i ;i; 
 
OJartteU Uniueraitg library 
 
 3tljaca. Nem ^nrk 
 
 WORDSWORTH COLLECTION 
 
 MADE BY 
 
 CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN 
 ITHACA. N. Y. 
 
 % 
 
iiate uu' 
 
SIXTH THOUSAND, price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 THE 
 
 %xihQt ot fistarg o\jtx tlje ^itlf 0f Dime, 
 
 A POPULAR VIEW OF THE HISTORICAL EVIDENCE FOR 
 THE TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 By THOMAS COOPER, 
 
 Author oj "The Purgatory a/ Suicides" etc., etc. 
 
 OPINIONS' OF THE "PRESS. 
 
 "Clearly written, and admirably enforced by strength of argument." — 
 Stand.\rd. 
 
 " Mr. Cooper's book is likely tO' be very useful." — Record. 
 
 "A book for the million — to be read in the workshop and the home, by 
 the fireside a;ii the wa/side."— Evangelical Christendo.m. 
 
 " It is racy read'ng. We honestly hail this volume as one of the very 
 best we kno.v, on account of its brevity, clearness, and force of diction, 
 sound logic, and popular method of stating, truth." — Weekly Review. 
 
 " There is plenty of acute and solid argument in JMr. Cooper's pages." 
 — Watchman. 
 
 "A kind of book very much wanted." — Christian Work. 
 
 " No man has ever left the infidel ranks to become a Christian whose 
 s'ncerity has been so waoUy beyond all doubt as Thomas Cooper. He 
 has gain;d no earthly reward for his labours in defence of the gosp"! : 
 but has endured and su t'.red for Christ's sake more than he would care 
 for 0Lh::r3 to know. His is a great mind, incapable of self-seeking. His 
 manner is stern, too stern, but his arguments are crushing. The pres;nt 
 volume is in h s beU manner, and deser.'es to be scattered as men fling 
 seeds into t'ae furrows, by handfuls. With God's bless'ng, it will reclaim 
 the sceptical and confirm the wavering."— Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, in 
 " Sword and Trowel." 
 
 London : Hodder and Stoughton, 27, Paternoster Row. 
 
 I 
 
■^ '-.^issa — 2,.-. 
 
 V.nrfra-^r-^rl Ti^^ J fnrhr^flTl l>nm n Phntndr^i'n'h 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 THOMAS COOPER. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 Third Thousand, 
 
 LOI\'DON : 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 
 
 Z1, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 MDCGCLXXII,, 
 
 - 1 i 
 
 Di 
 

 /^.(hody^^ 
 
 I I 
 
 V) 
 
 ' ' ' / ■, / 
 
TO HIS DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 THE REV. FREDERICK JAMES JOBSON, D.D., 
 
 EX-PRESIDENT OF 
 
 'ii.1^ WKSLEVAN METHODIST CONFERENCE, 
 
 THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 ■WITH AFFECTIONATE REGARD AND 
 
 HEARTFELT GRATITUDE, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 rHAI'TKH TACT. 
 
 I. CHILDHOOlJi: LEICESTER, EXETER, GAINSBOF.OUGir : iScq — 
 
 iSii I 
 
 ir. BOYHOOD: THOMAS MILLER : 181I — 1814 - - - 12 
 
 JIT. BOYHOOD : GAINSBOROUGH MEMORIES : 1814 — 1816- - 22 
 
 IV. BOYHOOD: SCHOOL-DAYS ENDED : 1816 — 1S2O- - - 32 
 
 V. SHOEMAKER LIFE : EARLY FRIENDSHIPS : 182O — 1824 - 42 
 
 VI. STUDENT LIFE : ITS ENJOY'MENTS : 1824 — 182S- - - 53 
 
 VII. ILLNESS : SCHOOLMASTER LIFE : IN EARNEST : 1828, 1S29 67 
 
 Vlir. WESLEYAN METHODIST LIFE : STRUGGLE FOR HOLINESS : 
 
 1829— 1834 - - - 77 
 
 IX. LOCAL TREACHER LIFE : SPIRITUAL FALL : 1829 — 1831; - 89 
 
 X. LINCOLN : mechanics' INSTITUTE : MUSIC : 1834 — 1837 - IO3 
 XI. LINCOLN: BUSY LIFE AS A NEWSPAPER WRITER: 183J — 
 
 183S - - II- 
 
 XII. FIRST LONDON LIFE : VICISSITUDES : 1839, 184O - - 123 
 
 XIII. LEICESTER: WRETCHEDNESS OF STOCKINGERS : 1840, 184I I33 
 
 XIV. LEICESTER : MY CHARTIST LIFE BEGUN : 184I - - - I43 
 XV. ELECTIONS : CHARTIST LIFE : 184I I54 
 
 XVI. CHARTIST POETS : CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : 1842 - 164 
 
 XVII. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED: CORN LAW REPEALERS: 
 
 1842 - - - 177 
 
 XVIII. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUm : THE RIOT IN THE STAFFORD- 
 SHIRE POTTERIES : 1842 rS6 
 
 XI\. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : REMARKABLE NIGMT- 
 
 jorRNFY : 1S42 - -- - - -.-- 197 
 
Vin CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTKR PAGS 
 
 XX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED •. MY FIRST TRIAL AND 
 
 ACQUITTAL : 1 842 207 
 
 XXI. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : STURGE CONFERENCE : 
 
 SECOND TRIAL : 1842, 1843 219 
 
 XXII. PLEADING IN THE COURT OF QUEEN's BENCH : CHARTIST "^ 
 
 PRISON LIFE : 1843 232 
 
 XXIII. CHARTIST PRISON LIFE CONTINUED: 1.843 — 1845 " ' ^46 
 
 XXIV. SCEPTICISM IN THE GAOL : LONDON: DISAPPOINTMENTS: 
 
 1845 - - - - - - - - - '- 259 
 
 XXV. DIFFICUL,TIES AND SUCCESS: "THE PURGATORY OF 
 
 SUICIDES " IS PUBLISHED : 1845 " " ' " - 27! 
 
 XXVI. JOURNEY FOR JERROLD'S PAPER : INTERVIEW WITH 
 
 WORDSWORTH : 1846 ------- 285 
 
 XXVII. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE IN LONDON : 1847, 1848 296 
 XXVIir. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : 1848 — 
 
 1850 311 
 
 XXIX. LECTURING IN IRELAND AND SCOTLAND : FUNERAL OF 
 
 THE GREAT DUKE 323 
 
 XXX. LITERARY yVND LECTURING LIFE CONTtNV F.D : W.J. FOX 
 
 AND TALFOURD : 1852 — 1S54 334 
 
 XXXI. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTIN UED : RELIGIOUS 
 
 CHANGE : 1852 1856 ------- 344 
 
 XXXII. LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE 
 
 "reasoner": 184S — 1853 35''' 
 
 XXXHI. entrance on the right life : THE LIFE OF DUTY : 
 
 1856— 1S58 36X 
 
 XXXIV. RENEWED PREACHER LIFE ; AND LIFE AS A LECTURER ON 
 
 RELIGIOUS EVIDENCE : 1858 — 1866 - - - - 382 
 
 XXXV. MY LIFE AND WORK FOR THE LAST FEW YEARS : CON- 
 CLUSION : 1867- I072 . . ^ . . - - 2QI 
 
LIFE OF THOMAS COOPER. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHILDHOOD: 1805 — 181 1. 
 LEICESTER — EXETER — GAINSBOROUGH. 
 
 The world expects, and almost demands, that some 
 men write their autobiography. It ridicules the vanity 
 and impertinence of other men who put the recollec- 
 tions of their own lives into print. Hundreds of people 
 have told me that I ought to- write a record bf my own 
 life. But, very likely, thousands will wonder that I 
 have had the assurance to write it, or could imagine 
 that anybody really cared to have it written. And, 
 doubtless, to many people, my record will be worth- 
 less ; yet I hope others will find something in it they 
 may deem not altogether without value. 
 
 Having come to the resolution to write my own 
 memoirs, I see no necessity for confining myself to 
 the drawing out of a lean outline. If the account of 
 a man's life be worth writing at all, it must be worth 
 writing with fair completeness. So I shall fill up the 
 outline as fully as I judge it wise to fill it up. I shall 
 
 I 
 
2 MOTIVES FOR WRITING. 
 
 do SO more especially when it will gratify myself. 
 jH'or, if there be any gratification to be derived from 
 the reading of my book, I think I ought to share it. 
 And I most positively declare that if I had thought 
 a share of such gratification would be denied me, I 
 would not have written the book at all. Thus the 
 reader will see that I have let the truth out, at once : 
 I have written the book chiefly to please myself 
 And that, I suspect, is the chief reason why anybody 
 writes an autobiography. 
 
 Coleridge (in his " Literaria Biographia ") thinks it 
 " probable that all thoughts are in themselves im- 
 perishable ; and that if the intelligent faculty should 
 be rendered more comprehensive it would only require 
 a different and apportioned organization — the body 
 celestial instead of the body terrestrial — to bring 
 before every human soul the collective experience of 
 its whole past existence." One could desire to have 
 such a power of tracing every thought to the earliest 
 part of one's conscious existence. Not for the purpose 
 of inflicting the recital of all one's thoughts upon others, 
 but for the purpose of being able to tell the truth. 
 What were the exact motives for the performance 
 of certain actions in our lives, we often cannot state 
 unerringly in our later years. It is not simply because 
 memory fails that we cannot give the veritable state- 
 ment ; but because the moral and intellectiial man 
 has changed. We no longer think and feel as we 
 thought and felt so many years ago ; and, perhaps, 
 
PURPOSE TO TELL TRUTH. 3 
 
 we wonder that we did some things and spoke 
 some words we did and spake at certain times. We 
 are inclined to set it down that our motives then were 
 what they would be now. We see the past, as it were, 
 through a false glass ; and cannot represent it to our- 
 selves otherwise than as something like the present. 
 
 I am setting out to write my memoirs with the rigid 
 purpose of telling the truth to the best of my know- 
 ledge. But I cannot expect to accomplish what none 
 of us can accomplish, unless " the inteUigent faculty 
 should be rendered more comprehensive." I shall 
 fail in rehearsing some things correctly, no doubt ; 
 but it shall not be wilfully, or from intention. 
 
 Most likely I shall become tedious to some readers 
 when I am gratifying myself most fully. But any 
 reader who is displeased with my narrative can pass 
 over the pages in which he feels no interest ; or close 
 the book and take to his daily broadsheet, if he pre- 
 fers it. 
 
 I cannot despise the good old-established practice 
 of autobiographers and all other biographers : that of 
 commencing with the venerable theme of ancestry. 
 What though a man cannot aver he believes himself 
 to be descended, either in a right or a wrong line, 
 from John of Gaunt, or William the Conqueror, — may 
 not his parentage be named/however humble, ii it be 
 honest .'* 
 
 By my father's side, I am descended from York- 
 shire Quakers, My father became fatherless when he 
 
4 DELIVERANCE FROM DROWNING. 
 
 was a boy; and his Quaker grandfather apprenticed 
 him to a dyer in Long Acre. His youth being thus 
 spent in London, and without parental guardianship, 
 he gave up the strictness of Hfe in which his childhood 
 had been trained, and ceased to belong to the Society 
 of Friends. He left England, and went to India, but 
 soon returned, travelled about the kingdom practising 
 his trade as a dyer, and became acquainted with my 
 mother at Gainsborough, in the county of Lincoln. 
 
 My mother's race bore the old Saxon name of Job- 
 son, and were small farmers and carriers in Lincoln- 
 shire ; and some of them fishermen on the sea-coast; 
 
 I was born at Leicester, on the 20th of March, 
 1805 ; but my father was a wanderer by habit, if not 
 by nature ; and so I was removed to Exeter when I 
 was little more than twelve months old. I fell into 
 the Leate, a small tributary of the Exe, over which 
 there was a little wooden bridge that led to my father's 
 dye-house, on the day that I was two years old — and, 
 as my mother always said, at the very hour that I was 
 born, two years before. After being borne down the 
 stream a considerable way, I was taken out, and sup- 
 posed to be dead ; but was restored by medical skill. 
 It may seem strange to some who read this — but I 
 remember, most distinctly and clearly, being led by 
 the hand of my father, over St. Thomas's bridge, on 
 the afternoon of that day. He bought me ginger- 
 bread from one of the stalls on the bridge ; and some 
 of the neighbours, who knew me, came and chucked 
 
HAPPY DAYS AT EXETER. 5 
 
 me under the chin, and said, " How did you Hke it ? — 
 How did you fall in ? — Where have you been to ?" 
 The circumstances are as vivid to my mind as if they 
 only occurred yesterday. 
 
 A more pleasing remembrance is that of having 
 being taken at five o'clock on Christmas-day morning 
 to hear the great organ of St. Peter's Cathedral. I 
 was not then three years old. And I remember, quite 
 as well, how Mother Hundrell, the milkwoman, used 
 to give me white bread thickly covered with cream ; 
 that delicious cream for which I often longed, yqars 
 after, when I became a hungry, ragged boy, and was 
 far away from bland Devonshire. 
 
 I learned to read, they said, almost without instruc- 
 tion ; and at three years old I used to be set on a 
 stool, in Dame Brown's school, to teach one Master 
 Bodley, who was seven years old, his letters. At the 
 same age I could repeat by heart several of the fables ' 
 of -^sop — as they were called — contained in a little 
 volume purchased by my father. I possess the dear 
 rehc, though tattered and torn, and minus the title- 
 page, — together with my father's old silver watch, the 
 silver spoon he bought for me, at my birth — I don't 
 think I was born with one in my mouth — and the dar- 
 Hng Httle hammer he bought for me at Exeter, and 
 with which I used to work, in my childish way, when 
 tired of reading and rehearsing fables and other stories, 
 and hearing my father rehearse his, in turn. 
 
 All this pleasant, sunny life of early childhood was 
 
6 ILLNESSES : THE SUNSHINE GONE. 
 
 soon to pass away. My mother became a widow when 
 I was but four years old, and left grand old Exeter 
 for her native Lincolnshire. She settled down at 
 Gainsborough, close by the Trent, which there divides 
 Lincolnshire from the county of Nottingham. At 
 Gainsborough I remained till I was nearly nine-and- 
 twenty years old, a period of nearly twenty-five years. 
 
 My mother took up the trade of a dyer, for she had 
 learnt the " art and mystery " thoroughly from my 
 father ; and she was at that time very strong, and in 
 the prime of life, being in her fortieth year. And the 
 business of a dyer, as it was then practised, needed 
 strength. 
 
 My earliest recollections of Gainsborough begin 
 with my taking the small-pox, which I had so severely 
 that I was blind nineteen days, was worn till the bones 
 came through my skin, at the knees, hips, and elbows, 
 (the scars are yet renewed !) and was thrice believed, 
 for some moments, to be dead. Measles and scarlet 
 fever came close upon my weak recovery from the 
 more fell disease. A whole year was thus filled up 
 with dread affliction ; and at five years old, when I 
 began to go out of doors a few paces, I felt — child 
 though I was — the humbling change that had come 
 over me. I was no longer saluted cheerfully and with 
 a smile, as at Exeter ; no longer flattered and called 
 a " pretty boy." Some frowned, with sour-natured 
 dislike, at my marred visage ; while others looked 
 pitiful, and said " Poor thing ! " 
 
TENDERNESS OF MY MOTHER. / 
 
 Within doors, there was no longer a handsome room, 
 the cheerful look of my father, and his little songs and 
 stories. We had now but one chamber and one 
 lower room ; and the last-named was, at once, par- 
 lour, kitchen, and dye-house : two large coppers were 
 set in one part of it ; and my mother was at work, 
 amidst steam and sweat, all the day long for half of 
 the week, and on the other half she was as fully em- 
 ployed in " framing," ironing, and finishing her work. 
 Yet for me she had ever words of tenderness. My 
 altered face had not unendeared me to her. In the 
 midst of her heavy toil, she could listen to my feeble 
 repetitions of the fables, or spare a look, at my entreaty, 
 for the figures I was drawing with chalk upon the 
 hearthstone. 
 
 As soon as I was strong enough, I was sent to a 
 dame's school, near at hand, kept by aged Ger- 
 trude Aram : " Old Gatty," as she was usually called. 
 Her school-room — that is to say, the larger lower- 
 room of her two-storied cottage — was always lull ; 
 and she was an expert and laborious teacher of the 
 art of reading and spelling. Her knitting, too — for 
 she taught girls as well as boys — was the wonder of 
 the town. I soon became her favourite scholar, and 
 could read the tenth chapter of Nehemiah, with all its 
 hard names, " like the parson in the church," — as she 
 used to say, — and could spell wondrously. 
 
 I had very little play out of doors, for that year of 
 dire diseases had rendered me a very weakly and ail- 
 
8 MY mother's hard work. 
 
 ing child. So my dear mother bought me penny story 
 books, in store ; and I used to complete my enjoy- 
 ment of them by getting them by heart, and repeating 
 them. And then I fell upon the project of drawing 
 with slate and pencil ; but became still more attached 
 to cutting out shapes in paper. With a pair of 
 scissors, I used often to work for hours, making figures 
 of men, horses, cows, dogs, and birds. 
 
 On fine Sundays, my mother began to take me into 
 the fields, and to Lea Plantation, to gather flowers, 
 which we kept in water, and I could worship them for 
 several days. And on rainy Sundays, my mother 
 Would unwrap from its careful cover a treasure which 
 my father had bought, and which she took care to 
 bring with her from Exeter — Baskerville's quarto Bible, 
 valuable for its fine engravings from the old masters ; 
 and I was privileged to gaze and admire while she 
 slowly turned over that superb store of pictures, and 
 sometimes repeated what my father had said about 
 them. 
 
 After the novelty of her starting as a dyer had 
 worn off, my mother found her enterprise answer but 
 poorly. The few pounds she possessed when she 
 reached Gainsborough, had been expended in pur- 
 chasing coppers, and having them set, and in other 
 necessary outfits of her business ; indeed, it had not 
 been sufficient for these. She toiled hard to reduce 
 the debt she had thus contracted ; for she was not a 
 woman to sink for lack of eff'ort. Pasteboard boxes, 
 
MOTHER AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. 9 
 
 made entirely by hand, were then in very general use 
 both as small work-boxes among tradesmen's wives 
 and daughters, and as larger conveniences for holding 
 servant's clothes. My mother took up this manufac- 
 ture, in addition to her business as a dyer. She went 
 from door to door in the town to try to sell her boxes ; 
 but finding little encouragement she began to journey 
 to the surrounding villages and farm-houses, carrying 
 her burden — the smaller boxes within the large, often 
 to the amount of twenty or thirty — on her head. 
 When the village or hamlet was near, as were Lea, 
 Bole, and Morton, I went with her. 
 
 I cannot forget what occurred one day when I was 
 about six years old, and was accompanying my mother 
 in one of these journeys. The rent was due, and our 
 landlord was a hard man, and my poor mother had 
 toiled for a fortnight to make up an extra lot of boxes. 
 She, at length, set out for Lea, a village two miles off, 
 to try to dispose of her manufacture. I trudged by 
 her side, taking hold of her apron to enable me to 
 keep up with her, as she walked stoutly but sadly 
 on, with the burden on her head. 
 
 We were not half-way towards Lea, when we were 
 met by Cammidge, a master chimney-sweeper, and 
 his two apprentices bending under huge soot bags. 
 He began to try to entice my mother into an agreement 
 for me to be his apprentice, and took out two golden 
 guineas from his purse and offered them to her. She 
 looked anxiously at them, but shook her head, and 
 
10 THE BLIND OLD SOLDIER. 
 
 looked at me with the tears in her eyes ; and I clung 
 tremblingly to her apron, and cried, " Oh, mammy, 
 mammy ! do not let the grimy man take me away ! " 
 " No, my dear bairn, he shall not," she answered ; 
 and away we went — leaving the chimney-sweep in a 
 rage, swearing, and shouting after my mother that 
 she was a fool, and he was sure to have me, sooner or 
 later, for that she could not escape bringing herself 
 and me to the workhouse. My mother never went 
 thither, however ; nor did she ever ask parish help to 
 bring me up. 
 
 When my mother went on more distant journeys, 
 I was left, for the day, in the care of such of the 
 neighbours as would consent to have me. Two of 
 these I well remember. One was old Will Rogers, 
 who kept a lodging-house where small pedlars and 
 beggars slept ; and the other was Thomas Chatterton, 
 a pensioned soldier, who had lost his eyesight in 
 Egypt. Many fragments of the fairy, and witch, and 
 ghost-stories, told by the beggars and wandering 
 pedlars, remain in my memory ; but I have a far 
 more vivid recollection of the blind soldier's relations 
 of the way in which he stepped out of the boat up to 
 the waist in water, in the Bay of Aboukir, and how 
 they charged the French with the bayonet, and under 
 cover of the cannon from the ships drove the enemy 
 back from the shore, and effected a triumphant 
 landing. 
 
 When I was in my seventh year — that is to say, in 
 
REMOVAL TO ANOTHER HOUSE. II 
 
 the autumn of 1811 — my mother had the courage to 
 leave her small house in " Penny's Yard," as it was 
 called, and remove into the long street of the town 
 which runs parallel with the river Trent, and is called 
 " Bridge Street." 
 
12 THE HOUSE IN 'SAILORS' ALLEY.' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 boyhood: THOMAS miller : 1811 — 1 814. 
 
 As our new house fronted the street, the boxes my 
 mother made were exposed for sale in the Httle bow- 
 window, and she had greater pubhcity for her dyeing 
 business. The coppers were now set in a back room, 
 and thus the front room was kept neat and clean. Our 
 new habitation was one of the four, the back doors of 
 which opened into a close square of small dwellings 
 called " Sailors' Alley." In this square resided the 
 mother of Thomas Miller. He was abbut two years 
 younger than myself, but was stronger and healthier, 
 and now became my playmate. We lived in the house 
 in front of Sailors' Alley till January 1816 ; and Miller 
 and I were more or less together daily, till that time. 
 On account of my feeble state of health, my mother 
 ceased sending me to aged Gatty's school ; and when 
 I began to grow stronger, I felt unwilling to return to 
 a dame's school. Besides, there was a report that a 
 large new Free School was about to be built ; and as 
 Miller's mother purposed sending him thither, my 
 mother also had me placed on the list of applicants to 
 be scholars. The school was not opened till August, 
 
SUNDAY SCHOOL AND PREACHERS. ' 1 3 
 
 1813 ; but in the meantime I was sent to the Metho- 
 dist Sunday school. My mother had frequently taken 
 me with her to the Methodist chapel, from the time 
 that I was able to walk about, after that year of 
 diseases ; but now I was taken with the other Sun- 
 day scholars, regularly, to the chapel, on Sunday 
 mornings. I can recall the face and figure and manner 
 of the preachers I heard in those very early years : 
 quaint-looking Joseph Pretty ; and gentlemanly John 
 Doncaster; and j/oun^;; dry, solemn-looking and solemn- 
 preaching Isaac Keeling — (he was equally dry when 
 he was old, but ' he had a rare canister of brains,' as 
 an old, intelligent Methodist used to say of him) ; — 
 and jyotm^; fervid, and seemingly-inspired John Han- 
 nah ; and hearty, plain, original, and often-eccentric 
 John Farrar. 
 
 When the new Free School opened, I had to leave 
 the Methodist Sunday School, for my mother had suc- 
 ceeded in getting me made a " Bluecoat " scholar ; 
 and boys on that foundation were compelled to attend 
 the parish church twice on Sundays. Miller, I may 
 observe, was not a Bluecoat, but a " White Hart " 
 boy. These were the names of two charities left by 
 deceased Gainsborough gentry, for the education of 
 poor children. Bluecoat boys were allowed a coat and 
 cap, blue with yellow trimmings, yearly. White Hart 
 boys had simply their education. 
 
