows of all kinds, acrobats, and lovely ladies who rode the most beautiful horses, and who wore most gorgeous gold and silver gowns, and once there came a big van, which bore a learned pig, and a lady who dressed herself in snakes – that is, she wore them in lieu of necklace, bracelets, girdles, sashes, etc. But that awful pig was the cause of much suffering both mentally and physically to this little girl, though it proved to be a very small addition to the small stock of memories that alone were all that were left to her for many years of a beloved parent. But this pig, a pig indeed who could tell all our secrets and one that could answer questions, as this little girl found out to her great consternation, for on this wonderful pig being asked by his master which was the little girl in that company who stole the sugar out of her mother's sugar-pot? this dreadfully wise pig went round the whole company and finally stopped right in front of this little girl, who in the terror of a guilty conscience rushed out of the covered van, tumbled down the steps, and flew home to tell her mother and confess all. But, alas! in her great hurry to reach the house, she fell on the gravelled walk and grazed both hands and knees. She remembers, too, with what tender pity her father hastened towards her, and picking her up, carried her crying to the house, and how gently and patiently he bathed the wounds, and smoothed the grazed skin and bound up the limbs, and nursed her in his arms, while she told the dreadful tale of that pig, and bade her be comforted, and actually laughed about that stolen sugar and kissed her more than ever. She remembered, too, one Sunday when company was expected to dinner, she, with her sister, had been prettily dressed in white Swiss muslin and pretty blue sashes, and the brother in complete Scotch kilt suit, and they being sent out to walk in the garden while their mother also made her toilet. The brother, fired with a love of martial glory, and desiring to improve their dresses with a more warlike appearance, secured from some unknown source a sooty pot, and dipping his fingers first in water, and then rubbing them on the sooty bottom of the saucepan, artistically covered those pure white dresses with innumerable black spots, having done which he hung the pot around his neck for a drum, with a string, and having found two sticks, he beat a tattoo on this unique musical instrument, and we sisters fell in line and marched round the garden, till nearing the house, our father saw us, whereupon he laughed immoderately, and calling up to our mother to look out of the back chamber window, awaited results. They came quickly; with a scream and an exclamation she flew down the stairs, and would have inflicted condign punishment had not father met her at the door, and folding her in his arms, he carried her back to her room and kissed her into good humor again, nor would he allow her to change our clothes until she had promised him neither to scold or whip us, and she kept her word. But the story was too good to keep, and we heard both the guests and our parents laughing heartily at the performance. At another time, when some gentlemen came to dinner to discuss theology and various subjects, it was on Sunday, and as usual in English families the children were brought in with the fruit and nuts at dessert. While the conversation was going on we children were munching nuts, when our father made use of a quotation from the New Testament in which the words "sounding brass and tinkling cymbals" occur. It seems our father got the spirit but not the exact wording of the verse, and the little daughter of gravel-walk notoriety ventured to correct the father's rendering of the verse, when he asked her to give the whole verse, which she did; he then asked her "if she knew any more?" She answered she knew the whole chapter, and repeated it in full, at which peal after peal of laughter rang out at the father's surprise; one of the gentlemen saying something about "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings cometh wisdom, etc." The little girl had been attending an infant school, and had been learning a verse a day, as it happened, of this very chapter. To this school, one day, came a most lovely vision (in this little girl's eyes), a tall beautiful woman in a green silk dress, with lovely curls hanging down her lovely face. Her entrance in the school created a great sensation, and the little girl remembered how the old lady who kept the school curtsied to the beautiful visitor, who, after speaking a few moments with the old dame, left the school leading the little girl by the hand; and how proud the child was to be brought home by this beautiful woman rather than by the maid who usually came for her. In the memory of this little girl too there was a wonderful orchard at the end of the back garden, which seemed to her small feet endless. There were big clappers of wood which were used to frighten the birds away from the fruit. The orchard was literally the place of forbidden fruit to the little folks, who were not allowed there save in company of older people. One afternoon we were all taken to the inn to see the London coach come in on which a large dining-table was which had been sent down from London by our father, and lo and behold, when the table was cleared of its wrappings, what should be with it but a large plum-cake for us children, which father had intended for a surprise. And it was a surprise, indeed. Mother's ejaculation of "Dear, dear, what a man!" brought tears of joy to all our eyes. This little girl never could understand some things, and one was that when we were all out with our nurse that strangers would stop us and ask whose children we were, and after expressing their admiration of the beauty of her sister and brother, would pat her head and only say "She is a nice little thing ". But one memorable day we moved, and all our belongings were in the front garden; the little girl was much surprised to find herself cheek by jowl with a nice old man in marble, who had always lived away up above her reach; but now she could pat him and smooth him over with her hand, and make out some of the letters on the pedestal, which was engraved on all sides. The name she knew, for it was the name of her half-brother, and read Thomas Paine.