 The system of Bell and Lancaster, or the ' moni- 
 torial,' was pursued in the new school ; and the course 
 
14 FREE SCHOOL AND CHRISTMAS TIME. 
 
 of instruction was limited to reading the Scriptures, 
 writing, and the first four rules of arithmetic, simple 
 and compound. Our frequent practice in spelling, and 
 the working, over and over, of the four introductory- 
 rules of arithmetic, formed at least, a good prepara- 
 tion for larger acquirements. I liked the school, and, 
 above all, I liked the grand organ at the church, the 
 stately church itself, and the stately service. 
 
 The day after Christmas Day was a high day with 
 us as Bluecoat boys. We then received our yearly 
 new coat and cap, at the house of Dr. Parnell. " Ger- 
 vase Parnell, Esquire," was his full name and title ; and 
 a finer specimen of the old-fashioned gentleman, with 
 powdered head and tail, and his gold-headed cane, 
 you would nowhere see. When we had received our 
 new dresses at his house, he presented us with two- 
 pence each ; and then away we went in procession to 
 collect our "Christmas-boxes." We used to begin with 
 Mr. Sandars, the corn-merchant, whose house was 
 nearest the bridge ; and then went through the town to 
 Morton, calling at the houses of the merchants and 
 gentry, whose names of Furley, and Etherington, 
 and Torr, and Morehouse, and Barnard, and Garfitt, 
 and Flowers, and Coats, and Metcalfe, and Smith, and 
 Dealtry, and Brightmore, are far more familiar to me, 
 now sixty years have passed away, since I first knew 
 them, than any names that I learned but yesterday. 
 Our last call in the town was upon the Rev. Mr. 
 Fothergill, the vicar ; and then away we went to Mor- 
 
GAINSBOROUGH GENTRY AND CLERGY. 1 5 
 
 ton, and from Morton we sped away to Thonock Hall, 
 the seat of old Miss Hickman, the lady of the manor, 
 and heiress of Sir Neville George Hickman, Bart. 
 
 Money was always given to us, and, at some 
 houses, bread and cheese and beer. I cannot say we 
 always shared alike in what was thus kindly given ; 
 for I remember how, one severe snowy season, the 
 big lads who carried the money-box persuaded some 
 of us, who were weak and shivering with cold, to go 
 home with a very few halfpence each, while they went 
 on, and roguishly kept the larger share of the money 
 for themselves. Fear of punishment, however, usually 
 kept the big lads tolerably honest. 
 
 Twice in the year, Easter and Michaelmas, we were 
 examined in our catechism by the vicar, preparatory 
 to repeating it in the church, in presence of the con- 
 gregation. We had given us a shilling, each, on these 
 occasions, and always received smiles and kind words 
 from the vicar. I well remember that we all esteemed 
 Doctor Parnell and Parson Fothergill, with their grand 
 powdered heads, and stately bearing, to be the two 
 most veritable and genuine gentlemen in Gainsborough, 
 albeit some wicked people said of the reverend vicar, 
 that he was the best judge of the quality of a bottle 
 of port, the best hand at loo or whist, and the best 
 patron of the play and the ball-room, in the whole 
 town. His curate, Mr. Pridham, was a stern Evange- 
 lical, and preached openly against the vicar's tastes, 
 without naming him ; but the vicar let the curate 
 
1 6 HEARING ORGAN AND PLAYING DULCIMER. 
 
 preach on, year after year, without remonstrance, and 
 without forsaking his own favourite habits. 
 
 One httle step of preferment that I obtained during 
 the last year I was a Bluecoat boy, was a source of 
 both pride and pleasure. I was chosen, with half a- 
 dozen other boys, to join the choir in the church ; and 
 my place was now no longer on the low benches in 
 the middle aisle, but in the church gallery, close to 
 the organ. I could thus see the large church organ 
 played, as well as hear it ; and how I wondered at 
 the changing face of the organist, young Mr. Hand— 
 a great musical enthusiast — as he touched the keys ! 
 The other boys laughed at him — but I could not. 
 
 My preferment to the singing-loft had a more im- 
 portant result. It brought to our house the father of 
 the organist, old Mr. Hand, a gentlemanly person, 
 though he had a wooden leg. He was a great player 
 on the dulcimer. The instrument was soon brought 
 to our house ; and I became so enamoured of it, that 
 my mother eventually purchased it for thirty shillings. 
 A few lessons, by the ear, I had from the old gentle- 
 man ; and soon was able to play, by the ear, any tune 
 I knew, or heard sung or played in the street. How 
 often I have wished that the dulcimer had been a 
 violin, or a pianoforte, and that I had been taught 
 music by the notes,— had been taught to read music 
 at that age. Such wishes are vain ; but I have them, 
 and of various forms. — •' Oh that I had been trained 
 to music — or painting — or law — or medicine — or any 
 
GAINSBOROUGH MART, AND THE WAR. 1 7 
 
 profession in which mind is needed ; or that I had 
 been regularly educated, so that I might have reached 
 a University ! " — I say, I often catch myself at these 
 wishes still — even at sixty-six ; but they are not so 
 fervent as they were some years ago — for I remember 
 that life here will soon end with me. 
 
 I have many pleasant remembrances of the time 
 that we lived in the house in front of Sailor's Alley. 
 Miller — my close companion — began, like myself, to 
 cut shapes in paper, and to draw and colour. Our 
 greatest incitement to drawing was the exhibition of 
 pictures on the outside of the wild-beast shows at the 
 Mart — a festival which occurs at Gainsborough twice in 
 the year, Easter and Michaelmas. To run and look 
 at these pictures, and come home, and imitate the 
 figures of elephants, lions, tigers, leopards, zebras, and 
 gorgeously-coloured tropical birds, formed a busy 
 occupation for Miller and myself, during each Mart 
 week ; and to copy and improve upon our pictures was 
 an enthusiastic employment for many weeks after. 
 
 These years — from 181 1 to 18 14 — were among the 
 hottest of the war period. And while our little town 
 was kept in perpetual ferment by the news of battles, 
 and the street would be lined with people to see old 
 Matthew Goy, the postman, ride in with his hat 
 covered with ribbons, and blowing his horn mightily, 
 as he bore the news of some fresh victory, — Ciudad 
 Rodrigo, or Badajoz, or Salamanca, or Vittoria, or St. 
 Sebastian, or Toulouse, — Miller and I were pencilling 
 
 2 
 
1 8 MEMORIES OF EARLY PLAYMATES. 
 
 soldiers and horses, or, imaginarily, Wellington and 
 ' Boney ' — for we never heard the word " Napoleon," 
 at that tirne of day. 
 
 For our animal-drawing, we had another stimulus, 
 in aged Abraham Haxby, who lodged with Miller's 
 mother, and who had, in his youth, been a soldier in 
 the war against the Dutch, in India. He used to tell 
 us most delectable tales about elephants and tigers ; 
 nor were his descriptions of guavas, bananas, figs, 
 jacks, and cashew-apples — your hat full for the value 
 of a farthing ! — less delicious. Miller and I often 
 vowed we would go to that grand fruit country when 
 we grew to be men ! 
 
 Another companion was Job Holland. Job was a 
 very simple, honest, good-natured lad, older than my- 
 self, and had no taste congenial with mine, save that 
 of bird-nesting. Indeed, it was Job who taught me 
 to love that delightful recreation ; delightful, not so 
 much for itself, as for the adventures and wanderings 
 connected with it. With Job, and soon with others, 
 I rambled over every field and lane, hill and wood, 
 within three miles of Gainsborough. Saturday after- 
 noons, and the long evenings in the season, were 
 usually devoted to these rambles, except when my 
 mother restrained me. 
 
 From George Wimble, whose father was a fisher- 
 man and herb-gatherer, I learned the names of 
 ao-rimony, and wood-betony, and wood-sage, and 
 mountain-flax, and centaury, and other herbs which 
 
MY UNCLE LUKE, AND HIS COTTAGE. 1 9 
 
 were to be found in the neighbourhood, and were used 
 as medicines, by the poor. But I often longed to know 
 the names of flowers, which none could tell ; for I ga- 
 thered, fondly, every wild-flower in its season —a deli- 
 cious pleasure, which, thank God ! is fresh with me 
 still, now age is reached, and I am familiar with the 
 forms and know the names of every English flower. 
 
 In the autumn season, two or three weeks of glean- 
 ing holidays were usually granted to the Free School 
 children. These weeks I usually spent at Market 
 Rasen, a small town in Lindsey, twenty-one miles; 
 from Gainsborough, with my uncle, Luke Jobson, my 
 mother's brother. He rented some twenty-four acres 
 of land, under Squire Tennyson of Tealby ; and also 
 followed the occupation of a weekly carrier, as did 
 his father, Luke Jobson, before him — his father, Luke 
 Jobson, whose father Henry Jobson, was an innkeeper 
 at Northampton. I can go no higher with my 
 genealogy on the maternal side. 
 
 How vividly the picture of my uncle Luke's large 
 thatched cottage, at Market Rasen, remains in my 
 memory ! The outer room had a wide open chimney. 
 My uncle's arm-chair was under it, and you could see 
 the swallows' nests in the chimney, as you sat in the 
 chair. On the chimney-front hung a curious old pic- 
 ture, painted on oak — displaying a cat playing bag- 
 pipes to dancing mice, in one corner, and a gamester, 
 shaped like an ape, playing at cards with clowns, in 
 another. Above was the legend : — 
 
20 VISION OF THE GLOWWORMS. 
 
 " Gamesters and puss alike doe watch, 
 And plaie with those they aime toe catch." 
 
 In the inner room, or parlour, was a heavy antique 
 clock ; and on the walls hung the " Twelve Golden 
 Rules of Good King Charles," and " Death and the 
 Lady," a long, serious dialogue in verse. 
 
 In my uncle's fields, and on the adjoining moors, 
 I saw wild birds, and wnld four-footed creatures in 
 abundance ; weasels, ferrets, fomarts, moles, hedge- 
 hogs, were often taken, and owls and hawks shot. 
 The kestrel often hovered overhead ; and now and 
 then the glede, or kite, would soar aloft. The coun- 
 try was wilder at that time of day ; and, of course, 
 fuller of interest to me, in the centre of Lindsey, than 
 it was at the Trent border. 
 
 The ride in the carrier's cart, too, between Rasen 
 and Gainsborough, had its delights. One time, we set 
 off from Rasen late at night, and drew up in an open 
 field, sometime before the morning broke, to let the 
 horses graze a little. I have a most lively recollection 
 of awaking in the cart, and looking out in amazement 
 at what seemed to be hundreds of small, dull, strange- 
 looking lights, scattered over the wide field. My 
 uncle told me they were glowworms ; and he had 
 never seen so many together before. Nor have I ever 
 had such a vision of wonder as that, since boyhood. 
 
 Each Friday in the week — the day that my uncle 
 came to Gainsborough as weekly carrier — I was closely 
 attendant upon him, when school hours were over, 
 
SHOWER OF LIVE FROGS. 21 
 
 having to read the directions on his letters and parcels 
 — for he was never put to school ; and to his dying 
 day " Knew never a letter i' the book, save round O," 
 as he used to say. He made much of me (I again use 
 the old Lincolnshire language, for I love it !) ; always 
 gave me a few coppers for my writing paper, lead 
 pencils, and water-colours ; and, indeed, showed every 
 disposition to indulge me. I thus became greatly 
 attached to him ; and to the present moment regard 
 his memory — plain, unlettered man, though he was — 
 with fondest affection. I think I ought not to dismiss 
 his humble name without saying that in his manhood 
 he was strong and handsome, and was a pattern of in- 
 dustry. He had contrived to hoard up three hundred 
 spade-ace guineas in a stocking-foot ; but from illness 
 in the close of life did not advance in wealth, yet he 
 left a small property to be divided by his heirs. 
 
 My mention of the strange vision of the field of 
 glowworms reminds me of another natural pheno- 
 menon I witnessed when a boy. / saw a shower of 
 live frogs. I record this, because I have read, not 
 only in that beautiful old book of Ray's, " The Wis- 
 dom of God in the Creation," but in later books 
 affecting great fidelity to facts in science, that such a 
 sight is impossible. I am as sure of what I relate as 
 I am of my own existence. The minute frogs, jump- 
 ing alive, fell on the pavement at our feet, and came 
 tumbling down the spouts from the tiles of the houses 
 into the water-tubs. 
 
22 LOYE OF " PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BOYHOOD : GAINSBOROUGH MEMORIES : 
 1814 — 1816. 
 
 The happiest hours of all I had in early years were 
 spent alone, and with books. When childhood was 
 past, and I ceased to feel so much absorbed in the 
 Fables, and little story books, the immortal " Pilgrim's 
 Progress " was my book of books. What hours of 
 wonder and rapture I passed with Bunyan when a 
 boy! He was always new; and though a "number- 
 man," or travelling-bookseller, kindly left me his 
 curiosities, now and then, because my eagerness in- 
 terested him, I returned with increased relish to 
 Christian and Faithful, Great Heart and Giant Des- 
 pair, after reading odd numbers of Baines's " History 
 of the War," and " Pamela," and " The Earl of More- 
 land ; " and the stories of Turpin and Nevison, the 
 famous highwaymen, and Bampfylde Moore-Carew, 
 the King of the Gipsies. 
 
 The first rhymes that I can remember to have read 
 with a sense of delight were those of the old ballad of 
 Chevy Chase. I used to repeat them, when alone, 
 until they used to make me feel as warlike as did the 
 
THE EXPEDITION TO LEA. 23 
 
 sight of Matthew Goy when he rode into the town 
 with the news of a victory ; or the array of the 
 Gainsborough Loyal Volunteers, when they marched 
 through the town, on exercise-days, to the sound of 
 fife and drum. 
 
 Talking again of the War, reminds one, naturally, 
 that it was followed by the Peace. The Peace ot 
 1 8 14 — "the General Peace," as it was emphatically 
 called, — was celebrated in ambitious style at Gains- 
 borough. There was a general holiday ; and there 
 was a grand emblematical procession. A car, drawn 
 by six horses, held figures representing Wellington, 
 Blucher, Platofif, the Czar Alexander, and other high 
 personages, together with the fallen emperor labelled 
 " Going to Elba." There were bands of music in the 
 streets, a thanksgiving sermon and anthems at church, 
 and feasting parties at the inns, during the day ; with 
 a general illumination, bonfires, crackers, and squibs, 
 at night. 
 
 The next day. Miller and I laid our young heads 
 together, and enlisted Bob Mason, and Tom Aram, 
 and George Laister, and Joe Cawthrey, and Joe Car- 
 ver, and Bill Tyson, and Jack Barton, and George 
 Wimble, and other lads we knew, to accompany us 
 on an adventurous expedition to Lea. Papers were 
 coloured and inscribed, and ribbons procured, and 
 flags formed ; and away we went to Lea, to try our 
 fortunes. I was " Wellington," and was so labelled on 
 the front of my blue cap; and Miller was "Emperor oi 
 
24 THE GOOD SIR CHARLES ANDERSON. 
 
 Russia ; " and Mason was "Blucher; " and Jack Barton 
 was " Prince Platoff ; " and Joe Cawthrey was " General 
 Salt" (Soult was always so named, in our hearing); 
 and Tom Aram (dear old Gatty's grandson) was 
 " Buonaparte " (for, as I said before, we knew nothing 
 of the name " Napoleon " ) ; and the other lads were 
 named after other military or regal celebrities. 
 
 We went to Squire Western's, and Farmer Swift's, 
 and Farmer Ashford's, and Mr. Longden's, and Sir 
 Charles Anderson's ; stood and sung " Awake, my soul, 
 and with the sun," and " Glory to Thee, my God, this 
 night," and other hymns we had learned at school, or 
 in the church ; gave three cheers, after ~ shouting 
 " Peace and Plenty ! God save the King ! " as we had 
 heard them shout on the procession-day ; and then 
 one of us held his cap for coppers, with a low bow. 
 We were well received. The beloved and venerated 
 Sir Charles himself stood and smiled to hear us ; and 
 called us " very good boys," as he gave us a real silver 
 half-crown ! Many a time, in after-life, has some old 
 playmate pleasurably reminded me of our boyish ex- 
 pedition to Lea, to celebrate the General Peace. 
 
 Bob Mason was a lad to whom Tom Miller and I 
 were much attached ; and yet he was utterly unlike 
 either of us. Tom and I were all for learning, and 
 excitement, and for doing something to win fame ; 
 but Bob, from a child, was for trying to get money. 
 I well remember the talk he raised in the town, and 
 the wonder in our boyish circle, by one feat. Bob 
 
BOB MASON, AND HIS COCKLES. 2$ 
 
 crept about the wharves by the Trent, picking up 
 rags, bones, and bits of old iron to sell, until he became 
 possessed of fourpence. He then begged his passage 
 to Hull, a distance of fifty miles, in the sailing packet 
 of that day ; bought a bag of cockles with the four- 
 pence, begged his passage (and the carriage of the 
 cockles) back to Gainsborough ; borrowed a wheel- 
 barrow and a quartern "skep," or measure, hawked his 
 cockles about the town for sale, and realized half-a- 
 crown ! Bob could not be nine years old at that time, 
 for he was younger than Miller or myself 
 
 Dear Bob ! I remember well how our friendship 
 suffered a lapse by an unlucky incident. During a 
 heavy snow season, I had made a large snow man, in 
 Sailor's Alley, and he mischievously attempted to 
 demolish it ; when I suddenly struck him with a 
 shovel I had in my hand, and with which I had been 
 eagerly labouring. He received the blow on his fore- 
 head, which immediately streamed with blood ; and I 
 threw down the shovel, and grew sick with alarm, 
 while neighbours ran out and clamorously threatened 
 me with imprisonment and the gallows, and I know 
 not what. Poor Bob's head was bound up for a week ; 
 and I remained in great trouble, and wept daily in re- 
 pentance and fear till he grew well, 
 
 I had deeper troubles than this, let me say, during 
 these years of boyhood, notwithstanding their many 
 pleasant recollections. My dear mother had all along 
 hard work to get a decent living, and pay her way. 
 
26 STARVATION AND THE TAX-GATHERER. 
 
 Rent, and taxes, bad harvests and dear bread, rendered 
 it difficult for her to make a Hvelihood. At one time 
 wheaten flour rose to six shiHings per stone, and we 
 tried to Hve on barley cakes, which brought on a 
 burning, gnawing pain at the stomach. For two 
 seasons the corn was spoiled in the fields, with wet ; 
 and, when the winter came, we could scoop out the 
 middle of the soft, distasteful loaf ; and to eat it 
 brought on sickness. Meat was so dear that my 
 mother could not buy it ; and often our dinner con- 
 sisted of potatoes only. We were glad, indeed, when, 
 in the dreadful winter of 1 813-14, Mr. Maw, Mr. 
 Bowen, Mr. Palian, and a few other benevolent 
 Quakers, started a subscription, which was joined 
 by the gentry and wealthier tradesmen; and soup, 
 biscuits, potatoes, and red-herrings, were served out, 
 gratuitously, twice or thrice a week to the poor. 
 
 There was a tax-gatherer, too, at that time, who 
 had a bad reputation for oppressing the poor, by going 
 beyond the rigour of the law ; and for lawless con- 
 nection with women whom, it was said, he favoured, 
 in advising the Parish Vestry to make them improper 
 sharers in various old charities. This oppression was 
 often spoken of very bitterly by my mother and 
 Miller's mother, as we heard them whispering of his 
 temptations, while they sat with their pipes at the 
 fire, and we were drawing, or cutting out papers. 
 Miller's mother was a widow, and had to sew sacks 
 for Brumby's factory. She worked early and late for 
 
THE TAX-GATHERER OUTWITTED. 2/ 
 
 bread for herself and her two boys ; but would run in 
 now and then, at the back door, and join my mother 
 for a few whiffs at the pipe. And then away they 
 would go again to work, after cheering each other to 
 go stoutly through the battle of life. 
 
 They bent their wits, on one occasion, to disappoint 
 the tax-gatherer. He was to " distrain " on a certain 
 day ; but beds, chairs, and tables, were moved se- 
 cretly in the night to blind Thomas Chatterton's ; 
 and when the tax-gatherer came next day to execute 
 his threat, there was nothing left worth his taking. 
 The poor were often driven to such desperate schemes 
 to save all they had from ruin, in those days ; and the 
 curse upon taxes and the tax-gatherer was in the 
 mouths of hundreds — for those years of war were terrific 
 years of suffering for the poor, notwithstanding their 
 shouts and rejoicings when Matthew Goy rode in, 
 with ribbons flying, bringing the news of another 
 " glorious victory ! " 
 
 Sometimes Miller's mother and mine were excused 
 paying some of the taxes by appealing to the magis- 
 trates, a few of whom respected them for their industry, 
 and commiserated their hardships. But the petition 
 did not always avail. Sir Charles Anderson of Lea, 
 William Hutton, Esq., of Gate Burton, and Gervase 
 Woodhouse, Esq., of Owston, were protectors of the 
 poor ; but the other magistrates were inexorable in 
 enforcing the law, and the letter of it. One can 
 scarcely wonder at this, considering how heavy the 
 
28 MEMORIES OF THE RIVER TRENT. 
 
 pressure of taxes must have been in those expensive 
 years ; and how loudly some would have complained 
 if all were not constrained to join in bearing the 
 burden of war. 
 
 My poor mother waged war stoutly with difficul- 
 ties during these years. She not only made rounds 
 with her boxes to the surrounding villages, but walked 
 weekly with them to the market at Epworth, in the 
 Isle of Axholme, where she also took in goods to dye. 
 I began now to go longer journeys with her ; and 
 twice or thrice, during fine weather, she took me all 
 the way to Epworth — a distance of twelve miles ; and 
 a journey of wonders it seemed to me, for we had to 
 cross the river Trent in the ferry-boat, at Stockwith, 
 and to walk some miles along the bank of the river ; 
 and we saw sea-gulls, and a heron — a something to 
 talk of! 
 
 I cannot dismiss this part of my boyish history 
 without recording a few other reminiscences of that 
 glorious Trent. I and my young companions used 
 sometimes to bathe, not in the wide stream, but in a 
 little arm of it, at Ash Croft, a part of the marsh 
 called Humble Carr, in which Hes "Can'dish Bog," the 
 spot where Cromwell pistolled young Colonel Caven- 
 dish, and beat his troop. The young royalist hero 
 has a monument, with a stone lion at his feet, in the 
 neighbouring little church at Lea. I was ever a timid 
 bather, and never learned to swim ; but I remember 
 how cheerily and boldly many of the boys took to the 
 
THE HEYGRE, AND THE GREAT FROST. 29 
 
 water, and how the greater number of these became 
 sailors. 
 
 The shipping-trade of Gainsborough was great at 
 that time. There was not a busier scene on a small 
 scale in England, than the loading and unloading of 
 vessels on the Trent in those years. Numerous large 
 brigs, and many sloops and keels, with a great num- 
 ber of " ketches," or flat-bottomed boats from Stafford- 
 shire, crowded the river. Sailors enlivened the streets 
 of the little town by their merriment ; and the whole 
 living appearance of the town presented a very pleas- 
 ing contrast to the dulness and desertion of trade 
 which have characterised it since railways destroyed 
 the trade on the river. 
 
 The "Heygre" was our great excitement on the 
 Trent. It used to be a very stirring sight when the 
 tide was at the full. The huge rolling waves then 
 dashed the shipping from their moorings, if they were 
 not well moored and managed ; and boats were often 
 crushed to pieces. The capture of porpoises on the 
 river sometimes raised a crowd on the banks and at 
 the wharves, to see the sailors signalise their courage 
 and activity. But the most striking incident, in my 
 recollection, connected with the Trent, was the break- 
 ing-up of the ice, after the thirteen weeks' frost, in 18 14, 
 during which waggons loaded with coal had been drawn 
 over the ice, and a bullock roasted on it. The break- 
 ing-up came in a moment, and shook the town. For a 
 whole day and night, the broken pieces of thick ice 
 
30 THE PRESS-GANG, AND THE PEACE. 
 
 rushed through the arches of the bridge, putting peo- 
 ple in fear that the whole structure would give way ; 
 and, with the roar of thunder, the ice tore away padt 
 the town, driving many a stout vessel from its moor- 
 ings and dashing many a small boat to pieces ! And 
 then came the great flood which extended for miles 
 over the marshes, and covered that part of the street 
 in which we lived for two or three weeks — during 
 which time Miller and I had a constrained holiday, and 
 drew on paper the men and boats, as we looked out 
 of our chamber window, for the lower floors were all 
 flooded. 
 
 The last incidents which have left their pictures in 
 my memory, connected with our house in front of 
 Sailors' Alley, are the return of sailors from service in 
 the navy to their wives and families, and their stories 
 of the press-gang, and life on board "men of war," 
 as the huge ships were called ; the coming home of 
 soldiers, also, from the war ; and, in the beginning of 
 1815, the curious exhibition of Martin Jackson, a 
 half-lunatic, who went through the streets with a 
 helmet on his head, and a piebald dress, on which 
 were fastened papers, inscribed, " No Com Bill ! " 
 While remembering his odd, threatening gestures 
 and his broken talk about " Pariiament House" and 
 " Lunnon," it was some years before I gathered the 
 fact that Martin Jackson was making a demonstration 
 against the infliction of the Bread Tax. Plain 
 Gainsborough folk understood little about politics at 
 
NAPOLEON, WATERLOO, ST. HELENA. 3 1 
 
 that time ; but I remember that some shook their 
 heads shrewdly, and said " Martin is right, in spite of 
 all his craziness ! " 
 
 In the same eventful year, there arose the cry of 
 " The Devil is broke loose ! " Napoleon left Elba — 
 re-won the French throne — lost all at Waterloo — and 
 was finally exiled to St. Helena. 
 
 An important change came over our humble for- 
 tunes. Our house had becopie the property of a new 
 landlord. He determined to pull it down and build 
 a better ; and so my mother had to prepare to quit. 
 
32 ENTRANCE ON A NEW SCHOOL. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BOYHOOD : SCHOOL-DAYS ENDED : 
 1816 — 1820. 
 
 To avoid the payment of a high rent and of heavy- 
 taxes, my mother again withdrew from the public 
 street, and retired into the obscurity of Old George 
 Yard. She found a large empty stable, in which 
 there was a good well ; and as plenty of water was 
 such a desideratum in her dyeing business, she bar- 
 gained with the landlord of the stable to have it 
 transformed half into a dye-house, and half into a 
 rude dwelling-house. The bricklayers and joiners 
 went to work ; and the place was ready for our 
 tenancy by the middle of January, 18 16. 
 
 We were now within a few yards of a popular day- 
 school for boys, kept by John Briggs, and which was 
 chiefly patronised by tradesmen and better-paid 
 workmen. I had grown weary of the monotonous 
 teaching at the Free School ; so my mother readily 
 consented to my leaving it and entering the neigh- 
 bouring day-school. Here there was no longer the 
 bare routine of the four fundamental rules of arith- 
 metic. There were big lads who had advanced to 
 
NEW ACQUAINTANCES, AND BOOKS. 33 
 
 ''Mensuration," in Bonnycastle's book. The new 
 master tried my powers as a cipherer, and decided 
 that I should begin with " Reduction," in Walking- 
 'hame's " Tutor's Assistant." 
 
 I remained with dear Daddy Briggs from May 
 1 8 16 to May 1820. He took no school-fees of my 
 mother, but employed me as an assistant, for about 
 an hour each day, in teaching the younger children. 
 He treated me less as a pupil than as a companion ; 
 and I became much attached to him. Yet he was 
 never, really, a teacher to me. I made my way, 
 ■ easily, without help, through Walkinghame, part of 
 Bonnycastle, and got a little way into Algebra be- 
 fore I left school. But the chief advantage I derived 
 from Daddy Briggs's school was in being introduced 
 to the companionship of lads of better culture than I 
 had known before, and in obtaining the loan of their 
 books to read — their Enfield's Speaker, and Mavor's 
 British Plutarch, and the abridgment of Goldsmith's 
 Histories of England, Greece, and Rome. And then, 
 in addition to their school books, one boy had a 
 " Robinson Crusoe," and another possessed " Philip 
 Quarll," and another had " Salmon's Geography," 
 containing the Lord's Prayer in thirty languages. 
 Here was a world of new reading and new infor- 
 mation ! 
 
 The number-man began also to intimate that the 
 bookselling firm he represented were printing an 
 improved order of books. So I soon had the reading 
 
 
 
34 NOVEL-READING AND ASTRONOMY. 
 
 of Barclay's quarto Dictionary — or such parts of it 
 as were readable ; of Kelly's quarto Geography ; 
 and my mother took in, in numbers, "Dialogues 
 between a Pilgrim, Adam, Noah, and Cleophas." 
 
 Soon I found, too, in going to buy my pencils and 
 water-colours at Mrs. Trevor's, that she kept a cir- 
 culating library ; and from her shelves I drew the 
 enchanting " Arabian Nights," and odd plays of 
 Shakspeare, Dryden, and Otway, and Cook's Voy- 
 ages, and the Old EngHsh Baron ; and the Castle of 
 Otranto, and Guiscard ; and the Bravo of Venice ; 
 and Hardenbras and Haverill ; and Valentine's Eve ; 
 and the Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne ; and the 
 Scottish Chiefs — and a heap of other romances and 
 novels that would require pages even to name. 
 
 The visit to Gainsborough of Moses Holden, of 
 Preston, to deliver lectures on astronomy, was a 
 memorable event to me. I cannot remember who 
 gave me the sixpence which enabled me to hear 
 the first lecture ; but I recollect that I drew out the 
 figures of the zodiacal constellations, and of the solar 
 system, and coloured them by memory, from the 
 exhibition of Mr. Holden's orrery, — went round the 
 neighbourhood, and showed them, and obtained 
 pennies plenty to enable me to hear the remain- 
 ing lectures. This was in my twelfth year. 
 
 I had no means for getting much enlargement of the 
 elementary knowledge of astronomy thus obtained ; 
 and I was easily misled, by a notable old man of the 
 
FIRST SIGHT OF BYRON'S POETRY. 35 
 
 name of Charles White, but who was more commonly 
 known among the poor as the "Wise Man of Ret- 
 ford," to turn aside into the devious paths of astrology. 
 He lent me a book or two, and talked so mysteriously 
 of the " higher knowledge " he possessed above that 
 contained in the books, that I became eager to learn 
 it. Fortunately, he passed away ; and I was weaned 
 from the foolish passion for a time. 
 
 Save that childish enthusiasm I had felt while re- 
 citing " Chevy Chase," I do not remember that poetry 
 really touched any chord in my nature, until, in my 
 thirteenth year, by some accident there fell into my 
 hands one of the cantos of " Chitde Harold's Pilgrim- 
 age " and the drama of " Manfred." I had them in 
 my hands for only a few hours, and I knew nothing 
 of their noble author's life or reputation ; but they 
 seemed to create almost a new sense within me. I 
 wanted more poetry to read from that time ; but 
 could get hold of none that thrilled through my 
 nature like Byron's. I had read the " Paradise 
 Lost ; " but it was above my culture and learning, 
 and it did not make me feel, though I read it with 
 interest, as a mere story. 
 
 What strange mixtures there are in the experience 
 of some of us 1 During these years I was still prac- 
 tising drawing, and playing my dulcimer, and gather- 
 ing flowers, and trying to find out their names by 
 Culpepper's Herbal, and reading anything and every- 
 thing I could lay hold of; and in addition to all these, I 
 
36 RADICAL LESSONS IN BOYHOOD. 
 
 was becoming thoroughly impregnated with the spirit of 
 Radicalism, There was a shop of brush-makers very 
 near to us, and they were most determined politicians. 
 They read "The News" — the most radical paper of 
 that day ; and they were partisans of Cobbett and 
 Wooler and Hunt ; and they used to lend me Hone's 
 Caricatures, and "The News," weekly, and talk to me 
 of the " villanous rascals," Lord Castlereagh, and Lord 
 Sidmouth, and Lord Eldon, and the Prince Regent, 
 until I hated the Liverpool Ministry, and its master, 
 bitterly, and believed that the sufferings of the poor 
 were chiefly attributable to them. 
 
 Another change was at hand, and it was a signal 
 one. It cannot be supposed that, with a nature so emo- 
 tional as mine, I had listened to the earnest prayers 
 of my teachers in the Methodist Sunday School, and 
 joined in the singing so delightedly, both in church 
 and chapel, and heard sermons, without having reli- 
 gious impressions. From a child I felt these. Often, 
 during our reading of the gospels, verse by verse, as 
 we stood in class, at the Free School, the Saviour 
 seemed almost visible to me as I read of His deeds 
 of mercy and love. The singing of our morning and 
 evening hymns, and repetition, on our knees, of the 
 Lord's prayer, had always a solemnizing effect upon 
 me. And, doubtless, seeds of spiritual good were 
 sown thus early in my mind, never to be really 
 destroyed. 
 
 But it was not until my fourteenth year that I was 
 
EARLY RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS. 37 
 
 strongly impressed with the necessity of repentance 
 and forgiveness of sin. One Sunday morning, I ran 
 out, with a crowd of the neighbours, to hear two men 
 who were singing aloud as they walked along the 
 street, in their way to the market-place, — " Turn to 
 the Lord and seek salvation ! " They were called 
 " Ranters/' by the crowd ; but I soon learned that 
 they termed themselves " Primitive Methodists." 
 These men remained in the town for some weeks, 
 and preached in the open air, and held meetings 
 in houses ; and the crowd, young and old, were 
 greatly affected. Soon a society was formed, and 
 they began regularly to preach in the very small 
 chapel which John Wesley himself caused to be 
 built, in a small square, in Little Church Lane ; 
 but which had been occupied as a warehouse for 
 some time. 
 
 I became a member of the society, in company 
 with at least a dozen other lads, some of whom were 
 older and some younger than myself I cannot de- 
 scribe my anguish and sorrow for sin. And, ap- 
 parently, it was an equally serious case with each of 
 the lads. My grief continued for many weeks, until I 
 could find no delight in my books, or drawing, or 
 dulcimer, and could read nothing but the Bible, and 
 was getting into secret places twenty times in a day, 
 to pray for the pardon of my sins. 
 
 Many loudly earnest preachers came and preached 
 in the little chapel ; and prayer-meetings were pro- 
 
38 RELIGIOUS FEELING AND QUESTIONING, 
 
 longed till midnight, often. And many up-grown 
 sinners professed to find the pardon of their sins. 
 The change of heart and life was real in some. I 
 remember well an elderly man, an inveterate cock- 
 fighter, being humbled, and becoming a true penitent. 
 This man lived, for many years afterwards, a con- 
 sistent Christian life. Nor was his case a solitary 
 one. On the other hand, there were some fearful 
 backslidings. 
 
 Some of the boys, at length, professed to find the 
 pardon of sin. For a day or two, I believed I had 
 received it ; but as I felt conscious that I sinned, I 
 supposed I must " act faith," as they said, to find it 
 again. And this "acting of faith" became, in the 
 course of some weeks, so irksome to my mind, that 
 my mere common sense revolted at the practice. We 
 were told to " beheve " ; but I understood the teaching 
 to mean that we were to believe ourselves into the per- 
 suasion that we were forgiven ; and I could not avoid 
 the conviction that this was not receiving pardon by 
 the witness of the Holy Spirit — but pardotiing our- 
 selves. 
 
 So I began to grow weary of creeping into corners 
 twenty times in a day to repent for sin- — for I thought 
 I was always sinning — and of believing myself again 
 forgiven. I shrunk from the practice, at last, in sheer 
 disgust ; but neither did that bring ease of mind. I 
 began, gradually, to get back to my music and my 
 reading ; but some of the members of the Society — 
 
mind's revolt against ignorance. 39 
 
 poor men who knew little of books, but who found 
 happiness in prayer, and in hearing- others read and 
 preach about the goodness of God — demurred to my 
 reading any book but the Bible, unless it was a " truly 
 religious book." My mind rebelled completely now ; 
 and I ceased to frequent the little chapel, and began 
 to go to the Methodist (Wesleyan) chapel instead, 
 where I listened to the argumentative preaching of 
 Thomas Ingham, and the warm, genial discourses of 
 William Stokes. 
 
 In March, 1820, I was fifteen years old, and had 
 not left Briggs's school. My mother had tried, at my 
 entreaty, to get me apprenticed to a painter, and had 
 endeavoured to get me entered as a clerk at one or 
 . other of the merchants' establishments ; but in every 
 case a premium was demanded, and my poor mother 
 had none to give. I became really uneasy, at last. 
 The neighbours " told their minds " to my mother, 
 saying she would make me a good-for-nothing, idle 
 creature ; and why did she not apprentice me to some 
 humble trade .-' And then they looked bitter things 
 at myself 
 
 I had one dear companion in the school, Henry 
 Cook, who was a born sailor — if there ever were one ; 
 and Henry began to say to me, " Go to sea ! I shall. 
 You say you mean to see all the foreign countries in 
 the world. That's the easiest way to see 'em all. Be 
 a sailor ; and then you can sail round the world, like 
 Captain Cook." I asked my mother if I might be a 
 
40 I GO TO BE A SAILOR, AND RETURN. 
 
 sailor ; but she told me I must not think of it. The 
 neighbours, however, caught hold of what I had said ; 
 and they harassed my mother with the proposal till 
 she said I might go. 
 
 Henry Cook's father had a friend who wanted a 
 cabin-boy ; and so I left my broken-hearted mother, 
 and went down in the packet to Hull, to go on board 
 the brig which lay in the harbour. I was on board 
 nine days, while they were loading with corn and other 
 merchandise. The coarse language, the cursing and 
 swearing, and brutality, I witnessed day after day, 
 not only on board the brig, but on the other vessels 
 that were crowded around us, rendered me so wretched 
 that I told the master of the vessel I wished to go 
 home. He told me, in profane terms, that I might 
 go, for I should never be fit to be a sailor. 
 
 So I found my way home again, to the weeping 
 delight of my dear mother. But the old difficulty 
 stared us in the face the very next day. Indeed, my 
 own position was more uneasy than ever. The neigh- 
 bours began to mock at me, and scout me for a coward. 
 Many of them had relatives at sea ; and was I made 
 of something more than flesh and blood that I could 
 not go to sea .? 
 
 One day in June, I met Tom Aram in the street. 
 He had become a shoemaker's apprentice, he said ; 
 and he liked his place much, and they wanted another 
 lad — Would I come .? Tom was an old crony, for he 
 vvas dear old Gatty's grandson, as I said before ; and 
 
THE AWL AND THE LAST : MOTHER'S WORDS. 4I 
 
 we had known each other from the time that we were 
 four years old. I told him I would ask my mother. 
 
 She seemed hurt by the proposal. She had wit- 
 nessed all my tendencies from my infancy, and had 
 fostered and cherished all the buddings of intelligence, 
 and formed a very different ideal for her child's future 
 than that of his becoming a lowly labourer with the 
 awl. But I entreated her to yield to me, and told her 
 I could not endure the daily torment of being pointed 
 at as an idle good-for-nothing. At last she yielded — 
 saying, " The Lord's will be done ! I don't think He 
 intends thee to spend thy life at shoemaking. I have 
 kept thee at school, and worked hard to get thee bread, 
 and to let thee have thy own wish in learning, and 
 never imagined that thou wast to be a shoemaker. 
 But, the Lord's will be done ! He'll bring it all right 
 in time." 
 
 So on the loth of June, 1820, I sat down, in Clark's 
 garret, to begin to learn the art, craft, and mystery of 
 shoemaking. 
 
42 FIRST READING OF BURNS' POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SHOEMAKER LIFE : EARLY FRIENDSHIPS : 
 1820 — 1824. 
 
 Joseph Clark, with whom Aram and I sat in the 
 garret, to be taught shoemaking, was a hvely young 
 fellow of four-and-twenty, who had been in London 
 for improvement, and had returned to his native town 
 to conduct business for his widowed mother. His 
 residence in London had given him some degree of 
 polish, and also given him a passion for the theatre. 
 I was a favourite with him, at once ; and the favour- 
 itism was so injudicious that Aram was disgusted, and 
 ran away to sea. I remained little more than a year 
 with Clark; for he was capricious in temper, and would 
 almost smother me with kindness for some weeks, and 
 the following month treat me haughtily. 
 
 He was useful to me, however, in other directions 
 than in teaching me the use of the awl. He had 
 read some of the poetry of Byron, spoke of it passion- 
 ately, and lent me the poems of Burns. The pathos 
 of Burns took possession of my whole nature almost 
 as completely as the fire and force of Byron. I soon 
 jearned to sing " Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon," 
 
MY FIRST POEM, AT FIFTEEN. 43 
 
 and " Auld lang syne," and " Robin Adair ; " and 
 formed tunes of my own for some of tlie songs — such 
 as " Their groves o' green myrtle " and " Awa wi' your 
 witchcraft o' beauty's alarms." 
 
 Clark also rehearsed to me what he had seen and 
 heard of London actors, and repeated the criticisms 
 of the Londoners on the personations of Shakspere's 
 characters by Kemble and Young and Mrs. Siddons, 
 and later performers. All this directed me to a more 
 intelligent reading of Shakspeare, for myself; though 
 I did not yet feel the due impression of his greatness. 
 
 My first poem — for it was sure to come, sooner or 
 later — seemed almost to make itself, one evening, as 
 I walked in the valley below Pingle Hill. I give it 
 here, be it remembered, as the first literary feat of a 
 self-educated boy of fifteen. I say self- educated, so 
 far as I was educated. Mine has been almost entirely 
 self-education, all the way through life. 
 
 A MORNING IN SPRING, 
 
 See, with splendour, Phoebus rise, 
 ' And with beauty tinge the skies. 
 See, the clouds of darkness fly 
 Far beyond the western sky ; 
 While the lark upsoaring sings, 
 And the air with music rings ; 
 While the blackbird, linnet, thrush, 
 Perched on yonder thorny bush, 
 All unite in tuneful choir. 
 And raise the happy music higher. 
 
44 DON CUNDELL, AND SHOEMAKING. 
 
 While the murmuring busy bee, 
 Pattern of wakeful industry. 
 Flies from flower to flower to drain 
 The choicest juice from sweetest vein ; 
 While the lowly cottage youth, 
 His mind well-stored with sacred truth, 
 Rises, devout, his thanks to pay. 
 And hails the welcome dawn of day. 
 Oh that 'twere mine the happy lot, 
 To dwell within the peaceful cot — 
 There rise, each morn, my thanks to pay, 
 And hail the welcome dawn of day ! 
 
 From that time forth I often struck off little pieces 
 of rhyme, and made attempts at blank verse ; but all 
 such doings were really worthless, and I kept no re- 
 cord of them. 
 
 I found that I must not expect any regular appren- 
 ticeship as a shoemaker ; for Clark often quarrelled 
 with his mother, and threatened to leave her, and go 
 back to London. In one of his haughty fits, I took 
 offence and left him. From about the age of sixteen 
 and a half to seventeen, I sat and worked with another 
 small master ; and then, for another year, sat in a 
 shop with others, and worked for the Widow Hoyle. 
 My work, of course, was very imperfect ; and so, when 
 it was rumoured that " Don Cundell " had come to 
 the town, and took young men under his instruction, 
 I told my mother that I must become one of his 
 pupils. " Don," in my time, was the title always given 
 to a first-rate hand ; and usually to one who was known 
 
MY EARLY FRIEND MACDONALD. 45 
 
 to all the members of the trade who had " tramped," 
 or travelled for improvement. 
 
 Under Don Cundell I learned to make a really- 
 good woman's shoe ; but could not get any work from 
 the best shops, because I had not served an appren- 
 ticeship to the trade. When Cundell left the town, I 
 retired to a corner of my mother's humble house ; 
 and, as long as I continued at shoemaking, I worked 
 for the Widow Hoyle, who sold her goods in the 
 market, cheap, and therefore could only pay low 
 wages. To the end of my short shoemaker's life, I 
 could never earn more than about ten shilHngs 
 weekly. But what glorious years were those years of 
 self-denial and earnest mental toil, from the age of 
 nearly nineteen to nearly three-and-twenty, that I sat 
 and worked in that corner of my poor mother's lowly 
 home ! How I wish I could begin life anew, just at 
 the end of them, and spend the after years more 
 wisely ! 
 
 But I am outrunning the dates of my story, and 
 must go back. Soon after the age of fifteen, I 
 formed the valuable friendship of Christopher Mac- 
 donald. He was several years older than myself, 
 and was married. He was a Methodist ; but he was 
 a reader and a thinker, and, while he commended me 
 for asserting my mental freedom, he directed my mind 
 into more solid reading. He lent me Robertson's 
 Histories of Scotland, America, and Charles the Fifth, 
 and Neale's "History of the Puritans," and urged me 
 
46 MY EARLY FRIEND JOSEPH F. WINKS. 
 
 to get a better acquaintance with theology; while 
 he did not discourage my enthusiasm for the great 
 poet of his fatherland, or for the Waverley Novels, 
 with which I began now to get acquainted. Under 
 his kindly influence, I continued to be an attendant 
 on the Methodist ministry, and thus enjoyed the in- 
 telligent and deeply spiritual preaching of Laurence 
 Kershaw. But my friend left Gainsborough ; and I 
 thus lost the benefit of his restraining, wise, and 
 affectionate counsel. 
 
 Our little town was thrown into a most novel state 
 of intellectual excitement, when I was in my seven- 
 teenth year, by a poetical war, about the propriety of 
 singing a hymn to Arne's grand melody of " Rule 
 Britannia." The most classical combatant was a 
 Unitarian and a schoolmaster ; but the rhymester, 
 who was the popular favourite, was Joseph Foulkes 
 Winks, a draper's assistant, and son of a respectable 
 tradesman of the town. When the rhyming rage 
 cooled. Winks did not cool. He called together a 
 number of friends and acquaintances, proposed that 
 we should take the " Eclectic Review " and circulate it 
 among ourselves ; that we should form a " Mutual Im- 
 provement Society " for reading and discussion ; and, 
 above all, that we should be determined to establish 
 an Adult School, on Sundays, for teaching the poor 
 and utterly uneducated to read. Macdonald and I 
 joined him in these enterprises ; and so did Enoch 
 Wood, a youth of about my own age, with whom I 
 
ADULT SCHOOL AND DEBATING CLUB. 47 
 
 had often walked, arm in arm, to church, when we 
 were Bkiecoat boys. In my later life, I have seen 
 Enoch's name, for many years, in the Methodist 
 Minutes, as Dr. Enoch Wood, Superintendent of 
 Canadian Missions. 
 
 The zeal and energy of Winks, in the conduct of 
 that adult school, were very noble ; and the school was 
 instrumental in effecting a great deal of good. But 
 when Winks left the town, the elder men who formed 
 the committee decided to close the school, under the 
 profession that they could not raise funds for the 
 necessary expenses. 
 
 Our Mutual Improvement Society was also too 
 short-lived ; but its weekly meetings were valuable to 
 me. It was, in reality, a little debating club, where 
 the members were allowed to write and read their 
 speeches on the question agreed upon the preceding 
 week, or to speak off-hand. I never attempted to 
 speak without preparation ; but invariably read my 
 essays. This weekly essay-writing was an employ- 
 ment which absorbed a good deal of my thought, and 
 was a good induction into the writing of prose, and 
 into a mode of expressing one's thoughts. 
 