These memories and just a few more such were all she was ever to have personally of a loving and devoted father. There is a remembrance of standing before a large house and seeing men unload a lot of furniture, and then the cry coming from someone that "Julian is lost!" and after that all is confusion and worry, but he is found again after awhile. But next day we hear that our father is sick, and we feel that we are for two or three days being kept out of the way, till one night we are awakened for the first time in our lives, and someone carried the little girl to a large room where there were several people, strangers, and where she was held over the bed to kiss what was said to be her father, though she knew it could not be her father, for he always kissed back, and this person did not. Later there was a funeral in the house, and someone lifted this little girl up to see all the people that were walking in the road following a hearse and carriages; and we had no good father any more, only a sad and ever-weeping mother. A very little while and then we go to a very nice house for a few days,[23 - The home of Mrs. Chichester, Park Place, Ham, near Richmond-on-Thames.] and then to a place called Ham Common, a sort of vegetarian school where everyone works, and the children go to school, and where there is no sugar, no salt, nothing but bread with raisins in it, and fruit and uncooked vegetables, no milk, eggs, or meat. Our brother goes to a different place where he has been before, a place called "Harmony Hall", which was founded and under the direction of Robert Owen. This was well enough, but in a very short time our sister Hypatia, who had a very delicate constitution, had to be taken away to Charing Cross Hospital, there to be nursed and built up with the most generous diet known to the skilful physicians, in order to save her life. And there she remained for a long period. It was not long before mother and the little girl left Ham Common and went right to a home of our own, where soon we were gathered together and began to be happy again, but never so happy as we had been at Enfield; no, never again so happy after we had lost that dear father.

CHAPTER IX. SOME WHO HELPED IN THE GOOD WORK

Francis Place

This gentleman was often spoken of by his friends as a second Benjamin Franklin. With an intellect of the highest order he combined extraordinary business ability, and rose to an enviable position solely by the combination of these rarely united qualities. He built for himself a snug fortune, and had at his house a large and commodious library filled with well-selected works of every description suitable for reference and study.

To this library came many of the members of the House of Commons, and the room being quiet and commodious and always at their service, it grew to be a favorite place for committee meetings, more especially for secret councils. In this way and through his intimacy with so many of the members of the House, he came to know of all the secret projects which were afoot. He was frequently solicited for his advice or opinion, and stood very high in the estimation of most of the public men. He had often been urged to accept office, but preferred not to do so. In this position he was able to be of great service to Carlile, whom he greatly admired, and he kept Carlile informed of all the plots that were hatching for his destruction.

Place kept up a correspondence with Carlile, and may be said to have been his tutor in many things during the long years of his imprisonment. He loaned or otherwise procured many valuable works, and argued and discussed with him all their points of difference, his interest in his pupil never flagging for the best part of their lives. There is no doubt that Place saved Carlile's life more than once by warning him in time, and rendered him invaluable service in more directions than that. Not holding any office or being pledged to any secrecy, he was free to do so without violating any confidence. He certainly was a most valuable friend and coadjutor. It is pleasant to read over their letters and see their regard for each other showing through their pleasant banter. Here is an extract from one of the earlier letters written to Carlile in Dorchester: —