 The adult school and the little debating society led 
 to another friendship, which was the dearest of all my 
 early friendships, but was severed, after a few years, 
 by death. Henry Whillock was a grocer's apprentice 
 in the town, and was remarkable for his refined and 
 gentlemanly manners. He had been brought up as 
 
48 MY EARLY FRIEND HENRY WHILLOCK. 
 
 a dissenter ; and was of serious and pious habits when 
 we first became acquainted, as teachers in the adult 
 school But I soon found, to my delight, that he 
 was a lover of poetry, and possessed " The CiDrsair," 
 " Lara," and " The Bride of Abydos," and the very 
 canto of " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage " I had for- 
 merly read ; with " The West Indies," " Greenland," 
 and other poems of James Montgomery, 
 
 Our friendship had become so strong, when the 
 adult school was closed, and the Mutual Improvement 
 Society had expired, and my good friend Macdonald 
 had left the town, that we began to consider it a 
 settled point that we should spend part of every 
 Sunday together. If it were fine, we walked in the 
 woods, or by the Trent ; and if it were too cold to walk, 
 we met in a small room belonging to one of the 
 neighbours. Strangely enough, we both had dabbled 
 in astrology in our boyhood, and we spoke of it, now, 
 till we grew enamoured with the desire to prove the 
 truth of it — which we thought was possible. Whil- 
 lock's parents allowed him plenty of pocket-money ; 
 and he immediately expended, I think, two pounds, 
 in the purchase of Sibley's famous quarto book, with 
 plates, on Astrology and Divination. 
 
 And for many weeks, as regularly as the Sunday 
 
 afternoon returned, we were seated in that little room, 
 
 drawing of horoscopes, with the assistance of almanacs 
 
 White's "Ephemeris") and the "Tableof Houses," and 
 
 reading out of the pretentious volumes of Dr. Sibley, 
 
OUR PASSION FOR ASTROLOGY. 49 
 
 the opinions of the great sages of the science, the old 
 alchemists, and Gadbury, and Lilly, and Booker, and 
 the diviners of a later period. Our minglement of 
 poetry with this strange study was but natural. The 
 more important result was, that it led to conversations 
 about religion and history ; and brought us, at length, 
 to the threshold of confession that we had been fools 
 to spend our time and intelligence over Sibley's big 
 books. So Whillock disposed of them, and purchased 
 forty volumes of the English Essayists, and Lang- 
 horne's Plutarch ; and we began to devote our Sunday 
 afternoons to conversations on more rational themes, 
 until at last, I fear, we began to be too rational. Elihu 
 Palmer's ''Principles of Nature," and a translation of 
 Volney's " Ruins of Empires," and also a so-called 
 translation of Voltaire's " Philosophical Dictionary," 
 were offered to Whillock by a travelling bookseller, 
 very pressingly, and at low prices, one day, and he 
 bought them. 
 
 Our curiosity was soon whetted ; and we eagerly 
 ran through the books. I do not think that Palmer's 
 book took any hold of us. Its style of composition 
 seemed stilted ; and we thought, I remember, that he 
 assumed certain heterodox conclusions, without proof. 
 Neither did the other books make us unbelievers, in 
 the usual sense of the word ; but we began to conclude 
 that there must be some fable, at least, in the Old Tes- 
 tament ; that the exterminating wars of the Israelites 
 could not have been commanded by Jehovah, nor all 
 
 4 
 
50 DEATH OF MY BEST-LOVED FRIEND. 
 
 the deeds of the "Judges/' and so on. We had grown 
 very loose in our attendance on public worship ; and 
 now we gave it up altogether, and spent the greater 
 part of each Sunday in earnest conversation. 
 
 I do not mean to indicate that our conversation now 
 was wholly on subjects such as I have just mentioned. 
 Far from it. We still exchanged thoughts on the his- 
 tory and poetry that we read, and showed to each other 
 our attempts in.rhyme and blank verse, and encouraged 
 each other in the ambition and belief that we should 
 run a successful career of authorship, as poets and 
 prose- writers, in the years to come I 
 
 Henry Whillock's apprenticeship ended, he left 
 Gainsborough, went to Nottingham, and put the little 
 fortune he inherited into the bobbin-net trade — the 
 new machinery for which manufacture had just then 
 come into use, and was considered a sure way of making 
 a large fortune — but soon lost his money. His cor- 
 respondence with me suddenly ceased ; and at the 
 end of a few more months, I learned that he had died 
 in London. 
 
 My friendship with Whillock had been the means 
 of procuring me an introduction to one whose counsel 
 was of far higher value to me, and whose intelligence 
 was far superior to that of any acquaintanceship I had 
 yet formed in the world. John Hough was a draper, 
 had been married and fixed in business for a year or 
 so when I first knew him, and was eight years older 
 than myself. His father, Vincent Hough, was an old- 
 
THE OLD LIBRARY DISCOVERED. 5 I 
 
 established tradesman in Gainsborough, and was one 
 of the deacons of the Independent church. My new 
 friend, therefore, had been brought up as a dissenter ; 
 and he had very decided views and opinions on non- 
 conformity and dissent, while he was a strong par- 
 tisan of Jonathan Edwards in doctrine. He was, 
 however, a broad general reader, had an excellent 
 library, and made me welcome to the loan of every 
 book in it that I desired to read. 
 
 I had come to the knowledge that there was an- 
 other great supply of old English literature which I 
 could make use of. " Nathaniel Robinson, mercer," 
 many years before, had left his library for the use of 
 the inhabitants of the town ; but it had been thrust 
 aside into a corner, and almost forgotten. I was in 
 ecstasies fo find the dusty, cobwebbed shelves loaded 
 with Hooker, and Bacon, and Cudworth, and Stilling- 
 fleet, and Locke, and Jeremy Taylor, and Tillotson, 
 and Bates, and Bishop Hall, and Samuel Clarke, and 
 Warburton, and Bull, and Waterland, and Bentley, and 
 Bayle, and Ray, and Derham, and a score of other phi- 
 losophers and divines, — mingled with Stanley's " His- 
 tory of Philosophers," and its large full-length portraits 
 ■ — Ogilvy's "Embassies to Japan and China," with their 
 large curious engravings — Speed's and Rapin's folio 
 histories of England" — Collier's "Church History" — 
 Fuller's " Holy War"— Foxe's " Book of Martyrs," the 
 first edition, in black letter, and with its odd, rude 
 plates — and countless other curiosities and valuables. 
 
52 THE OLD LADY AND HER PET. 
 
 I must mention another little piece of good fortune 
 that now befell me — although I was indebted for it 
 partly to real kindness, and partly to a little roguery. 
 The dear old lady, Mrs. Trevor, of whom I had pur- 
 chased my lead pencils and water colours when a 
 child, and from whose tattered and worn Circulating 
 Library I had borrowed so many volumes of tales, 
 novels, and romances, always regarded me as a kind 
 of pet ; and I was still her customer for papers and 
 pens, and so on. I noted that a few of the gentry had 
 commenced a " Book Society" at her shop. The sub- 
 scription of two guineas per annum was above my 
 power to pay ; but, as I took the liberty, one day, to 
 handle some of the new volumes and periodicals, she 
 closed the shop door, and, coming close to me, whis- 
 pered that she thought she could accommodate me with 
 the loan of the books. Suppose I gave her ten shil- 
 lings for the books of each season, and took care to 
 fetch them in the evening, about the time that shops 
 closed, when it would be certain that none of the 
 genteel subscribers would be in the way .-* 
 
 So the forbidden fruit was secured once more ; and 
 I went home all in a glow with delight — for I was 
 taking two numbers of the " London Magazine " with 
 me, and the first volume of Scott's " JCenilworth" 1 
 
RESOLVE TO BE A SCHOT.AR. 53 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 STUDENT-LIFE : ITS ENJOYMENTS : 
 1824 — 1828. 
 
 How rich I was, with ten shilHngs per week, to buy 
 food and clothes — now all this intellectual food was 
 glutting me on every side ! And how resolute I was 
 on becoming solitary, and also on becoming a scholar ! 
 What though I could not get to Cambridge, like 
 Kirke White, could I not study as hard as he studied, 
 and learn as fast ? Friends and acquaintances had 
 left the little old town, one after another ; but I would 
 not leave it. I w^ould learn enough in that corner to 
 enable myself to enter on mature life with success ; 
 and I would have no friend in addition to my new 
 friend John Hough, with whom I had promised to 
 spend a couple of hours or more, every Saturday night, 
 in intellectual converse. 
 
 Yet I would have strengthened my friendship with 
 Thomas Miller, if he would have become a student. 
 We had only seen each other occasionally (although 
 we had ever retained the fond friendship of childhood), 
 for several years. Miller's mother had been compelled 
 to let the parish apprentice her boy ; and the person 
 
54 miller's youthful frolicks. 
 
 to whom Tom was apprenticed was so vain and 
 ignorant, and tyrannised to such a degree over the 
 strong-willed boy, that Tom one day put him in fear 
 of his life, by throwing an iron instrument at him. 
 So the boy was given up to his mother, who had re- 
 cently re-married ; and her husband taught Tom the 
 trade of a basket-maker. Of course, the lad soon had 
 his own way ; and, when working hours were over, 
 passed his time as he pleased. He was strong, hand- 
 some, and proud ; and was soon a favourite with all 
 the maidens of his own rank in the town. He joined 
 wild company that took to what some people con- 
 sider to be only the playful tricks of youth ; but 
 would sober down a little, now and then, and call 
 upon me, and talk about poetry. Sometimes, he would 
 accompany me in a walk ; but, while I wanted to 
 pursue my study, as we walked, he would be venting 
 sallies of fun, or quoting Falstaff, or Bottom the 
 Weaver. 
 
 I saw there was unmistakable genius in Miller ; 
 and I found he listened to my rehearsals of Coleridge's 
 " Christabel " and Burns' " Tam o' Shanter " with rapt 
 pleasure ; but I could not persuade him to take to 
 real study. He left Gainsborough ; and when, a few 
 years afterwards, he sent me his first printed poem, 
 from Nottingham, where he had settled down and 
 married, I felt surprised that he had entered the field 
 of authorship first ; and httle imagined that I should 
 be such a laggard in entering it myself. 
 
THE EXAMPLE OF SAMUEL LEE. 55 
 
 One of the greatest incentives I had to solid study 
 was the reading, in Drew's " Imperial Magazine," an 
 account of the life of Dr. Samuel Lee, Professor of 
 Hebrew in the University of Cambridge, and a 
 scholar, it was said, in more than a dozen languages. 
 He had been apprenticed to a carpenter at eleven 
 years old, had bought Ruddiman's Latin Rudiments 
 on an old book-stall for a trifle, and learnt the whole 
 book by heart ; and had stepped on, from Corderius's 
 Colloquies to Caesar, and from Csesar to Virgil, and so 
 on ; and had learnt to read Greek, Hebrew, and 
 Syriac, all from self-tuition, by the time he was five 
 or six and twenty. Yet he was ignorant of English 
 Grammar and Arithmetic ! 
 
 I said in my heart, if one man can teach himself a 
 language, another can. But there seemed such a 
 wealth of means of learning now around me, that I 
 felt as if I must attempt to accomplish a broader 
 triumph of self-education than Lee accomplished. I 
 must try if I could not combine the study of languages 
 with that of mathematics ; complete a full course 
 of reading in ancient and modern history, and get an 
 accurate and ample acquaintance with the literature 
 of the day, by means of that little convenient opening 
 I mentioned at the close of the last chapter. 
 
 I must add, that there was some sadness mingled 
 with these buoyant resolves. The thought of dear 
 Henry Whillock's death would bring serious fears 
 about his spiritual state and my own fitness for death. 
 
56 MY INTELLECTUAL FRIEND HOUGH. 
 
 My new friend Hough carefully reminded me of the 
 true wisdom there was in being prepared to die ; and 
 when I told him, without any concealment, of the 
 doubts we had gathered from reading those sceptical 
 Dooks, he solemnly advised me to enter on a course of 
 reading of the Evidences of Christianity. I promised 
 to do so; and I gradually drew up my plans for study 
 and the employment of time into a written form. To 
 this I added written resolves of a very necessary kind : 
 that I would speak grammatically, and pronounce 
 with propriety ; and I would do these always. 
 
 Some who read this page may scarcely be able to 
 understand the nature of the task I was imposing on 
 myself Often, for hours, no one would enter the 
 little room where I sat at work in my corner, and my 
 poor mother, at her labour, a little nearer the door. 
 But sometimes troublesome gossips would enter — 
 neighbours to talk about the other neighbours, old 
 friends and acquaintances of my mother's, some of 
 them from the town, and some from the villages, and 
 old playmates and schoolfellows of my own. 
 
 Now, to hear a youth in mean clothing, sitting at 
 the shoemaker's stall, pursuing one of the lowliest; 
 callings, speak in what seemed to some of them almost 
 a foreign dialect, raised positive anger and scorn in 
 some, and amazement in others. Who was I, that I 
 should sit on the cobbler's stall, and "talk fine" ! They 
 could not understand it. With Whillock and my 
 intellectual friends I had conversed in the best and 
 
STRUGGLE TO MAKE ATTAINMENTS. $/ 
 
 most refined English I could command ; but I had 
 used our plain old Lincolnshire dialect in talking to 
 the neighbours. This was all to be laid aside now, 
 and it took some courage to do it. Yet I persevered 
 until the Doric was conquered ; and at one time of 
 my life spoke better Attic than, belike, I speak now, 
 in these my days of the yellow leaf — for an old man 
 seems to relapse naturally into the use of his mother 
 tongue. 
 
 My written resolves also comprised serious vows 
 that I would lead a strictly moral life ; would retire 
 to pray at least once in the day-time, as well as " say 
 my prayers" at morn and eve; and would inquire 
 diligently into the truth of both natural and revealed 
 religion. 
 
 I thought it possible that by the time I reached 
 the age of twenty-four I might be able to master the 
 elements of Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and French ; might 
 get well through Euclid, and through a course of 
 Algebra ; might commit the entire " Paradise Lost," 
 and seven of the best plays of Shakspeare, to memory ; 
 and might read a large and solid course of history, 
 and of religious evidences ; and be well acquainted 
 also with the current literature of the day. 
 
 I failed considerably, but I sped on joyfully 
 while health and strength lasted. I was between 
 nineteen and twenty when I began to commit Ruddi- 
 man's Rudiments to memory — thinking it was better 
 of begin to learn Latin with the book that Lee used 
 
58 .' APPLICATION TO LANGUAGES. 
 
 — though I found afterwards I might have done 
 better. I committed almost the entire volume to 
 memory — notes and all. Afterwards, I found Israel 
 Lyon's small Hebrew Grammar, on a stall, bought it 
 for a shilling, and practised Hebrew writing as the 
 surest means of beginning to learn, every Sunday 
 evening. I got hold of a Greek Grammar about a 
 year after ; but did not master it earnestly, because I 
 thought it better to keep close to the Latin for some 
 time. I also picked up a small French Grammar ; 
 but that seemed so easy, that I thought I could 
 master it without care or trouble. 
 
 On Sunday mornings, whether I walked, or had to 
 stay indoors on account of the weather, my first 
 task was to commit a portion of the " Paradise Lost " 
 to memory. I usually spent the remainder of 
 Sunday, save the evening, whether I walked or re- 
 mained at home, in reading something that bore on 
 the Evidences. Thus I not only read through the 
 well-known " Natural Theology " and " Horae Pau- 
 linae," and " Evidences " of Paley, and the equally 
 popular " Apologies for the Bible and Christianity " 
 of Bishop Watson, Soame Jenyns' " Internal Evi- 
 dences," Lord Lyttelton's " Conversion of St. Paul," 
 and Sherlock's "Trial of the Witnesses," — but I 
 diligently read books that required deeper thinking, 
 and some that were filled with profound learning — 
 such as Butler's "Analogy," Bentley's "Folly of 
 Atheism," Dr. Samuel Clarke's ''Demonstrations of 
 
STUDY AND SELF-DENIAL. 59 
 
 the Being and Attributes of God," Stillingfleet's 
 " Origines Sacrse," and Warburton's " Divine Le- 
 gation of Moses." 
 
 Historical reading, or the grammar of some lan- 
 guage, or translation, was my first employment on 
 week-day mornings, whether I rose at three or four, 
 until seven o'clock, when I sat down to the stall. 
 
 A book or a periodical in my hand while I break- 
 fasted, gave me another half-hour's reading. I had 
 another half-hour, and sometimes an hour's reading, 
 or study of language, at from one to two o'clock, the 
 time of dinner — usually eating my food with a spoon, 
 after I had cut it in pieces, and having my eyes on a 
 book all the time, 
 
 I sat at work till eight, and sometimes nine, at 
 night ; and, then, either read, or walked about our 
 little room and committed " Hamlet " to memory, or 
 the rhymes of some modern poet, until compelled to 
 go to bed from sheer exhaustion — for it must be 
 remembered that I was repeating something, audibly, 
 as I sat at work, the greater part of the day — either 
 declensions and conjugations, or rules of syntax, or 
 propositions of Euclid, or the " Paradise Lost," or 
 " Hamlet," or poetry of some modern or living author. 
 
 In the spring of 1826, after getting through Valpy's 
 Delectus, and a part of Stewart's " Cornelius Nepos," 
 and also a part of Justin, but somewhat clumsily, with 
 the help of Ainsworth's Dictionary, I commenced 
 Caesar, and sped on well, so that by the time I had 
 
6o CONQUEST OF LATIN — C^SAR AND VIRGIL. 
 
 reached the third book, " De Bello Gallico/' I found 
 myself able to read page after page, with scarcely 
 more than a glance, now and then, at the dictionary. 
 I remember well my first triumphant feeling of this 
 kind. I sat on Pingle Hill ; it was about five in the 
 morning, the sun shone brightly ; and as I lifted my 
 eyes from the classic page of the great conqueror of 
 the Gauls and Helvetians, and they fell on the 
 mouldering pile called the " Old Hall" — part of which 
 had been a stronghold of John of Gaunt, and of one 
 of the barons in the reign of Stephen — I said to my- 
 self, " I have made a greater conquest, without the aid 
 of a living teacher, than the proudest warrior ever 
 made — for I have conquered and entered into the 
 possession of a new mind." And that seems to me 
 the truest expression, when you find you can read a 
 language you could not read before. 
 
 When I had finished Caesar's Commentaries on the 
 Gallic War, I took up the Eneid, and soon grew in 
 love with Virgil : a love which has lasted — for, not- 
 withstanding the protest some people make against 
 the "tameness" of Virgil, as compared with Homer, 
 the graceful Mantuan always affords me high intel- 
 lectual pleasure. 
 
 I was seldom later in bed than three or four in the 
 morning ; and when, in the coldness of winter, we 
 could not afford to have a fire till my mother rose, I 
 used to put a lamp on a stool, which I placed on a 
 little round table, and, standing before it, wrapped up 
 
RAPT ENJOYMENT OF SCENERY. 6 1 
 
 in my mother's old red cloak, I read on till seven, or 
 studied a grammar, or my Euclid, and frequently kept 
 my feet moving to secure warmth, or prevent myself 
 from falling asleep. 
 
 In the finer seasons of the year I was invariably 
 on the hills, or in the lanes or woods, or by the Trent, 
 by sunrise, or before ; and thus often strolled several 
 miles with my book in my hand, before I sat down in 
 the corner to work, at seven o'clock. These long 
 walks in the mornings greatly deepened my love of 
 Nature. I grew increasingly and fondly familiar with 
 the trees, the flowers, the birds, and even with the 
 wild four-footed creatures, and, above all, with the 
 silver windings of the Trent ; and often stood to gaze 
 down the vista of a wood, or upon some feature of 
 beauty in a landscape, with a thrill of joyous feeling 
 that I could not have defined to myself, or others. 
 Nothing gave me deeper enjoyment than the grand 
 colouring of the woods in autumn ; and when I first 
 saw one of the pictures of Gainsborough, I thought 
 he must have felt, in the woods of Suffolk, similar 
 rapture to that which I had felt in the woods of old 
 Lincolnshire. 
 
 My drawing had been given up, and was never re- 
 sumed ; but I occasionally returned to the dear old 
 dulcimer, especially if I felt jaded by overwork, or 
 my dear mother desired the music. Be it remembered, 
 she was now drawing near to sixty, and had declined 
 considerably in strength and energy, so that there was 
 
62 hough's rich conversation. 
 
 the greater need that I did not neglect to ply the. awl. 
 It was little help, indeed, I could render her ; but it 
 would have been cruel to have leaned carelessly on 
 her increasing weakness. 
 
 My friend Hough's conversation, on the Saturday 
 nights, was both a relief and an inspiration to me. 
 He was not only well read in standard old EngHsh 
 literature, more especially divinity, but he was pas- 
 sionately attached to metaphysics, — had read Locke, 
 and Berkeley, and Hobbes, and Dugald Stewart ; and 
 during the first year of our acquaintance took to the 
 enthusiastic perusal of Cudworth. The grand ex- 
 panse of his forehead showed the strength of his 
 reasoning faculties as well as of his ideality ; and he 
 kindled into warmth as we entered into debate. With 
 him I discussed questions relating to mind, to religion, 
 to history, and general literature ; and these weekly 
 conversations, as I returned to my reading and studies, 
 gave a new impulse to thought and inquiry. He also 
 used to say, "You do me good. You freshen my mind, 
 weekly." 
 
 My historical reading was a great delight. I read, 
 thoroughly, Gibbon's " Decline and Fall," and fol- 
 lowed it up by reading the Preliminary Discourse to 
 Sale's translation of the Koran, and a translation of 
 Mosheim's Church History. I made written notes, 
 often, as I went along. I analysed Dr. Clarke's 
 " Demonstrations of the Being and Attributes," and 
 it was done so completely that I seemed to know the 
 
CLOSE ANALYSIS OF BOOKS. 63 
 
 book by heart. My friend Hough approved it greatly, 
 and sho\ved it to others, till — at last — it was begged, 
 and given away to oni who was preparing for the 
 Christian ministry. 
 
 In the hurry and whirl of my changeful life, I have 
 lost the journal that I kept so strictly in those years, 
 and all written records of my reading; but I can recal 
 the feeling of pleasure, or profound interest, I ex- 
 perienced in reading many a volume ; and the feel- 
 ing is often associated with some feature of a land- 
 scape, or turn of the woods, or appearance of the hills 
 or lanes where I walked. Thus the dear old remem- 
 brances often flash upon me, after all these, years ; and 
 I. seem to see the page, and the rural spot where I 
 read it, as clearly as if it had happened only an hour 
 ago. How strange it seems — seeing that I, often, 
 cannot call to mind whether I wrote to such a person 
 last week ; and, most commonly, forget the names and 
 features of persons with whom I have but lately be- 
 come acquainted, — nay, often forget, utterly, some 
 things I saw, or some actions I performed, not a 
 month ago ! . 
 
 Blair's "Lectures on Rhetoric and the Belles Lettres " 
 was another book that I analysed very closely 
 and laboriously, being determined on acquiring a 
 thorough judgment of style and literary excellence. 
 All this practice seemed to destroy the desire of com- 
 posing poetry of my own. Milton's verse seemed to 
 overawe me, as I committed it to memory, and 
 
64 COMMITTING POETRY TO MEMORY. 
 
 repeated it daily ; and the perfection of his music, as 
 well as the gigantic stature of his intellect, were fully 
 perceived by my mind. The wondrous knowledge of 
 the heart unfolded by Shakspeare, made me shrink 
 into insignificance ; while the sweetness, the marvellous 
 power of expression and grandeur of his poetry seemed 
 to transport me, at times, out of the vulgar world of 
 circumstances in which I lived bodily. Besides the 
 two great poets, I made myself familiar with others ; 
 and committed to memory thousands of lines by 
 Burns, and Coleridge, and Wordsworth, and Scott, and 
 Byron, and Moore, and Campbell, and Southey, and 
 Keats. And the repetition, daily, of poetry displaying 
 all the harmonies of rhythm — all the opulence of the 
 stores of expressing thought — repressed all desire of 
 composing poetry myself. I said to myself, daily — 
 " I am educating my ear and my mind, and I shall 
 be ripe for my true work in time." 
 
 The culture I attempted for myself was broad 
 enough, at any rate — for I often diverged into mis- 
 cellaneous reading, and can remember the pleasure 
 with which I went through the elder Disraeh's 
 " Curiosities of Literature," " Calamities of Authors," 
 and " Quarrels of Authors," Warton's " History of 
 Early English Poetry," Johnson's "Lives of the Poets," 
 " Rasselas," etc., Boswell's " Life of Johnson," Landor's 
 " Imaginary Conversations," Southey's " Book of the 
 Church," Lingard's "Anglo-Saxon Antiquities," 
 Colton's " Lacon," Douglas of Cavers on the 
 
READING ALL KINDS OF BOOKS. 6$ 
 
 "Advancement of Society," Bullock's "Mexico," 
 Richardson's " Travels in Egypt and the Holy Land," 
 Head's "Rough Notes of a Journey to the Andes," 
 and many other volumes of travels. 
 
 The novels of Scott I took care to have from the 
 shelves of the dear old lady's shop, as early after their 
 first appearance as I could come by them, — while I 
 also indulged myself occasionally by reading the 
 new pages of Washington Irving, or such novels as 
 Mrs. Shelley's thrilling creation of " Frankenstein," 
 and Lockhart's sterling stories of " Valerius " and 
 " Reginald Dalton." 
 
 The later poetry of Byron, contained in " The 
 Liberal," and that published separately, with the new 
 volumes of Campbell, Moore, Milman, and others, I 
 had also, by favour, from those kindly shelves in the 
 little shop I had frequented from a child, — together 
 with each number of the Quarterly and Edinburgh 
 Reviews, and of the European, New Monthly, and 
 Blackwood's Magazines, as duly as they came out. 
 Thus I read the celebrated " Noctes Ambrosianae " 
 when they were new. 
 
 But my great favourite was the London Magazine. 
 Nor have I ever seen a magazine that equalled it, 
 since — at least, to my thinking. A periodical which 
 first set before English readers the Essays of Elia, 
 the Picture Galleries of Hazlitt, De Quincey's "Confes- 
 sions of an Opium-eater," verses by Keats and sonnets 
 by poor Clare, and tales by Allan Cunningham, and 
 
 5 
 
66 RICHNESS OF "THE LONDON MAGAZINE." 
 
 in the later numbers of which Carlyle's " Life of 
 Schiller " first appeared — certainly spread no Barme- 
 cide array of dishes before the literary appetite of its 
 readers. The "Monthlies" — there were no "Weeklies " 
 f/ien — have doubled, trebled, nay, quadrupled, in num- 
 ber, since I was a young fellow. One would rather 
 that they were fewer in number ; and that the real 
 Men of Genius existing would club their wits to bring 
 out, monthly, a new " London Magazine/' as rich as 
 the old one. 
 
PAYING PENALTIES FOR OVER-WORK. &/ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ILLNESS : SCHOOLMASTER- LIFE : IN EARNEST : 
 
 1828 — 1829. 
 
 I HAVE taken care not to bedim the brightness of 
 the picture contained in the last chapter. And it would 
 have been untruthful if I had ; for its brightness was 
 never dimmed to me. But no one of any experience 
 in life can have read the chapter without suspecting 
 that the strain upon the powers of mind and body- 
 described in it could not always be kept up, and that, 
 under such circumstances, there must have been 
 failure, sometimes. 
 
 And so it was. I not unfrequently swooned away, 
 and fell along the floor, when I tried to take my cup 
 of oatmeal gruel, at the end of my day's labour. 
 Next morning, of course, I was not able to rise at an 
 early hour ; and then, very likely, the next day's 
 study had to be stinted. I needed better food than 
 we could afford to buy ; and often had to contend with 
 the sense of faintness, while I still plodded on, with 
 my double task of mind and body. 
 
 But it was not till the summer of 1827, when I was 
 about three months over two-and-twenty, that I felt 
 
6S THE SUN BECOMING ECLIPSED. 
 
 my bodily strength, and, with it, my power of mind, 
 were really giving way. I had, now, " Hamlet " en- 
 tirely and perfectly by heart, and thought of begin- 
 ning to commit " Lear " to memory, but dare not ; 
 and I felt also compelled to halt at the end of the 
 fourth book of " Paradise Lost." More reluctantly, I 
 had to give up my Hebrew writing, and the book of 
 Hebrew sentences. I must take them up again when 
 I felt stronger. And the Algebra : t/ia^ must also be 
 laid by, for the present. If I relieved myself of some 
 of my labour, it would enable me soon to rally. So I 
 calculated. And so Daddy Briggs said it would be — 
 for he would often call, and talk with his old pupil, 
 and wonder at what I was doing, and talk admiringly 
 and fondly about it. 
 
 The autumn came, and I grew weaker. And then, 
 with a sense of mortification I cannot express, I had 
 to lay aside the odd volume of Tacitus, and the neat 
 old copy of Lactantius, " De mortibus Persecutorum," 
 that I had bought from ofi" a stall ; and dare not at- 
 tempt to go on translating them. Greek Grammar 
 and Extracts, and, at last, Greek Testament itself, 
 had all to be given up. I could only read a little 
 light reading — for anything that required thinking 
 brought on pain and nervous torment ; and I grew 
 very "sad, and often wept, when alone. 
 
 All very early rising was now discontinued ; for I 
 had to endeavour to preserve strength enough to pur- 
 sue my bodily labour, or we must come to want. My 
 
STUDY ENDED : A SICK BED. 69 
 
 poor mother's business had grown less and less, as she 
 lost strength and enterprise ; and she was often now 
 unable to work at all. Thus, there was every reason 
 why I should fill up the hours with the labour that 
 brought us daily bread ; and so, even the rehearsal of 
 grammar and verses had to be discontinued — or be 
 indulged in but seldom. 
 
 But I had already ventured too far. The com- 
 plete failure came. In November of the same 
 year, I had to be carried to bed, having fainted in 
 my chair ; and I had to remain in bed several days. 
 For nine successive weeks, I was out of bed only for 
 a short time each day, and my sense of weakness was 
 excessive. 
 
 I had the kindly aid of a noble medical man. Dr. 
 Peacock, who is dead, but has left a name memor- 
 able for philanthropy in that little town ; and food 
 and other helps were rendered me by many — I may 
 say, by all who knew me intimately. If it had not 
 been so, my poor mother must have sunk with the 
 burthen she was not able, now, to bear. 
 
 One incident in that illness comes strongly across 
 my mind as I write. I had been brought downstairs, 
 in a somewhat cheerful state of mind, believing that 
 I had got a turn, as we say, and that I should soon be 
 well — when I suddenly fell back, and my appearance 
 alarmed my mother. Her cries brought in two or 
 three of the neighbours, who were passing. One of 
 them took me by the wrist, held it awhile, and told 
 
/O DEATH NEXT DOOR — BUT DEPARTS ! - 
 
 my mother that the pulse had stopped, and I was 
 dead. My eyes were closed, and I could not open 
 them, and I could not speak. The sensation I felt 
 was as if a huge stone lay on my chest. It seems the 
 blood had not ceased circulating at the heart — for it 
 gradually resumed its course through the body ; and 
 I opened my eyes, and told the neighbour who had 
 said I was dead that I had heard every word he had 
 spoken ! In little more than a year after that time, 
 I saw that neighbour laid in the grave. Such are the 
 unexpected incidents of this our mortal life ! 
 
 My great burthen of heart and spirit has yet to be 
 approached. I have purposely kept it out of my 
 story for some time, not feeling it congruous to 
 mingle secular and spiritual cares, or the relation of 
 them, familiarly. I was often gently exhorted to 
 seek for the settlement of every doubt by my friend 
 Hough. But doubts arose, as I proceeded with my 
 inquiry into the " Evidences," that I had never felt be- 
 fore. Still I kept up the practice of retiring every 
 day, at noon, for prayer ; and it was then, more 
 especially, that I prayed for light. I had analysed 
 Paley's " Evidences," and could repeat to myself the 
 substance of the book. And I had often done this 
 when most troubled with doubt ; and it served to 
 enable me to rest on Christ's existence and mission, 
 as facts. 
 
 About two months before I was compeHed to take 
 to bed, my friend Hough put into my hand the Life 
 
EARNEST RELIGIOUS STRUGGLE. 7 1 
 
 of Henry Martyn, the missionary. Its effect, as 
 might be expected, was very powerful upon my 
 mind. The picture of one so perfect as a scholar 
 and a man of refinement, and so fully convinced of 
 the truth of religion — the brilliant short life of intense 
 and devoted missionary labour, crowned with a death 
 that was, almost literally, a martyrdom — took very 
 strong hold of me. I said within myself, " I ought to 
 be ashamed to have a doubt, while Henry Martyn 
 believed ; " and resolved I would never dwell on a 
 doubt in future, but pray instead. 
 
 In this state of mind, my sickness found me. But 
 now came the sickness of the heart. The good doc- 
 tor shook his head, as he felt my pulse again and 
 again, and revisited me ; and every thought was con- 
 centred in the one thought — I might have to meet 
 death very soon ! Pray I did, with all my feeble 
 strength, for the conviction of sin was a heavy 
 burthen. Sin of the heart and mind, that is not out- 
 ward, was my sin ; but it was not the less, sin for that. 
 
 Religious people were soon round me. Methodists 
 had a suspicion that I v/as sceptical, because I had 
 ceased to attend public worship. They did not un- 
 derstand that the chief reason was, that I might gain 
 one whole day for study, weekly. Methodists prayed 
 with me very earnestly, and besought me to give my 
 soul no rest till I had found the pardon of sin ; and I 
 assured them that was what I longed to find. 
 
 The young curate of the parish church, the pious 
 
72 RECOVERY, AND NEW EMPLOYMENT, 
 
 and laborious Charles Hensley, came also to visit me. 
 He soon discovered that he had found a penitent of 
 a peculiar order ; and at once confessed his interest 
 in my studies, and offered to assist me with the loan 
 of Latin and Greek books, should I recover. Mr. 
 Hensley also very seriously urged me to be truly 
 penitent ; but was not of opinion that I ought to seek 
 for what Methodists called a " sense of pardon." My 
 friend Hough was on the curate's side ; and, amidst 
 these conflicting urgencies, I knew not what to do. 
 
 A good constitution and the skill of my kind phy- 
 sician, under the blessing of the Almighty, enabled 
 me at length to leave the sick bed. But I was very 
 weak for some time ; and when I attempted a little 
 manual labour, it brought on a peculiar nervous 
 tremor that almost frightened me, and which com- 
 pelled me to desist, time after time. My friend 
 Hough, and my acquaintance — who afterwards became 
 a dear friend — Charles Kelvey, took counsel together, 
 and proposed to me that I should try the profession 
 of a schoolmaster. I agreed, for I felt I could not 
 work again on the stall ; and they sought out a large 
 club-room which was already furnished with forms 
 and boards, that would serve for desks, and made 
 themselves responsible for the rent for the first half- 
 year. I issued handbills ; and on the tenth of March, 
 1828, just ten days before I became three-and-twenty, 
 I opened school. 
 
 My school was eagerly patronised by the poor; 
 
AN ENTHUSIASTIC SCHOOLMASTER. y-}, 
 
 and I had a few of the children of the middle-class. 
 People in the little town had been talking for years 
 about the remarkable youth that was never seen in 
 the streets, and was known to wander miles in the 
 fields and woods, reading. He was believed by some 
 to be a prodigy of learning ; and they would send 
 their children to be taught by him. In the course c^f 
 twelve months I had a hundred scholars on my list, 
 had an average attendance of eighty, and had to think 
 of engaging an assistant. 
 
 If it could ever have entered into my nature to set 
 about making money, now was my first " good chance." 
 But it could not, and never will. I have had several 
 " good chances," since that passed away ; and I could 
 never make use of them, or suffer such a purpose to 
 enter my mind. We cannot all " make money," al- 
 though it is necessary that somebody should. I have 
 said, and said it solemnly, that I cannot "make 
 money," and I do not believe that anything which 
 could possibly happen to me in the world could turn 
 my nature into the path of money-getting. But there 
 is something besides that I cannot do. I cannot avoid 
 throwing my whole nature into an undertaking, when 
 I once enter upon it, either from a sense of duty or 
 for self-gratification. 
 
 My school was a perfect passion with me for a time. 
 I was in the school-room often at five in the morning 
 until nine at night, taking my meals in a hasty, im- 
 perfect way, while the boys were gone home to take 
 
74 HAPPINESS OF MY SCHOLARS. 
 
 theirs. I had quill pens to make in great number, the 
 first work in the morning ; and for a time I had early 
 classes each morning. Then again, in the evenings, 
 although other day-schools broke up at five, I drew 
 the elder scholars around the globe, and described the 
 countries upon it, until a late hour, or talked to them 
 on some part of history, or described the structures 
 of animals, or, to keep up their attention, even re- 
 lated a story from the " Arabian Nights." 
 
 I spent at least fifty pounds on the walls of the 
 large club-room, by covering them with pictures of 
 every imaginable kind, and filling the corners with 
 large plaster figures and busts. The sill within every 
 window of the school-room was fitted up with small 
 divisions, so that the boys might have a miniature 
 museum of pebbles, coins, etc. I was intent on 
 making their school-room their delight. The pictures 
 fastened themselves on the eyes and brain of one 
 poor boy, John Spicer, the child of a lowly shoemaker. 
 That child did some wondrous things, as beginnings, 
 in art. He was a born genius, and would have gained 
 distinction had he lived. 
 
 Four children of an officer of excise were entrusted 
 to my care by their father ; and the two elder boys 
 were an important trust. They were highly intelligent, 
 were ripe in arithmetic, and in the school where they 
 had been learning Latin had been put into Horace. 
 But I found the advancement was false. They really 
 did not know what they were about. I did not un- 
 
THE DAILY "LATIN ACCIDENCE. 75 
 
 derstand the custom of helping lads out with one half 
 of their translation, and yet never showing them how 
 to translate. I had learned no old teachers' tricks. 
 
 So I placed Caesar's Commentaries before them, 
 and taught them how to select the nominative in each 
 sentence, then the verb, and then the noun governed 
 by the verb, and so on, until they became happy 
 labourers at the book, because they understood it, 
 and felt they were achieving something worth talking 
 about. They also commenced the study of Euclid, 
 daily ; and so I had a stimulus for keeping up my 
 knowledge of Geometry and Latin, in those two 
 pupils. 
 
 There was no desire on the part of the parents of 
 any other pupils in my school, that they should learn 
 Latin. But I wished to teach it to all. Soon, I had 
 copies of declensions and conjugations written out on 
 sheets of paper, with lists of the prepositions, and so on ; 
 and gave them to a good number of the boys to com- 
 mit to memory. And to the very last day of my life 
 that I sustained the office of daily schoolmaster, I 
 had the declensions, or conjugations, repeated by the 
 boys, as they stood in class, every morning. The 
 Latin Accidence, I may say, is so firmly fixed in my 
 memory, from hearing these daily repetitions, for 
 about nine years of my life, that I think I could as 
 soon forget my own name as forget any part of it. 
 
 A few of the boys to whom I thus taught Latin gra- 
 tuitously made such promising progress as to enable 
 
7^ STOLID IGNORANCE OF PARENTS. 
 
 me to form them into a separate class for the translation 
 of Cornelius Nepos. But the great body of them were 
 never able to construe a Latin sentence. They had 
 no taste for it themselves ; and they had no stimulus 
 at home. The stupid listlessness of the parents of 
 my pupils was, indeed, my hindrance from the first ; 
 and, in time, it produced disgust. 
 
 " I want our Jack to larn to write a good hand. 
 What's the use of his larning Latin ? It will nivver 
 be no use to him." 
 
 Such were the kind of thanks I had from the poor, 
 when I tried to benefit their children, without any 
 cost to themselves ! After the few boys had passed 
 away who had been my first scholars, and I had to 
 begin anew with dull intellects, amid harsh discourage- 
 ments from their parents, I lost the passion for my 
 profession as a schoolmaster ; and I began to feel it, 
 what I fear thousands beside myself have felt it to be 
 — unwelcome drudgery. 
 
 But I must go back to the great concern of all — 
 that of religion. 
 
I TRY THE INDEPENDENT CHAPEL. 77 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WESLEYAN METHODIST LIFE : STRUGGLE 
 FOR HOLINESS: 1 829 — 34- 
 
 I WENT to the Independent chapel, at the request of 
 my friend Hough, so soon as I was able to attend a 
 place of worship — that is to say, about a month before 
 I opened school. I was thoroughly intent on leading 
 a religious life ; but the problem was not solved with 
 me as to what constituted religion, or rather, religious 
 experience. I did not continue for more than about 
 three months to worship with the Independents. The 
 preaching — I forget the name of the preacher — was 
 dry and dull ; and it wearied me. Nor was there 
 warmth enough in the worship of the Independents 
 for a nature like mine, while it was so full of the fire 
 which it has taken time and experience to cool. 
 
 While attending the Independent chapel on Sun- 
 day mornings and evenings I went always to the 
 parish church in the afternoons. The preaching of 
 the young curate, Charles Hensley, gentle as it was, 
 touched chords within me that the Independent min- 
 ister could not reach. The church service too, was 
 associated with the happy feelings of boyhood, and 
 
78 I TRY THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH. 
 
 memories that were wound about the heart ; and so I 
 left the chapel, and began to attend the church thrice 
 each Sunday. My friend Hough and the Indepen- 
 dent minister ralHed me on my " becoming an Epis- 
 copalian," as they phrased it. "Nay, nay," said I, 
 "you know I do not believe in Lord Bishops, or Right 
 Reverend Fathers in God ; but I want to find peace 
 of mind, and I have not found it yet." 
 
 Nor did I find it in attendance on the parish church. 
 I devoutly uttered all the words of the services, and T 
 listened to the sermons. I even partook of the sacra- 
 ment of the Lord's Supper, because exhorted so to do. 
 But the contest within was becoming sorer and sorer. 
 Now I was exposed to trials of temper among the 
 children, I was often troubled with anger. My new 
 commerce with the world — for I could no longer play 
 the recluse with the care of so many pupils on my 
 hands — my new intercourse with insincere and sinister 
 people, inexperienced as I was, roused disgust and 
 opposition in me, and made me feel I had great pride 
 and a strong will of my own to contend with. Prayer 
 was often neglected, in the throng of occupation, 
 and the heart became less and less devotional. At 
 the close of a long day, when I sank asleep, it was 
 often with a heavy heart, and a sense of increasing 
 sinfulness. 
 
 By the end of that year, 1828, I was really wretched 
 on account of my low spiritual state, when I had a 
 few moments for reflection, and was not absorbed in 
 
I BECOME A WESLEYAN METHODIST. 79 
 
 the enthusiastic performance of my school duties. 
 And, at last, I said to myself, " I cannot live in this 
 state. The vows I made to God in sickness are yet 
 unfulfilled. I must either lead a devotedly religious 
 life, or bear about with me a sense of degradation and 
 falseness. Those Methodists, I know from a child, 
 have always professed to have the secret of true piety 
 and true happiness. I will go, and join them ; and 
 try if I can find the real cure for this heart-ache," 
 
 So, on New Year's Day, 1829, I first went to a 
 Wesleyan Methodist Class Meeting. The leader, 
 Edward Shipham, was a man of no more than ordi- 
 nary powers of mind. But I thought — to use a Lin- 
 colnshire expression — he was of the right breed. I 
 remembered the spiritual glance of his pious father's 
 eyes, and the dear old man's gentleness and love, 
 when I was a child in the Methodist Sunday-school ; 
 and, above all, the words I so often heard among the 
 poor, when some one was ill and likely to die — " Go, 
 and fetch Mr. Shipham to pray ! " I thought if the 
 father had been in such request as a man of prayer, 
 his son should have learnt something about spiritual 
 religion. These thoughts had determined me in 
 selecting a class-leader. 
 
 Four months of deep penitence passed away, amidst 
 warnings against unbelief, and exhortations to faith, 
 from the leader and the members of society ; and I 
 readily Hstened to advice, by whomsoever it was given. 
 I chiefly sought in the writings of Wesley himself — 
 
80 ABOUT THE "WITNESS OF THE SPIRIT." 
 
 with which I had long been acquainted — an explica- 
 tion of the true mode of seeking the pardon of sin. 
 I was ever in dread of that old spiritual bugbear of 
 my boyhood — pardoning myself, instead of receiving 
 the pardon of the Almighty. It was the pardon of the 
 Almighty — " the witness of the Spirit " — so often, so 
 invariably insisted upon in the writings of Wesley, 
 and in all the Methodist sermons of my time — that I 
 thirsted to receive. 
 
 But the more I observed the conduct of penitents 
 who were said to " find pardon," or "find peace," in the 
 prayer-meetings, and the more I listened to the lan- 
 guage of preachers and leaders, who prayed with them, 
 and guided them, — the clearer it became to me that 
 what I had been looking for was ignored. 
 
 " Do you feel you can rely on Christ 1 Can you 
 confide in Him zsyour Saviour.'' Do you believe He 
 really died for you f " Such were the questions put at 
 the penitent-form. And if the penitent said " Yes," 
 " Then say. Lord I am Thine ! " continued the spiri- 
 tual director ; say, " Lord, Thou hast died for me, and 
 I believe I'hou dosf save me ! " 
 
 And when the mourning one ventured to follow 
 the leader resolutely, in most instances joyous feeling 
 sprang up, and the joyous feeling increased if it were 
 indulged in. But if the mourner only timidly followed 
 the exhorter to believe, his mourning was not turned 
 into joy ; and he was told to keep on beheving and 
 joy would come. 
 
TO RELY ON CHRIST, THE RIGHT WAY, 8 1 
 
 f 
 
 \ 
 
 But no one who took the part of a spiritual di- 
 rector said, " Have you got the witness of the 
 Spirit ? " I never heard such a question put to any- 
 penitent who professed to "find peace," in all my life ; 
 and I have been witness to scores of cases of professed 
 deliverance from the burden of condemnation for 
 sin. 
 
 Having thus closely observed how that was ignored 
 which I had been expecting, I was the more incHned 
 to listen to two or three of the oldest and most intelli- 
 gent members of the Society, who said to me, — " You 
 are cheating yourself out of peace by some mistake. 
 What are you expecting .-' God's word teaches you 
 to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and affirms you 
 shall thus be saved. Do as you are directed, and 
 trust God to do His own part, in His own way. 
 Don't bargain with God for anything extraordinary 
 to follow. Do your own part. Believe with all your 
 heart ! " 
 
 Gradually, I found courage to take their advice. I 
 relied — and was resolved I would rely — on the fact 
 that Christ was my Saviour. And I resolved to rely 
 on it habitually. I would be troubled with none of 
 those absurd "actings of faith" I had learnt when a 
 boy. And peace of mind followed the calm and 
 settled reliance that I practised. I had no direct 
 " witness of the Spirit " such as I had looked for. I 
 had expected a direct impression to be made on my 
 mind by the Holy Spirit — an impression to be clearly 
 
 6 
 
82 BRAMWELL, AND " SANCTIFICATION." 
 
 distinguished from any act of my own mind. No- 
 thing of the kind followed my act of reliance on the 
 atonement of Christ ; and I refused to let myself be 
 disturbed on account of that. I was resolved to hold 
 by the fact that Christ had died for me. 
 