"Excuse me suggesting to you how necessary it is to keep by you an emetic; get about four ounces of antimony wine, and should you be attacked by sickness or pain in the region of the stomach or any uncommon symptoms after eating, be sure to take a tablespoonful of the wine frequently, until the vomiting clears the stomach of its contents. State prisoners frequently expire of anomalous disorders. You should very carefully examine everything before you eat. Be sure to take nothing that has a harsh or astringent taste or that edges your teeth. You ought to have such tests by you as would enable you to analyse your water, milk, or other fluids. Although you and I discard anything but natural agency, yet some supernatural power for all that might drop something into your food. What was the death of Napoleon? What become of Peter Annett, can you tell me? What was the disease of Queen Caroline? Act with suspicion and you will act with caution. The Christians become daily more exasperated against you as you foil one after another.

"The efficiency of your view affords a beautiful reflection. It is far more mighty than the sceptre or the crozier. The pen is levelling both with the dust. Really you have gained a proud triumph! The Christian ruffians, by resorting to force, have acknowledged their defeat, they have in fact confessed that they can no longer fight you with the pen, they have resorted to brute force – the horse and the steam engine. In the empire of reason you reign; you may be said now to have conquered 20,000 regular tithe eaters, all the ultra-quacks, and all the silly people they have succeeded in poisoning with their prejudice and superstition, which may be rated at some millions. Congratulate yourself upon your efforts, and be proud of your individual and single-handed success. Millions of unborn men will repeat your name, and as the age of ignorance is dispelled, you will be still more applauded. From your correspondent,

"Regulator" (Francis Place.)

Julian Hibbert. "Now bow the head and betid the knee." This most remarkable man, so good, so generous, and so noble, was so universally beloved and appreciated by those who knew him, that it became customary among his friends when about to mention him in their letters to each other, to use the above words in reverential recognition of his great goodness and manifold virtues. Yet he was a man of the most retiring disposition and disliked notoriety of any description. His lovely character and sweet disposition were clearly displayed in his beautiful features. His remarkable intellect, combined with his great benevolence and modest sweet demeanor, lent to his presence that quality which might be imagined of Deity itself. Fortunately for himself and others he was possessed of an ample fortune, which enabled him to live in a way that sheltered him from the storms as well as the battles of life. Thus he was able to devote his life to study, to writing, and to acts of benevolence. His health was of the frailest, it could not endure the least strain. The ordinary friction and annoyances of everyday life were torture to him. In his immediate circle all must be peace and goodwill. He separated himself from his family at an early age, and never spoke of them or of his birth to anyone as far as known. His family affairs were a secret to his most intimate friends. There was no doubt that he came of some fine family, but of that or of any other part of his past, or youth, he never spoke. At his death he laid the embargo of silence on all his friends as to himself, and begged them as they loved him to burn all his letters and to cease to speak of him. This was done, unfortunately for posterity, too faithfully by his friends, yet much against their own feelings. It prevents the biographer from giving as full a record of his beautiful life as would make it as perfect an example for all succeeding generations as could be desired.

Notwithstanding this over-weening sensitiveness in private matters, he wielded one of the boldest pens, and encouraged others to greater and more free expression of their opinions than they otherwise would have dared to declare. This very quality in Carlile was what first attracted Julian Hibbert to him, and a friendship was formed between them founded on the mutual appreciation of each other's talents and virtues, which continued uninterruptedly till Julian Hibbert's death in 1834.

Their acquaintance began during the imprisonment in Dorchester. As soon as the public subscription was started, or very soon after, there were some very handsome sums subscribed by one signing himself "An Enemy to Persecution". The frequency and amounts of these contributions aroused the curiosity as well as the gratitude of Carlile, and he begged for the honor of an introduction. This started a correspondence. Julian Hibbert contributed many articles to the Republican, and later publications of Carlile's, and rendered him great aid in all of his undertakings. All the advantages of his superior education, rare library and great wealth were at Carlile's service. Not less advantageous and benificial was his brotherly love and companionship; for, indeed, they were akin in their virtues. Both were gentle, loving and patient in their private lives. Both were bold to recklessness in the defiance, publicly, of wrong. Julian Hibbert delivered many lectures at the Rotunda while Richard Carlile and Robert Taylor were in prison, and wrote much during his short life.