 Very soon, some one put into my hand Sigston's 
 " Life of William Bramwell." It proved to be a spark 
 that, for a time, lit my whole soul into flame. I had 
 heard members of the Society talk of holiness of 
 heart, and of " the blessing of sanctification," and of " a 
 clean heart," and of "perfect love," or "the second 
 blessing," as some called it. I read again such of 
 Wesley's own sermons as touched on the nature of 
 holiness. I found that Wesley taught " sanctifica- 
 tion," but could never learn that Wesley himself pro- 
 fessed to be sanctified. Fletcher's experience was 
 fully described and professed and taught as what all 
 might experience. The experience of Hester Ann 
 Rogers — hers is a well-known book to Wesleyans — 
 also seemed very full and clear. 
 
 I had already been reasoning with myself — " What 
 I want is to be holy. I want to cease sinning. The 
 pardon of sin is really of imperfect value, if I continue 
 to sin. I shall need pardoning again. It is entire 
 devotedness to God that I need. I ought to be de- 
 voted to Him. It must be right to be so devoted ; 
 and it must be wrong to hve without rendering God 
 perfect obedience. Does He not ask me for it, in 
 His word .-' Does He not say ' Be ye holy ' ? If He 
 
RESOLUTION TO OBTAIN HOLINESS. 83 
 
 commands it, it must be possible to obey. God never 
 mocks man. He would not command it, if it were 
 not possible. But I am mocking God, if I profess 
 to be His, and yet have not given Him my whole 
 heart." 
 
 I reasoned, further, that, as I had come out from the 
 world, and joined myself to God's people, I should be 
 acting insincerely if I did not live fully to God. My 
 plans of learning and study .-* Alas ! they had all 
 been suspended. And I reasoned that I must not 
 resume them to kill my spirituality of mind. I must 
 have this holiness of heart. All other acquirements 
 were despicable, compared to it. I had been taken 
 out by a local preacher to begin to preach, and put 
 on the plan as a prayer-leader. And the earnestness 
 of my prayers for holiness soon raised a flame around 
 me. Others began to pray for holiness. And then, 
 in company with a few earnest young men, I began 
 to meet once a week in the house of a female class- 
 leader who for many years had been noted for fervid 
 devotion. 
 
 I read Bramwell on my knees by three in the 
 morning. I was swallowed up with the one thought 
 of reaching "perfect love," — of living without sin — of 
 feeling I was always and fully in God's favour. I 
 prayed for it — we all prayed for it — at the weekly 
 meeting we held in the house of the devoted woman 
 I spoke of One night we had sung " Wrestling 
 Jacob," the hymn which has so often been styled the 
 
84 THE VENTURE MADE, AND THE ISSUE. 
 
 masterpiece in the Wesleyan Hymn Book, com- 
 mencing — 
 
 " Come, O thou traveller unknown." 
 
 We had all sung the hymn with wrapt fervour, but I 
 had sung one verse with an earnestness of feeling, 
 and an agony of resolve, that I think I never sang 
 another verse with in all my life — 
 
 " In vain Thou strugglest to get free — 
 
 I never will unloose my hold ! 
 , Art Thou the Man that died for me ? 
 The secret of Thy love unfold ! 
 Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, 
 Till I Thy Name, Thy Nature know." 
 
 We sang over and over again, on our knees, "Wrest- 
 ling I will not let Thee go ! " — till at last I sprang 
 upon my feet, crying, " I will believe ! I do believe ! " 
 and the very saying of the words, with all the 
 strength of resolve, seemed to lift me above the earth. 
 And I kept on believing, according to the lesson I 
 had learned in the Life of Bramwell. No thought of 
 consequences that might happen — no fear of the pos- 
 sibility of failure — could prevent me from confessing 
 and professing, with impressive fervour, that God had 
 sanctified my soul. The example was wondrously 
 infectious. Hundreds in the town and circuit began 
 to pray for holiness of heart ; and many professed 
 also to obtain it. 
 
HEAVEN ON EARTH OF HOLINESS. 85 
 
 How long I maintained the profession of it, I can 
 not say with exactness. It was for but part of a year, 
 perhaps not more than half a year. But I remember 
 well that I was in a religious state that I have never 
 reached since. For some months I never struck a boy 
 in my school. I felt that I could not strike ; and told 
 the children I should strike no more. And the chil- 
 dren used to look at me so wistfully, when I spoke to 
 them tenderly and lovingly, if any had done wrong ! 
 I instituted prayer four times a day, with singing, in 
 my school ; and I have had many testimonies, in after- 
 life, to the good impressions made on the minds of 
 some of the children. 
 
 If, throughout eternity in heaven, I be as happy as 
 I often was for whole days during that short period of 
 my religious life, it will be heaven indeed. Often, 
 for several days together, I felt close to the Almighty 
 — felt I was His own, and His entirely. I felt no 
 wandering of the will — no inclination to yield to sin. 
 And when temptation came, my whole soul wrestled 
 for victory, till the temptation fled. 
 
 This was exhausting to the body, as well as to the 
 soul. The perpetual tension of the string of the will 
 seemed, at last, to be more than I could sustain. One 
 day, when I was faint and weak in frame, I lost my 
 temper under great provocation from a disobedient 
 boy in the school, and suddenly seized the cane and 
 struck him. The whole school seemed horror-stricken. 
 The poor children gazed, as if on a fallen angel, with 
 
86 USUAL EXPERIENCE OF "REVIVALS." 
 
 such looks of commiseration on my poor self, as I 
 cannot describe. I wished I was in a corner to weep, 
 for I was choking with tears, and felt heart-broken. 
 
 I tried to recover the lost holiness ; and sometimes 
 seemed to regain it, or something like it, for a few 
 days ; but I was sure to fail again. And similar to 
 my experience was that of scores of our members, in 
 the town, and in the villages of the circuit. And such is 
 the experience in all circuits of the connexion. Often, 
 what is called a " Revival " begins with some one or 
 more striving for holiness. The theme kindles desire 
 in others ; and, soon, the theme becomes general, in 
 the meetings of the classes, and the Public Bands, or 
 weekly gatherings for telling of Christian experience. 
 Profession of holiness begins and extends, and some- 
 times fills a circuit with glowing excitement for many 
 months. 
 
 But the decline invariably sets in ; and little is said 
 about the doctrine of " sanctification " or " perfect 
 love," it may be, for some years after, save and except 
 when some aged and steady member of the society, 
 or minister, rises to tell his grateful story, perhaps in 
 a quarterly " Lovefeast." Thus, I often heard vener- 
 able Henry Anderson, who was ordained by John 
 Wesley, (and whose son and two grandsons are now in 
 the Wesleyan Ministry,) declare his experience when 
 he was eighty years old. "For more than forty years," 
 he used to aver, — and it was doubtless true, — " I have 
 not known a feeling contrary to love towards any 
 
CAUSES OF THE DECLINE OF HOLINESS. 8/ 
 
 human being, nor have I ever lost the sense of God's 
 favour ! " 
 
 But the changes and fluctuations of experience in 
 the circuits is the rule rather than the exception. It 
 was so in the lifetime of John Wesley. He gives 
 many striking relations of it in his "Journal" — the 
 book so well worth reading, and so valuable, as one 
 of the great keys to the knowledge of what was the 
 religious state of England, Scotland, Ireland, and 
 Wales in Wesley's own time. He speaks, sometimes, 
 of the flame of holiness pervading his Societies for a 
 year, and then almost dying out. 
 
 That a high degree of religious attainment might 
 be the habitual condition of Methodists, or any other 
 associations for piety, no Christian believer who dili- 
 gently reads his New Testament can doubt. Perhaps 
 Christian ministers do not preach the doctrine of 
 holiness with sufficient vigour and frequency. I fear, 
 the worldly spirit of professors of religion is the great 
 hindrance to holiness. I mean, more especially, their 
 joining in the world's amusements, and following its 
 fashions. There may be many other reasons why a 
 low standard of religious experience prevails in some 
 societies, and why zeal for holiness, which often reaches 
 intensity during a revival, is so commonly reduced to 
 languor, and even indifference, after a time. I do not 
 feel that I ought to enter on the discussion of such a 
 question here. I barely state the sorrowful fact that 
 great fluctuations in the state of their religious ex- 
 
88 BLESSED MINISTRY OF JOHN SMITH. 
 
 perience prevail in the Methodist societies, with all their 
 manifold means of promoting spiritual growth. 
 
 The revival in the Gainsborough circuit that I 
 have spoken of was prolonged by the ministry of John 
 Smith in the adjoining circuit of Lincoln : that minis- 
 try so fruitful in sound conversions, and in the quick- 
 ening of the spirits of those who already professed 
 religion. But from one fearful cause I shall be com- 
 pelled to relate, the religious feeling of the Gains- 
 borough circuit was well-nigh quenched in the hearts 
 of hundreds ; and I became eager to get out of an 
 atmosphere so chilling and mournful. 
 
MERE TALK IS NOT PREACHING. 89 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LOCAL PREACHER LIFE : SPIRITUAL FALL : 
 1829— 1835. 
 
 My engagement in the office of local preacher was a 
 source of rich delight to me. When I first entered 
 upon it, I was in the full tide of devotional feeling, and 
 used to exhort and teach without any preparation of the 
 thoughts I was to present to the people. This passed 
 off very well for a time ; but when the fervour of devo- 
 tion had somewhat cooled within me, I felt my talk in 
 the village pulpits become vapid. It wearied both my- 
 self and the people. I had learned that a few of the 
 local preachers wrote notes of their sermons, before they 
 preached ; but the older men did not. I found, how- 
 ever, that the best preacher among them wrote his ser- 
 mons out in full, and committed them to memory. And 
 I began to reason thus with myself, — " How can I, a 
 comparatively inexperienced person, instruct men of 
 age, some of whom have read their Bibles for three- 
 score years, without I think, and think deeply, on the 
 themes I have to address to them .-• Am I really 
 showing any respect to their understandings by 
 merely talking thus shallowly to them .-' Am I show- 
 
90 SUCCESS OF THOUGHTFUL PREACHING, 
 
 ing respect to Christ, and to Divine Truth, by treating 
 rehgion as if it were not deserving of serious thought; 
 and as if any raw talker could deal with it worthily ?" 
 
 Reflection made me ashamed of my rashness, and I 
 set about the preparation of written sermons ; and got 
 the greater part of each sermon well fixed in my mind 
 before I ventured to deliver it. The result was more 
 cheering and gratifying than I can easily tell. I had 
 soon larger congregations than any other local preacher 
 in the circuit ; and grew into request for anniversary 
 sermons in the surrounding circuits. I threw my whole 
 heart and soul into my preaching ; and the effects were 
 often of a rememberable kind. Shouts of praise from 
 believers often overpowered my voice ; and I had to 
 pause, and say, "Let us sing a verse, and then go on 
 again." And, not seldom, sobs and tears foreshowed 
 what kind of work there would be for the prayer-leaders 
 when the sermon was over. That many received good 
 by my preaching, I have not the least doubt ; and 
 some are living at the present moment, thank God ! 
 who declare I was the instrument of their conversion. 
 
 I frequently held prolonged meetings in the Sunday 
 evenings, and had to walk home, in all sorts of weather, 
 a distance of from three to six or eight miles at a late 
 hour. When I visited villages or towns in the sur- 
 rounding circuits, I was usually furnished with a 
 horse ; and had to ride back to Gainsborough on 
 the Monday morning to be in time for opening my 
 school at nine o'clock. The rides and juurneyings 
 
PREACHING OF ROWLAND HILL. 9 1 
 
 in themselves were often delightful ; and I thoroughly 
 enjoyed my outward work as a preacher. 
 
 Nor could I continue to take a part in such work 
 without endeavouring to make it serve my own intel- 
 lectual culture. The writing out of sermons was a 
 noble induction to the art of expressing one's thought. 
 I strove to make my sermons worth listening to. I ■ 
 had become master of a vocabulary of no mean order, 
 by committing Milton and Shakspeare to memory 
 and repeating them so often ; and my reading of the 
 old English divines enabled me to acquit myself in 
 the pulpit with more than the ordinary ability of 
 a Methodist local preacher. I possess no copy of 
 any of the sermons I preached in those years ; but I 
 know they contained passages of euphony, of pathetic 
 appeal, of picturesque description, and power of argu- 
 ment and declamation, that I should not be ashamed 
 of if I saw them now in print. 
 
 Nor did I neglect attendance on any popular living 
 example of eloquence and of the power of preaching 
 that came within my hearing. 
 
 The most memorable treat I ever had from the 
 pulpit was in once seeing and hearing Rowland Hill. 
 He was over eighty when I heard him, but still 
 possessed the vigour of ten ordinary preachers. He, 
 of all the preachers I ever heard, occupies the pedestal 
 of veneration in the statue-gallery of my memory. 
 Other popular ministers of the time I also heard from 
 the pulpit of the Independents in Gainsborough ; such 
 
92 GREAT PREACHERS OF MY YOUTH. 
 
 as Dr. Raffles, who was then young, and in the full 
 exercise of his almost dramatic power in the pulpit ; 
 Dr. Bennett of London, " Silver-voiced Bennett " as he 
 was called, than whom I never heard a more instruc- 
 tive preacher ; Joseph Gilbert of Nottingham, and 
 Winter Hamilton of Leeds, and Smith of Rotherham, 
 and Dr. Pye Smith, and Ellis the great missionary, 
 and others. 
 
 Of all leading Methodist preachers, the wondrous 
 voice and noble form and noble eloquence of Robert 
 Newton were most familiar to me ; for he was the 
 favourite, because the most successful, anniversary 
 preacher ever invited to Gainsborough. We were 
 favoured less frequently with the stately form and high 
 intellectuality of Richard Watson ; but no one could 
 ever forget him, who saw and heard him. The poetic 
 power of David McNicol, the spiritual power of Peter 
 McOwan, the manly preaching of Thomas Galland, 
 the stern and relentless scourging of sin by brave 
 Daniel Isaac, the never-ending missionary tales of 
 Joshua Marsden, are all enduringly associated in my 
 memory with that Gainsborough Methodist pulpit. 
 But if I had the power to summon one from the dead, 
 that I might hear him preach again in it — William 
 Dawson of Barnbow should be the man. For 
 originality of conception, richness and variety of 
 imagery, clearness of Scriptural illustration, pathos, 
 humour, power of grapphng with the conscience, 
 and mastery in the art of winning a man — William 
 
A "CERTAIN SUBJECT," AT LAST. 93 
 
 Dawson was the preacher of preachers, in my humble 
 judgment. 
 
 If any young lady happens to be intent on the task 
 of reading this Memoir, I imagine she will say, " You 
 seem, sir, to think you have a right to talk about 
 everybody and anything ; but you have got into your 
 ninth chapter without making even the slightest allu- 
 sion to a certain subject ! " 
 
 And, no doubt, the greater number of readers expect 
 a pretty early allusion to the sex and the tender pas- 
 sion, in every biography and autobiography. But I 
 had nothing to communicate, all this time; and there- 
 fore could not broach the thought. 
 
 And, I suspect, few readers will be surprised that 
 I say so. They will understand that I was too fully 
 absorbed in fervours and passions of one kind or other, 
 to have many moments to think about the tender 
 passion. Indeed, I had never yet spoken a word to 
 a woman, or given her a glance of the eye, that could 
 be called, in our old Lincolnshire speech, "taking 
 notice of her." 
 
 But I may now say that I saw the dear one who 
 has now been for thirty-seven years my companion in 
 life, at Christmas of 1829, while on a visit to Lincoln, 
 and conversed with herself and her sister, in the 
 house of her brother. The family were all born Metho- 
 dists, so to speak, and I went to Lincoln on a Metho- 
 dist visit, as I may say, for it was to see and hear the 
 
94 BEGINNING OF MY BEST FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 revivalist John Smith. Yet although my heart said, 
 " This is the woman I should like for a wife," I spoke 
 not one word about it. And when I saw her brother, 
 in the following year, he told me she had lain months 
 on a sick-bed, and was never expected to recover. In 
 the year following I heard that she was really recovering, 
 and I went over to Lincoln, and, on the 1st of July, 
 1 83 1, offered my heart and hand, and was accepted. 
 
 During that visit to Lincoln, at Christmas of 1829, 
 I also formed a friendship which, next to that of my 
 wife, I deem the most valuable of my whole life. 
 Frederick James Jobson — who is now known as the 
 Rev. Dr. Jobson by the religious world, and as an 
 ex-President of the Wesleyan Methodist Conference 
 — was then but eighteen years old, and had only re- 
 cently been converted, under the ministry of John 
 Smith ; and was "on trial " as a local preacher. He 
 was apprenticed, as an architect, to Edward James 
 Willson, the most learned antiquary in Lincoln, and 
 the best helper Britton could find in drawing up his 
 account of the antiquities of Lincoln Cathedral. 
 
 Jobson was full of passion for art, and of admira- 
 tion for poetry, and had already displayed consider- 
 able eloquence as a preacher. His nature was all 
 earnestness ; and it was not wonderful that two such 
 earnest natures as his and mine should form a friend- 
 ship from the moment that we met. We often con- 
 trived to meet, even while I remained at Gains- 
 borough — sometimes on a Sunday, that we might 
 
MY FIRST UNFORTUNATE BOOK. 95 
 
 preach in the same village, and have time to converse 
 on literary composition, and on our work as preachers. 
 My after-life has often separated me from my dear 
 friend's companionship ; but never, in any change of 
 my opinions, or adverse turn of fortune, did he 
 forsake me, or fail to help me in a difficulty. And 
 many a time I have had to rely on him, as my only 
 human help. Our friendship has now lasted, un- 
 broken, for two-and-forty years ; and I thank God 
 that ever I had such a true, faithful, and unfailing 
 friend as Frederick James Jobson. 
 
 But, to return to my new passion of love. Must I 
 tell it .'' It awoke my slumbering sense of poetry. I 
 had never attempted verse for, I think, six years. 
 But I wrote verses irresistibly, now ; and enclosed 
 them in my love-letters — of which, the reader may 
 take it for granted that I wrote a very great number. 
 Soon, I thought of writing something that might be 
 published. And when I had struck off a number of 
 short pieces, in blank verse and rhyme, the intended 
 volume took a title that I had no thought of. I was 
 persuaded by my friend Charles Kelvey, whom I had 
 brought over from Independency to Methodism, to 
 place first in the volume a copy of verses that were 
 only written in a whim, and never intended for pub- 
 lication. " Place that first, and call the volume by 
 that name," he insisted, " and it will sell the book ! " 
 
 Dear Charley! he wished it to be so; but he was 
 mistaken. 
 
9^ JAMES MONTGOMERY THE POET. 
 
 Some of my subscribers never paid their subscrip- 
 tions, and the pubHcation only increased the em- 
 barassment I was experiencing from the cause I shall 
 mention anon. The unfortunate volume was entitled 
 " The Wesleyan Chiefs : " many of the pieces were 
 worthless^ and none more so than the one that gave 
 name to the unfortunate little book. But I had one 
 rich pleasure connected with my book, unfortunate as 
 it was. I was favoured with two interviews by James 
 Montgomery of Sheffield — the first literary man of 
 my time that I had ever seen ; and he kindly under- 
 took to read the proof-sheets while my volume was 
 being printed. He wrote words on one proof-sheet, 
 at the bottom of the page that contained one little 
 piece of blank verse— they were lines "To Lincoln 
 Cathedral" — "These are very noble hnes, and the 
 versification is truly worthy of them." 
 
 That consoled me a Httle for my want of success. 
 And my failure only made the resolve sink the deeper 
 and become the firmer in my mind, that I would, one 
 day, write a poem that should not fail. 
 
 Our Gainsborough Circuit, under the two ministers 
 who were stationed in it when I joined the Methodist 
 Society, had an increase of between four and five 
 hundred members in their last year, John Chettle,the 
 superintendent, (whose son, Henry Hulbert Chettle, is 
 now an honoured minister in the same religious body,) 
 was unsurpassed as a theologian by any Wesleyan 
 minister I ever listened to. And his appeals to the 
 
EVIL WHERE GOOD SHOULD BE. 9/ 
 
 understanding, the conscience, and the heart, were 
 often irresistible. Wilham Ash, his colleague, was a 
 man of lowly abilities as a preacher, but greatly be- 
 loved for his piety and pastoral qualities; and he 
 was of incalculable value in our prayer-meetings, 
 during ■ the continuance of "the revival." The 
 superintendent who succeeded Mr. Chettle was a 
 heavy man, troubled with liver disease, and died in 
 the circuit. He had, unfortunately, checked rather 
 than encouraged our fondness for devotional and pro- 
 tracted meetings. His colleague, Jonathan J. Bates, 
 was an excellent preacher ; but neither did he readily 
 enter into the " revival " spirit. Yet we loved him ; 
 and the circuit steadily prospered when he was left 
 at its head, alone. 
 
 The coming of a new superintendent, whose name 
 I shall not record here, began to bring disaster on 
 the circuit. He would not work. The members fell 
 off. The monies fell off. And it was resolved, by 
 a very large majority of the official members in the 
 circuit, not to invite him to remain after his first year. 
 He was crafty, as well as idle ; and he tricked us. 
 He told us he meant to leave our circuit at the next 
 Conference, and get a circuit in the South of England. 
 And he told us so, openly, in the regular quarterly 
 meeting. We were taken by surprise ; but as we did 
 not wish to make any representation in his disfavour to 
 the Conference, we resolved to let him go away quietly. 
 
 When the Conference met, and issued the "rough 
 
 7 
 
98 PREACHER TURNED PERSECUTOR. 
 
 stations," his name was put down for a circuit in the 
 South of England, as we had expected it would be. 
 But when the Conference broke up, he came back 
 upon us, as our superintendent for another year. We 
 learned, by one of the ministers (Mr. Harrison) who was 
 appointed to Doncaster, that the trick had been fixed 
 upon from the first, and that this man had voluntarily 
 lied to us. We wrote, at once, to the President of Con- 
 ference for the year, 1833, Rev. Richard Trefifry ; and 
 to the chairman of our district, Rev. John Stephens 
 of Hull. They answered us very promptly and very 
 kindly ; but told us there was no remedy, as we had 
 not sent to Conference to say we desired his removal, 
 and they could not remove him : they had not the 
 power to do it, by the laws and constitution of Wes- 
 leyan Methodism — which was undoubtedly true. 
 
 He persecuted us because of these letters. He 
 suspended myself (who had written the letters, which 
 were signed by forty official persons) and another 
 young local preacher (who had taken the letters round 
 the circuit for signature) from our offices as preachers, 
 without either charge or trial — by a few lines of 
 writing. The society in town and circuit was all dis- 
 content, and all discord. The chairman of the district 
 came to Gainsborough, and held a "special district 
 meeting," with the aim of setting all right again ; and 
 the two suspended local preachers were restored to 
 the " preachers' plan." But he who had been the cause 
 of the discord maintained the defiant and persecuting 
 
LINCOLN, AND MY MARRIAGE. 99 
 
 spirit still. He prevented us from taking any part in 
 the public prayer-meetings ; and he preached at us, in 
 terms that made our skin creep ! The misery of re- 
 maining in Gainsborough was now so great that I set 
 myself in pursuit of a school in some other town, and 
 prepared for removal. 
 
 It was time that I left Gainsborough. I had been 
 foolish enough to leave my school often an hour be- 
 fore the time of proper conclusion in the evening, that 
 I might walk to some part of the circuit, sometimes 
 in the snow, to supply deficiencies of the superinten- 
 dent, who shirked his work. My school fell off in 
 consequence, and I began to be in difficulties. I 
 grew weary also of the drudgery of teaching, now my 
 first scholars were gone, and the parents of those that 
 remained, or the majority of them, were unwilling for 
 me to follow my own plans in the tuition of the 
 children. 
 
 I sought a school in Sheffield and elsewhere ; but 
 there seemed no opening, and I was becoming very 
 restless and weary, when a letter suddenly informed 
 me of the death of a schoolmaster in Lincoln — a 
 relative of her to whom I had pledged heart and 
 hand. So I left Gainsborough, took the school at 
 Lincoln, in November, 1833 ; and on the i6th day 
 of February, 1834, we were married. After a time, 
 my dear mother gave up work, and came to hve with 
 us at Lincoln. 
 
 When we were married, my beloved wife and I 
 
100 THE FATAL DIE IS CAST. 
 
 resolved to lead holy and devoted lives. But our 
 resolve was frustrated. The Gainsborough superinten- 
 dent met the Lincoln superintendent in the house of 
 a Methodist class-leader at Scotton — where the two 
 circuits join — and there gave earnest charge to the 
 Lincoln superintendent to get me out of the Methodist 
 Society as soon as possible. He was bent on stern 
 revenge for the part I had taken in exposing his 
 falseness. I was informed of it, fully, by the person in 
 whose house this revengeful counsel was given — a good 
 devoted man, whose son (Rev. Edward Bramford) is 
 now in the Wesleyan Ministry. 
 
 The Lincoln superintendent had no craft or guile 
 about him. But he was a rude, rash man ; and was 
 easily impelled to act rashly. He began to talk 
 against me in Methodist houses, before he had spoken 
 one word to me ! And soon he began to deal roughly 
 with me, for an omission to preach, when I was too ill 
 to walk to the place. I had also very unexpected 
 unkindness and very unchristian dealing from a lead- 
 ing member of the Society in Lincoln ; and the 
 Lincoln superintendent took this person's side. That 
 person has now gone to his account, and I shall not 
 say more about him. 
 
 The Lincoln superintendent continued his rough 
 treatment of me, and at last threatened to suspend 
 me from my office as a local preacher. " Nay," I said 
 to him, " I was suspended once ; but I will not be 
 hung a second time. Take my name out of the class- 
 
THOUGHTS NOW ONE IS OLDER. lOI 
 
 book, — I am no longer a member of your Society." 
 ''That will do ! " said he, with a look of satisfaction ; 
 "good morning ! " 
 
 A nd so they had their will ! But the Gainsborough 
 superintendent, who advised this rough man to get me 
 out of the Society, was ejected from the Society (or 
 "left out of the Minutes of Conference") a few years 
 afterwards, himself He also has gone to his account ; 
 and so has the Lincoln superintendent. I trust I 
 pray from the heart, when I cry, " God forgive them 
 all ! " But my being thus driven to cut myself off 
 from Methodism was a source of the bitterest agony 
 to my dear wife, for years afterwards ; I know it caused 
 bitter grief to the dear friend I have mentioned in this 
 chapter — the best and truest friend, I repeat, that I 
 have ever had in the world ; and it soured my own 
 mind against religious professors, and raised within 
 me a wrong, rebellious spirit. My mind grew angry 
 whenever I thought of my ill-treatment ; and I soon 
 left off my habit of attendance on public worship. I 
 feel, now, I was very guilty in this : guilty in forsaking 
 God because man had been unkind and unjust to me. 
 
 And now, at sixty-six, I see what I did not see, or 
 reflect upon when I was younger : that it is irrational 
 to expect every man to be perfect in a ministerial 
 body composed of a thousand members. I have no 
 doubt, too, that I was often chargeable with a wrong 
 spirit, and most likely uttered tart and provoking 
 observations during the altercations I had with the 
 
102 REASON FOR TELLING ALL THIS. 
 
 Gainsborough and Lincoln superintendents. But it 
 must be remembered that I was very inexperienced — 
 ten times more inexperienced at eight-and-twenty, 
 than thousands of lads often are at eighteen; while these 
 Christian ministers were mature men in years, and the 
 Gainsborough minister had not only been long in 
 public life, but was one who had a shrewd knowledge 
 of the world. I cannot help thinking that if I had 
 had to deal with men who had more of "the milk of 
 human kindness " in them, the result and conclusion 
 would have been less disastrous to myself. 
 
 I am not yet come to the later period of my life 
 when I fell into an awful alienation of the mind from 
 the faith of Christ ; but I cannot help tracing that 
 alienation to its root in these harsh dealings from 
 ministers and professors of religion. I have felt com- 
 pelled to state the truth, in order that all who read 
 these pages to the end may have some key to unlock 
 what they might otherwise deem very mysterious 
 changes of character in me. And having said so 
 much, I purpose now to leave the entire subject, for 
 the present, in this Memoir. When the step of sepa- 
 rating myself from Methodism was taken, the die was 
 cast anew for my Future — whatever it was to be — 
 and I sought occupation for thought that should not 
 awake tormenting remembrances, and soon found it. 
 
A NEW FUTURE BEGUN. ' 1 03 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LINCOLN : mechanics' INSTITUTE : MUSIC : 
 1834— 1837. 
 
 I SOON found myself In a new world at Lincoln ; 
 and now, first, may be said to have mingled with the 
 real world, and to have begun to understand that I 
 really belonged to it. The Mechanics' Institute was 
 being formed in the ancient city just at the time that 
 I settled in it. I immediately became a member of 
 the Institute, and was elected on its first Committee : 
 our President being Sir Edward Ffrench Bromhead, 
 and our Secretary the well-known political agent, 
 William Spencer Northhouse. The Institute was 
 started with great enthusiasm. Many young working 
 men in the city had great expectations of learning ; 
 and the list of members was very numerous. 
 
 The Committee assigned the Curatorship of the 
 Institute to Mr. John Boole, my wife's uncle, who had 
 for many years followed the business of a master 
 shoemaker ; but who had, by self-instruction, made 
 considerable progress in mathematics, and who was 
 in high reputation in the city as a man of great 
 intelligence and general information. He opened 
 
104 RENEWAL OF MY STUDENT LIFE. 
 
 classes for students in geometry and in algebra ; 
 Dr. William Cookson opened a botany class ; Mr. 
 W. A. Nicholson a class for drawing ; and I opened 
 a class for Latin. A library was formed, lectures 
 commenced ; and there were soon very busy doings 
 at the Institute. 
 
 My connection with the Institute led to an acquaint- 
 anceship with persons of influence to whom I might 
 otherwise have remained unknown ; and was the 
 source of some valuable and hearty friendships. But 
 my first most earnest business, when I settled at 
 Lincoln, was to set about the renewal of my studies. 
 What though I was on the verge of twenty-nine years 
 of age .'' Surely, I thought, I had yet time to make 
 considerable acquirements. I forgot to say that I 
 had been compelled, while at Gainsborough, to attend 
 a little to my Greek, — although absorbed so much in 
 preaching, and entangled with so many other cares, — 
 in order to keep up with, or rather in advance of, my 
 two elder scholars. 
 
 When they had finished Caesar, and gone through 
 a few books of the Eneid, their father wished them to 
 begin Greek. So I, very soon, had to put one into 
 the Anabasis of Xenophon, and the other into the 
 Cyropsedia. In Lincoln, I now took up the Memo- • 
 rabilia of Xenophon, ran through the Odes of 
 Anacreon, and then commenced the Iliad. I worked 
 hard at Greek, and also at the Hebrew Genesis, for 
 some time ; not suffering my new engagements at the 
 
MY ITALIAN INSTRUCTOR. IO5 
 
 Institute to rob me of the hours I knew I must 
 employ for my own mental advancement, now or 
 never. 
 
 But there was no one to teach French in the Me- 
 chanics' Institute ; and the members of my Latin 
 class, with others, were eager to learn French. I told 
 them I could read it, but could not pronounce it. I 
 very soon learned, however, that I could have a most 
 competent instructor, on terms that I could afford to 
 pay ; so I soon secured his aid. 
 
 Signor D'Albrione, my new instructor, was a very 
 noble-looking Italian gentleman, a native of Turin, 
 who had been a cavalry officer in the armies of Na- 
 poleon, had endured the retreat from Moscow, was at 
 the defeat of Leipzig, and had seen other service 
 under the first Emperor of the French. He was now 
 a refugee in England, on account of his participation 
 in the conspiracy of the Carbonari ; and gained his 
 support by teaching languages. Under his instruc- 
 tion — while we read together part of Voltaire's 
 " Charles the Twelfth," and " Le Bourgeois Gentil- 
 homme" of Mohere — I caught such hold of good 
 French pronunciation as would have enabled me soon 
 to converse very pleasantly in the language, could I 
 have found a companion. 
 
 As I thought I could easily learn Italian, I took 
 lessons from Signor D'Albrione also in the pronun-. 
 ciation of that language — believing I should not be 
 likely to have so good an opportunity of learning 
 
I06 FIRST NEWSPAPER WRITING. 
 
 it, perhaps, to the end of life, as I had now. So 
 we read together part of one of the comedies of 
 Goldoni, and then a part of the beautiful " Geru- 
 salemme Liberata," of Tasso, in that most' beautiful 
 tongue. 
 
 I opened an elementary French Class in the Me- 
 chanics' Institute very soon ; but it was not until 
 D'Albrione had left Lincoln, and I could have no 
 more instruction from him in French and Italian 
 pronunciation, that I determined to begin German, 
 of which I was very eager to know something. I was 
 soon able to make my way in a volume of tales by 
 Herder, Lessing, and others. My school prospered, 
 for I took care to attend to its duties assiduously ; 
 and yet kept firm hold of my studies, rising early in 
 the morning, and, with my book in my hand, as of 
 old, walked from our little home in St. Mary's Street, 
 along the Sincil Dyke, and on to Canwick Common, 
 whenever the weather permitted me to do so. 
 
 My attendance on a series of most excellent lec- 
 tures on Chemistry, by Mr. Murray — a well-known 
 lecturer of the time — at the Institute, opened my 
 way, most unexpectedly, to a new kind of life. I 
 took it into my head to write a paragraph descriptive 
 ,of the lectures, and sent it to the Lincoln, Rutland, 
 and Stamford Mercury, a weekly newspaper of great 
 business character, and understood to be one of the 
 oldest in the kingdom. About a month after the 
 insertion of the paragraph, Richard Newcomb, Esq., 
 
NEW AND ABSORBING PASSION. 10/ 
 
 of Stamford, proprietor of the paper, called upon me 
 and thanked me for the paragraph ; and offered me 
 ;^20 a year "to collect," as he said, "a few items of 
 market and other news, and send them to him 
 weekly." I accepted the offer, for I understood that 
 it would not occupy much of my time ; and I was 
 resolute in keeping hold of my studies, during the 
 first two years that I lived in Lincoln. 
 
 But a new attraction arose at last ; and all re- 
 solves about study, and purposes of intellectual pro- 
 gress, and interests however important, were sacri- 
 ficed for my new passion. A few young men wished 
 to form a Choral Society, and asked me to allow 
 them the use of my school-room for rehearsals. I 
 consented readily, and became a member of the new 
 society — taking my stand,' weekly, as a tenor singer 
 in the choruses. My heart and brain were soon on 
 flame with the worship of Handel's grandeur, and 
 with the love of his sweetness and tenderness. They 
 made me their secretary ; and my head went to work 
 to make the music of the Choral Society worth hear- 
 ing in old cathedralled Lincoln. 
 
 I planned, I visited, I wooed, I entreated, till I 
 obtained the aid and co-operation of the best musicians 
 and the best singers in the ancient city. Like every 
 true reformer, I had to put down the authority of 
 the imperfect, and put the authoritative perfect in 
 its place. Over the company of raw amateurs — de- 
 spite some grumbling — I succeeded in placing the 
 
I08 BUSINESS PLANS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 most perfect " singer at sight," and most thoroughly- 
 experienced person in the music of Handel, to be 
 found in the whole city, as conductor ; the best 
 violinist in the city, as leader ; the best alto and 
 tenor singers in the city, as leaders of their parts 
 in the choruses, and as principal solo singers ; the 
 organist of the cathedral, as leader on the viola ; the 
 best violoncello player in Lincoln, as leader on his 
 instrument ; while I also secured the aid of an ex- 
 perienced trumpeter. We already had the aid of a 
 good double-bass player, who was also a sound timist. 
 And I may also say that I had most valuable aid, by 
 way of counsel and advice, from that most accom- 
 plished musician, the late Rev. George S. Dickson, 
 Incumbent of St. Swithin's, Lincoln. 
 
 The next step was to obtain funds, that professional 
 men might be remunerated, and the society held 
 together by something more than mere enthusiasm. 
 I wrote to the nobility, gentry, and clergy of the county 
 and the city, and to all members of Parliament for 
 Lincolnshire; and was successful in almost every case. 
 I raised an income of ;^200 for the society's first year. 
 Then I besought the Dean, the Precentor, and Sub- 
 dean to lend their powers of persuasion ; and the in- 
 cumbent of the most central church in the city granted 
 us the use of it for our public concerts of sacred music. 
 Mr. Whall, the most thoroughly competent organist 
 in Lincoln, presided at the organ ; and, before a 
 crowded audience, the transcendent " Messiah," the 
 
TRIUMPH OF MUSIC IN LINCOLN. 109 
 
 noble "Dettingen Te Deum," the brilliant and warlike 
 "Judas Maccabseus," the gorgeous " Solomon," the sub- 
 lime " Israel in Egypt," and other oratorios of Handel, 
 were performed with an enthusiasm that had never 
 before been witnessed in Lincoln. The "Creation " of 
 Haydn, and scattered choral pieces of Mozart and 
 Beethoven, were also given. 
 
 Nor was the solo singing of a mean character. Our 
 conductor, George Brooke, of the cathedral choir, 
 would have attracted admiration, as a bass singer of 
 great original powers of expression, and great capa- 
 bility of execution, with the most critical audience 
 in the kingdom. The tenor singing of dear departed 
 Charles Ashton — a universal favourite in Lincoln — 
 was the sweetest I ever heard, except Braham's. Mr. 
 Knowles, our alto solo singer, was not only a very 
 pleasing vocalist, but a competent musician ; and is, 
 at the moment I write, a member of the choir in 
 St. George's Chapel, Windsor. 
 
 I raised a separate subscription of twenty guineas, 
 for the purchase of concert drums ; bought a chroma- 
 tic slide trumpet at the urgent request of our trum- 
 peter ; formed a rich musical library, comprising the 
 forty thick folio volumes of Arnold's complete score of 
 Handel, with German scores of the "Creation," the 
 "Requiem," and the "Mount of Olives" — for the use 
 of the society. I say, / did all this — for, although I 
 met a committee of the performers, that conferred 
 together about the selection of choruses and solos for 
 
no ENTHUSIASM FOR MUSIC. 
 
 each concert, as it drew nigh, they took no part in 
 the real business of the society. I had all that to 
 plan and execute for myself. 
 
 What mad enthusiasm I felt for music ! I often sat 
 up the greater part of a night to transact the writing 
 necessary for the furtherance of the prosperity of that 
 Choral Society. I walked, I ran, I jumped, about the 
 city — I climbed its " steep hill " often half a dozen 
 times in a day — to win subscribers and collect sub- 
 scriptions, and get performers to be punctual at the 
 rehearsals, and to reconcile their petty animosities 
 and keep them united ; and I also spent some little 
 money on the darling project of making music suc- 
 cessful in Lincoln. I was ever striving to obtain 
 more subscriptions, that our best performers might be 
 better paid — though I would have scorned to take one 
 farthing myself. The enjoyment — the rapture — I had 
 in listening to the music, was more than a reward for 
 whatever time I gave to the society, or interest I sac- 
 rificed for it. 
 
 But the check to my enthusiasm came ; and the 
 end of all this passionate indulgence of the one sense 
 of hearing — did I say .? Nay, if there were not mind 
 in music, it could not master us in this way, and to 
 the degree that it masters many. A passion for music 
 is something far above the mere indulgence of feeling. 
 Oh, how easily I could again yield to it ! But I dare 
 not. Thank God ! we shall have music in heaven ; 
 and I can wait for it, till I get thither, remembering 
 
THE " FINALE " TO MY MUSIC. 1 1 1 
 
 that the music of heaven will unspeakably transcend 
 all the music of earth. 
 
 I say the end came. What no one had thought of 
 trying to do till I did it — and what all acknowledged 
 I had done so well — was deemed, at first, in whispers, 
 an assumption of authority, and, at last, and aloud, 
 and to my face, a most shameful tyranny ! I was 
 opposed, — I was thwarted, — I was "called to account," 
 — I was advised to resign, — I was threatened with 
 dethronement ; — and so, eventually, I abdicated, and 
 left the Lincoln Choral Society, which had been my 
 idol and my passion, to conduct itself. 
 
112 EARNEST NEWSPAPER WORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LINCOLN : BUSY LIFE AS A NEWSPAPER WRITER : 
 
 1836— 1838. 
 
 It was well that I broke my connection with music, 
 for my passion would have been ruinous to me had I 
 continued to let it sway me in the manner I have de- 
 scribed. The proprietor of the newspaper, by whom 
 I had been engaged, at first, at ;^20 a year, to furnish 
 weekly trifles in the way of news, made larger de- 
 mands now upon my time and attention. The need 
 of keeping up, in some degree, with the spirit of the 
 age, made him desirous of having reports of the new 
 municipality of Lincoln, and of the various important 
 meetings which took place in the old city — naturally, 
 one may say, as the capital of the shire. He gra- 
 dually advanced me to £60, and at last to ;^ioo per 
 annum. Of course I ceased to be a schoolmaster ; 
 and began now to be regarded by some with strong 
 dislike, and by others with no little fear and dread, 
 as the powerful correspondent of the Lincoln, Rut- 
 land, and Stamford Mercury ! 
 
 I wrote paragraphs on abuses that raised up ene- 
 mies against me ; but many of these, when they saw 
 
ARTICLES ON "LINCOLN PREACHERS." II 3 
 
 I did not fear them, became my friends. The paper 
 rose in circulation ; and the excitement was great 
 every Friday morning, in old Lincoln, to get a sight 
 of their old business paper, which had now become 
 enlivened with such bristling criticisms and startling 
 revelations of abuses. A series of short articles entitled 
 " Lincoln Preachers," was, perhaps, the cause of more 
 excitement than anything beside that I wrote for the 
 Mercury. 
 
 The Dean, the Precentor, the Chancellor, the Sub- 
 dean, and the Vicars of the Cathedral, all had their 
 likenesses drawn as preachers and men — according to 
 the presumptuous judgment of him who drew them. 
 Nor were their incomes, their pluralities, and tem- 
 poralities, any more than their spiritualities, omitted in 
 the brief and summary descriptions given of them. 
 The Dissenting and Wesleyan ministers, as well as the 
 parochial clergy of the city, were also presented with 
 their portraits — very much to their chagrin, vexation, 
 and mortification, in many cases. Some of them 
 made ludicrous attempts, in a secret way, to secure a 
 favourable picture for themselves ; and others blus- 
 tered and threatened. 
 
 Let me confess what regret I feel now for much 
 of my newspaper life ; for this was by no means the 
 end of it. If I could live over again, and choose the 
 kind of life I would live, it would not be that of a 
 writer for newspapers, although I enjoyed a great 
 part of my employment. I am sure it was the cause 
 
 8 
 
1 14 REGRETS AT SOME OF THE PAST. 
 
 to me of real corruption of the heart, and hardening 
 of the feelings. To hear your criticisms quoted with 
 a relish ; to know that your sarcasms do really sting 
 and torment people filling important and responsible 
 stations ; to know that hundreds like all this, rub 
 their hands with glee, and look eagerly for more of 
 it ; to see and hear yourself named as the cleverest 
 fellow in the place, and the man most to be dreaded ! 
 There is much that tickles fallen human nature in all 
 this ; but I would get out of the way of it, rather than 
 write for it, if I had life to come over again. 
 
 Often, it is true, I wrote the sharp criticisms I speak 
 of a thousand times more for mirth than for mischief 
 But to turn the laugh against a man is often a sorer 
 punishment to him than to whip his back with a cat- 
 o'-nine-tails. My merriest articles for the general 
 reader were, I doubt not, a real source of grief to the 
 party against whom they were pointed. I had proof 
 of this, more than once. But some new temptation 
 was sure to impel me, very soon, to perpetrate a 
 similar evil joke in another direction. 
 
 I resumed the composition of verses in Lincoln. 
 " The Daughter of Plantagenet," and some of the songs 
 in my " Baron's Yule Feast," were written in Lincoln. 
 I also began an historical romance, and wrote about 
 one volume of the three intended volumes ; but I did 
 not finish the romance till a later period, that I shall 
 have to speak of Keeping in my heart of hearts the 
 resolve that I would one day write a poem that should 
 
FIRST CONCEPTION OF MY POEM. I15 
 
 not fail, I used often to ask myself, " What shall the 
 subject be, when the time comes ? " But I could not 
 determine, although I mused on many subjects. 
 
 The answer came suddenly to my mind, one day, 
 as I sat in one of the recesses of the windows of the 
 old Guildhall, attending a meeting of the town council, 
 in my office of reporter to the Stamford Mercury, 
 I conceived, as it seemed in a moment, the creation 
 of either a drama, or an epic, wherein the spirits 
 of suicidal kings, and other remarkable personages, 
 should be interlocutors on some high theme, or 
 themes ; and resolved to call it " The Purgatory of 
 Suicides." I wrote down, on one of the leaves of my 
 reporting book, the names of Demosthenes, and 
 Hannibal, and Brutus, and Cassius, and Cato, and 
 Nero, and Achitophel, and Judas Iscariot, and 
 Castlereagh, and others, at the time, and preserved 
 the leaf I also kept the title before me, and never 
 thought of changing it for one moment. 
 
 I have said that I felt as if really entering the world, 
 and beginning to belong to it, in Lincoln. And how 
 utterly new a great deal of the life I saw and joined 
 in Lincoln, was to me ! My office on the newspaper 
 brought me into the world of poHtics. It will have 
 been seen, already, that I had been a Radical from 
 boyhood ; and, now, of course, I belonged in Lincoln 
 to the Lytton-Bulwer party. For the great novelist, 
 dramatist, and so on, — the present Conservative Lord 
 Lytton,was then the Z/i^^r^/ Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer 
 
II 6 THE " LYTTON-BULWER " PARTY. 
 
 And when I asked him, one day, at the table of one 
 of his principal supporters, what government he would 
 prefer for England, if we could choose the kind of 
 government, now ? — he replied, without hesitation — 
 * A Republican Government." 
 
 Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer was at one time in 
 great favour in Lincoln ; and, so far as I was able, I 
 helped his cause by upholding it in the Mercury, 
 and endeavouring to strengthen his interest with the 
 Lincoln electors. I had often to report his speeches, 
 and have a most vivid remembrance of their eloquence, 
 and of the remarkable energy with which, very often, 
 they were delivered. 
 
 Attendance at political meetings, public dinners, 
 and concerts of music, involved the consumption of 
 time, the consumption of wine, and late hours. I be- 
 came a social man, a "lover of good company," as 
 men call it. The religious seriousness was gone. 
 Yet my new friendships were all of the intellectual 
 cast. 
 
 There was one with whom I ought to have been 
 better acquainted, I lament, greatly, that I did not 
 try to draw him nearer to me. But sometimes the 
 slender ties of half-relationship create family likes 
 and dislikes that prevent the formation of what 
 might otherwise be really valuable friendships. I 
 allude to one whose memory is already honoured 
 by the very foremost mathematicians and deepest 
 thinkers, but whose name will become truly illus- 
 
MEMORY OF GEORGE BOOLE. 117 
 
 trious in the wiser future, — the late Dr. George 
 Boole, professor of Mathematics in Queen's College, 
 Cork. 
 
 My wife's mother was a Boole, and was sister to 
 Dr. Boole's father — the curator of the Mechanics' 
 Institute, whom I have already mentioned. Young 
 George came to see his cousins, one day, in that 
 Christmas week of 1829, when I first went to Lincoln 
 is a visitor. He was then a boy of fourteen ; had 
 mastered Leslie's Geometry, under his father's teach- 
 ing ; was learning Latin, and thinking of Greek ; and 
 almost overwhelmed me with inquiries about the 
 contents of books he had not read. 
 
 I heard often of his intellectual progress during 
 our courtship ; but never saw him again until, in the 
 first year of our marriage, he came to Lincoln, and 
 read an encomium on Sir Isaac Newton, before a 
 crowded audience, in the Mechanics' Institute. The 
 first Earl of Yarborough, who was present, had given 
 a marble bust of the immortal one to the Institute ; 
 and it was unveiled before George began to read his 
 paper. The writing showed how his mind had ex- 
 panded ; but I drew a far larger conclusion, as to the 
 growth of his intelligence, when he called to see his 
 cousins (my wife and her sister), and I could converse 
 ivith him. 
 
 Some time afterwards, he settled in Lincoln, and 
 opened a school. I saw him now and then ; but he 
 was shy and formal. I think I could have brushed 
 
Il8 MEMORY OF GILBERT COLLINS. 
 
 away all his shyness, if I had set myself to do it. 
 But I, proudly, let the shyness grow between us, till 
 it reached estrangement. In after years, he called on 
 me in London, and talked friendlily and freely ; and 
 I then felt that he had distanced me so far in his 
 reach of mathematical science, and in his knowledge 
 of languages — in fact, in all knowledge — that I was 
 but a dwarf in his presence. My acquaintance with 
 some facts of his private life, and knowledge of his 
 tenderness towards his parents and care of them in 
 their age, warrant me in saying that he was as good 
 as he was great. I shall increasingly regret, to my 
 life's close, that I did not strive to draw him towards 
 me as a near and intimate friend. I might have 
 done it, if I had set about it aright. 
 
 Gilbert Collins became my most frequent com- 
 panion and closest friend in Lincoln. He was, at 
 first, a clerk in the Old Bank, and afterwards manager 
 of the Hull Branch Bank, at Lincoln. We were 
 nearly of an age ; had been attached to the same 
 religious denomination, and had left it ; and had an 
 equally strong attachment to the study of languages. 
 Collins had learned Latin at school, and had taught 
 himself Greek, and had translated for himself the 
 entire Iliad and Odyssey. Of the Greek Testament, 
 he had a more perfect knowledge than any one I ever 
 knew. He was laboriously constructing a Harmony 
 of the Four Gospels, in Greek, when I knew him ; and 
 you could not mention a Greek text in the Gospels, 
 
GEORGE BOOLE AND THE "ARABIC. I19 
 
 but he would give you the context, in a moment. 
 He was also a chess-player ; and we sometimes spent 
 an hour at the game ; but I was never a proficient 
 in it. 
 
 Collins one day bought an old quarto Arabic 
 Grammar which had been tumbled about for years in 
 an old book shop. There was a considerable voca- 
 bulary of Arabic words at the end ; and the whim 
 seized us both to set on and learn Arabic. I copied 
 the words from the vocabulary, in what we thought very 
 pretty Arabic writing ; and we were much taken with 
 our project, when, one evening, George Boole suddenly 
 stepped in, and found us earnestly bent over our 
 new toy. He examined the quarto book with in 
 terest ; but seemed to have difficulty in restraining 
 his laughter when he saw our Arabic writing, and 
 heard us gravely say we were determined to learn 
 the language. 
 
 " But where will you get your Arabic books } " 
 asked George ; " and how can you read them without 
 a dictionary } You could not get a copy of Richard- 
 son's dictionary, I should think, under some twelve or 
 fifteen pounds." We felt ashamed of our thought- 
 lessness, and laid the project aside. 
 
 It would please one's self, very much, to put the 
 names of all one's friends in print : at any rate, such 
 is my own feeling. Yet the general reader might 
 question, not only the propriety, but the sanity, of 
 such an act. Ergo, I shall leave many kind and 
 
120 MY FRIEND CHARLES SEELY. 
 
 hearty friendships that I formed in Lincoln uncom- 
 memorated. I shall, for the present, mention one 
 only, and then pass on to my more active history. 
 The most important friendship I formed in Lincoln, 
 and, perhaps, the most influential on my own mind, 
 at the time, was that with Charles Seely. 
 
 He was then a rising young merchant ; but has 
 now for many years been M.P. for Lincoln ; while 
 his son — the little Charley whom I used to take on 
 my knee — is M.P. for Nottingham. Charles Seely 
 selected me as an intellectual companion simply from 
 the fact that he thought my company was worth 
 having. For when our friendship was first formed I 
 was but a poor schoolmaster, and had no newspaper 
 influence, or influence of any kind, in the city. He 
 would have me, almost every Sunday, at his table ; 
 and often we sauntered by the Witham, or along the 
 Canwick fields, or by the venerable Minster, in the 
 dusk of evening ; and sometimes I rode with him, in 
 his mercantile journeys, to Boston or Sleaford. Our 
 conversations were on politics, on human character 
 and society, or on general literature ; but how often, 
 during the years that have passed since I left Lincoln, 
 have I thought of the one strong, deep impression I 
 caught of my friend's character — " This is the man 
 whose purpose is formed, and he will accomplish it," — 
 and how completely that impression has been realised! 
 
 My changeful life has separated me from my friend ; 
 but I have watched his patriotic course in Parliament, 
 
MR. NEWCOMB'S proposal. 121 
 
 and out of it, with intense gratification. I have sel- 
 dom seen him during all these years, and our corre- 
 spondence has necessarily been very limited ; yet let 
 me gratefully say that, in my season of sickness and 
 helplessness, a very few years ago, I had substantial 
 proof that my friend had not lost the remembrance of 
 those dear old times in Lincoln. 
 
 But my Lincoln chapters must come to an end. 
 In September, 1838, I asked leave of my patron, Mr, 
 Richard Newcomb, to take a week's holiday, and go 
 to see London. He granted leave ; but took alarm, 
 and wrote to me, before I had been two days in the 
 capital, desiring me not to look out for a better situa- 
 tion ; but to call at Stamford on my way home, as he 
 had something to offer me worth my acceptance. I 
 called ; and he at once said, " Cooper, I want you to 
 come and live at Stamford, I mean to retire, and 
 give the management of the paper up to yourself, 
 after I have put you in the way of it a little. You 
 will live here, in this house, so as to be near to your 
 business. I mean to live at Rock Cottage. So go 
 and dispose of your things at Lincoln ; and bring 
 Mrs. Cooper with you, to live at Stamford." 
 
 I took him at his word, and asked for no " terms," 
 but assured him I would do what he wished me to do, 
 for I felt really attached to him, and strongly desirous 
 of serving him. And as soon as I could accomplish 
 it, I disposed of our little furniture, but not of my 
 books ; and my dear wife and I left Lincoln for 
 
122 NOTICE TO QUIT STAMFORD. 
 
 Stamford. My poor mother preferred to go back to 
 Gainsborough. We went and lived in the house in 
 High Street, Stamford; but Mr. Newcomb did not go 
 out of it. He simply assigned us two apartments in 
 it. And I soon saw that he could not bring his mind 
 to give up the management of his paper to another : 
 it had become, as it were, a part of his existence. He 
 grew angry if I asked to take a larger share in the 
 management ; and, at last, kept me in the counting- 
 house as his clerk, and would not let me write even 
 one line for the Mercury ! 
 
 He was giving me ;^25o a year, with coals and the 
 two rooms rent-free, and I had other privileges which 
 made my situation worth ;^300 per annum ; but he shut 
 me out of his company, and I had no society. I wish 
 I had cheerfully accepted the solitude, as of old, and 
 worked hard to produce a book. But I rashly gave 
 notice to leave ; and so, on the ist of June, 1839, we 
 got on the stage-coach, with our boxes of books, at 
 Stamford, — and away I went to make my first venture 
 in London. 
 
CALL ON THE LITERARY BARONET. 
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FIRST LONDON LIFE : VICISSITUDES : 
 1S39 — 1840. 
 
 I THOUGHT I might very fairly expect a little intro- 
 ductory help, in London, from the literary baronet 
 and Liberal M.P. whom I had humbly striven to 
 serve in Lincoln. So I took the manuscript of my 
 unfinished romance, and called upon him, at his 
 house in Hertford Street, Mayfair. He received me, 
 smoking, with a thousand smiles ; and assured me 
 he would show the manuscript to his publishers. I 
 called at his door, once or twice, during the seven 
 weeks that elapsed before I saw him again ; and then 
 wrote to tell him that I would wait upon him on such 
 a day. He came, hastily, into the room where I 
 waited, put the manuscript into my hand, and said, 
 " I regret to say that although Messrs. Saunders and 
 Otley consider it a work of merit, they have so many 
 other things in hand, that they cannot receive it at 
 present. Good morning, Mr. Cooper ! " — and he 
 bowed and disappeared through folding-doors into 
 another room, in an instant. His servant opened the 
 
124 RENEWED FRIENDSHIP WITH MILLER. 
 
 door behind me, as I stood staring, and showed me 
 the way into the street 
 
 I wish the hterary baronet had either kindly told 
 me one truth, that my writing was too faulty to offer 
 for publication, and I had better try to achieve a 
 more perfect work before I sought a publisher ; or 
 that he had honestly told me another truth, that he 
 had never shown my poor manuscript to Messrs. S. 
 and O., and did not choose to take any trouble on my 
 behalf I speedily learned the truth ; and it gave me 
 poor hope of making my way by the help of friends 
 in London. 
 
 We lodged in St. George's Road, Southwark, that 
 I might be near Thomas Miller, who then lived in 
 Elliott's Row, in the same road. He was writing 
 " Lady Jane Grey," when I reached London. It was 
 the third romance he had written for Colburn, the 
 pubHsher ; but I found he only received small sums 
 for his labour, and had to work hard to bring up his 
 young family. He declared himself to have no power 
 whatever to help me to literary employ ; but we again 
 became companions, and he took me over his 
 favourite walks to Sydenham, Dulwich, Greenwich, 
 and other parts of Surrey and Kent, and we talked of 
 old times. At the very time I write, I learn that he 
 is ill, and needs help. He has written forty books, in 
 his time — all tending to improve working men's minds. 
 Is it right that this industrious hard-worker should be 
 left to want in his old age ? 
 
SIR CULLING E. SMITH AND MR. CONDER. 12$ 
 
 Before I left Lincolnshire I had corresponded with 
 Sir Culling Eardley Smith, while he was sheriff of the 
 county ; and when he learned that I was in London 
 and wanted employment, he wrote to request me to 
 go over to Bed well Park, Herts. He thought I could 
 assist the Herts Reformer, a Liberal paper in which 
 he took an interest. I went to Hertford, and saw the 
 proprietor, but found that he really had no need of 
 my services, although he was willing to oblige Sir 
 Culling ; but I would not impose myself upon him. 
 
 Sir Culling also gave me an introduction to Josiah 
 Conder, who was then editor of the Patriot newspaper. 
 Mr. Conder was sure that he could make no room for 
 me — they were quite full-handed ; but he would give 
 me a note to Alaric Watts. I called on Alaric Watts, 
 who was busy editing, I think, three or four papers, at 
 that time — in one of the courts in Fleet Street. He 
 laid down his pen, and asked me a few questions, said 
 he had no office vacant, in his own gift, and he did 
 not know of anything — would I call again ? The 
 interview did not last more than three minutes ; and 
 though I called again, several times, I was always told 
 he was not in. Mr. Conder next gave me a note to 
 Mr. Southgate, a small pubhsher in the Strand, who 
 issued the Sunbeam and the Probe ; and I earned of 
 him perhaps five pounds, by contributing reviews and 
 prose sketches, till the two ephemeral papers ended. 
 
 I had many other ventures and adventures, in a 
 small way ; but it would weary any mortal man to 
 
126 COPYING AT MUSEUM LIBRARY. 
 
 recite them ; and the recital would only be an old 
 story which has been often told already, by poor 
 literary adventurers. The very Httle money I could 
 bring to London was soon gone ; and then I had to 
 sell my books. I, happily, turned into Chancery Lane, 
 and asked Mr. Lumley to buy my beautifully bound 
 Tasso, which I had bought of D'Albrione, and " Don 
 Bellianis of Greece," a small quarto blackletter ro- 
 mance, which I had bought from an auctioneer in 
 Gainsborough, who knew nothing of its value. Mr. 
 Lumley gave me liberal pricey wished I could bring 
 him more such books, and conversed with me very 
 kindly. 
 
 I had to visit him again and again, on the same 
 needy errand ; and, seeing my need, he asked if I 
 would copy for him, at the British Museum, the oldest 
 printed book in the Library — Caxton on Chess. I 
 undertook to do so ; Miller procured for me William 
 Jerdan's note of recommendation to Sir Henry Ellis, 
 the librarian, and I was soon free of the Reading Room 
 — a privilege I have always taken care to retain by 
 getting my ticket renewed whenever I revisit London, 
 How I loved that old reading-room — so humble, wher 
 compared with the incomparable magnificent one 
 erected by Panizzi ! — and how well acquainted I grew 
 with the varied contents of its shelves ! 
 
 When I had copied Caxton, Mr. Lumley told me 
 if I could not find more remunerative employ, he 
 would get me to assist him in making catalogues of 
 
VICISSITUDES IN LONDON. 12/ 
 
 the old books he was sending to America — of which 
 he despatched thousands of volumes, at that time. 
 Then he began to issue a Bibliographical Journal, or 
 monthly book advertiser, and I helped in some manner 
 with that. All this was very subordinate labour, and 
 but little money could be afforded for it ; but I was 
 treated with such respectful kindness by Mr. Lumley, 
 that I retain a very grateful remembrance of him. 
 
 We were often at '' low-water mark,^' now, in our 
 fortunes ; but my dear wife and I never suffered our- 
 selves to sink into %)w spirits. Our experience, we 
 cheerily said, was a part of "London adventure ; " and 
 who did not know that adventurers in London often 
 underwent great trials before success was reached ? 
 We strolled out together in the evenings, all over 
 London, making ourselves acquainted with its high- 
 ways and byways, and always finding something to 
 interest us in its streets and shop windows. 
 
 I must not pass by a remarkable reminiscence of 
 two Sundays in the year 1839. ^ ^^^ gone with my 
 dear wife to hear Thomas Binney, at the Weigh 
 House Chapel ; and Robert Montgomery, at St. Dun- 
 stan's in the West — (when I also heard Adams on the 
 organ) ; and Caleb Morris, in Fetter Lane ; and Mel- 
 ville, (afterwards the " Golden Lecturer ") at Camber- 
 well ; and Dr. Leifchild, at Craven Chapel ; Thomas 
 Dale, at St. Bride's Church ; and other preacher- 
 notabiHties of the time ; but one Sunday, being alone 
 in the street near Charing Cross, I met a literary man 
 
128 ROBERT OWEN AND W. J. FOX. 
 
 whom I had known in Lincoln — John Saunders, then 
 employed on Charles Knight's Penny Magazine, and 
 afterwards the author of "Abel Drake's Wife," and 
 other novels ; and he invited me to go with him to 
 hear the celebrated Robert Owen open a new institu- 
 tion in John Street, Tottenham Court Road. I went, 
 and heard Mr. Owen deliver the opening address in 
 that lecture-hall, little imagining that I should lecture 
 there so often in the after-time. 
 
 Seeing an advertisement in the Ti-mes the next 
 day, that W. J, Fox would lect#e, the following Sun- 
 day, at South Place, Finsbury Square, on the System 
 of Robert Owen, I resolved to go thither. As I 
 came in sight of the chapel, I saw Robert Owen, 
 walked close behind him, paid my shilling, like him, 
 to sit in the strangers' gallery, and sat close by his 
 side to hsten to the lecture — Httle imagining that the 
 lecturer would become my friend in the future, and I 
 should often occupy his pulpit. Such are the remark- 
 able incidents in human life ! 
 
 I began a new story, during these months of un- 
 fruitfulness : a story which was intended to be auto- 
 biographical, in some degree. But from the dissipating • 
 necessity of going hither and thither to seek employ, 
 and the need of doing some kind of work, however 
 humble, to earn part of a crust, I made but little pro- 
 gress with the sketch. The fragment will be found 
 at the end of two volumes of tales that were pub- 
 lished for me some years afterwards, and were named 
 
MORE UPS AND DOWNS, IN LONDON. 1 29 
 
 "Wise Saws and Modern Instances." During these 
 months of London vicissitude I also tried to keep 
 up my fragmentary reading of Latin, Greek, French, 
 Italian, and German — until, at length, I had no 
 grammar or dictionary left ! Every book I brought 
 from Lincolnshire — and I had about five hundred 
 volumes, great and small — had been sold, by degrees; 
 and, at last, I was compelled to enter a pawnshop. 
 Spare articles of clothing, and my father's old silver 
 watch, "went up the spout," as the expression goes 
 of those who, most sorrowfully, know what it means. 
 Travelling cloak, large box, hat-box, and every box 
 or movable that could be spared in any possible way, 
 had " gone to our uncle's " — and we saw ourselves 
 on the very verge of being reduced to threadbare suits 
 — when deliverance came ! 
 
 I had, like thousands of poor creatures who follow 
 the practice daily, in London, frequently answered 
 advertisements in the daily newspapers, about editor- 
 ships and reporterships, and contributing of leading 
 or other articles to periodicals — but had no response : 
 no, not one syllable ! I had been in London from 
 the evening of the ist of June, 1839, until near the 
 end of March, 1840 — when I answered an advertise- 
 ment respecting the editorship of a country paper 
 printed in London. I went to the printing-office of 
 Mr. Dougal Macgowan, in Great Windmill Street, 
 Haymarket ; and, after some conversation, was en- 
 gaged, at a salary of three pounds per week, as editor 
 
 9 
 
130 NEWSPAPER EDITORSHIP. 
 
 of The Kejttisk Mercury, Gravesend yournal, and 
 Greenwich Gazette, — a weekly newspaper which was 
 printed in Great Windmill Street, but which must 
 be published in Kent, to render it a Kentish paper, 
 it was thought. 
 
 So we gave up our London lodging, and went to 
 live at Greenwich, in order that I might publish the 
 paper there. I remained in my new post only till 
 the end of November in the same year ; but I saw a 
 great deal of the delightful county of Kent during 
 that year 1840, having to visit all the towns of any 
 size worth visiting, and some of them many times 
 over, on errands connected with the business of the 
 paper. Our delectable walks in Greenwich Park, too, 
 can never be forgotten by my dear wife or myself 
 Every week-day that I was not journeying over Kent, 
 I had to be in London, to get up the paper for the 
 printer. Do not let me fail to record that I had 
 to perform my work on classic ground. Mr. 
 Macgowan's printing-office had formerly been the 
 Anatomical Museum of the immortal John Hunter ; 
 and I did the work of my editorship, daily, in what 
 had once been his study, or private sitting-room ! • 
 
 I only twice or thrice saw the proprietor of the 
 Kentish Mercury — Mr. Wm. Dougal Christie, then a 
 young barrister in chambers, in the Temple — but who 
 has since been distinguished as an M.P., Charge 
 d'affaij'cs at Rio Janiero ; and now, as the very excel- 
 lent editor of Dryden. We did not agree in our 
 
THE LETTER OF "DESTINY." 
 
 131 
 
 notions respecting the management of the paper ; and 
 so I, again, " gave notice to leave." 
 
 " Another act of rashness ! " cries out the reader ; 
 but I say otherwise, this time. In the course of 
 fourteen days I had a letter from the Rev. S. B. 
 Bergne, Independent minister of Lincoln, enclosing 
 a letter from the manager of a Leicester newspaper, 
 inquiring, " Can you inform us of the whereabouts 
 of Thomas Cooper, who wrote the articles entitled 
 ' Lincoln Preachers' in the Stamford Mercury f " 
 
 I dropped the letter from my hands ; and my wife 
 remembers well my excited look, as I exclaimed, 
 " The message has come at last ! — the message of 
 Destiny ! We are going to live at Leicester ! " 
 
 Don't say " Pooh ! stuff and nonsense ! " good 
 reader. Is there any one thing you can truly say 
 you comprehend "i " No," you reply ; " I can only 
 apprehend things." Just so. And it is because I am 
 deeply conscious of the same truth, that I have 
 learned to be slower in crying out — " Superstition ! " 
 than I used to be. I find there are mysteries in our 
 existence that I cannot fathom ; and I am compelled 
 to leave them unfathomed, and go on with the duties 
 of active and useful life. 
 
 I left Leicester, my birthplace, when a year old, as 
 I have told you, and had never seen the place again 
 to the time I am now speaking of, although I was 
 now thirty-five years old. Yet I tell you, reader, that 
 I had a peculiar impression on my mind, for many 
 
132 END OF FIRST LONDON LIFE. 
 
 years, that I had something to do of a stirring and 
 important nature in Leicester. I did not wish to go 
 to Leicester, for all my aspirations, during many 
 years, had centred in London. And I had no pre- 
 sentation to the mind of the exact work I had to dp 
 in Leicester, nor anything resembling that. When 
 there was nothing in the employment of my thoughts, 
 at the time, to lead to such an impression, it would 
 frequently visit me — resting on my mind with a force 
 that amazed me — until something summoned away 
 my attention elsewhere. 
 
 Instead of writing to tell the person who inquired 
 for my "whereabouts," I went over to Leicester at 
 once, by the railway. The person who was entrusted 
 with the management of the paper told me that it 
 had but a limited circulation, and they could not 
 afford me much money. However, I took the situa- 
 tion at two pounds per week, and agreed to go and 
 -live at Leicester. I remember that, as I had closed 
 accounts at Great Windmill Street, had paid my last 
 visit thither to say " good-bye " to Mr. Macgowan, on 
 the Saturday afternoon, and was passing through the 
 Strand on my way to take the steam-boat for Green- 
 wich, I saw a large placard outside the office of the 
 Sun newspaper, proclaiming, "Birth of the Princess 
 Royal ! " So that it was on the 21st November. On 
 Monday, the 23rd, 1840, my dear wife and I left 
 Greenwich and London, and took up our lodging in 
 Leicester. 
 
JiENEWED FRIENDSHIP WITH WINKS. 1 33 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 LEICESTER ; WRETCHEDNESS OF STOCKINGERS : 
 1840 — 184I. 
 
 I FOUND a dear old friend in Leicester : that same 
 energetic Joseph Foulkes Winks. who had instituted 
 our Mutual Improvement Society and adult school at 
 Gainsborough. I soon learned that he had not grown 
 rich, except in the number of his children ; but he was 
 as merry-hearted as ever, and as full of energy ; for, in 
 addition to his business as printer and bookseller, he 
 was a busy politician, Baptist preacher, and editor of 
 three or four small religious periodicals. My employ- 
 ment on the Leicestershire Mercury seemed to me 
 very trifling. I was simply expected to attend the 
 petty sessions, or weekly magistrates' meeting, at 
 Leicester and Loughborough, and to make paragraphs 
 concerning lectures and occasional meetings. I saw 
 plainly that the manager of the paper did not wish 
 me to do overmuch. I expressed my discontent and 
 impatience to my friend Winks ; and he told me to 
 wait, for something was about to be done with the 
 paper that would effect a change favourable to myself. 
 
-^ 
 
 134 THE CHARTIST AGITATION. 
 
 But I was soon sent on the errand which led to the 
 fulfilment of my " destiny." 
 
 " There is a Chartist lecture to be delivered at All 
 Saints' Open, to-night. As there is nothing else for 
 you to attend to, you may as well go and bring us an 
 account of it. We do not want a full report." — Such 
 was the fiat of the manager of the Leicestershire 
 Mercury, that sent me to hear the first words I ever 
 heard spoken by a Chartist lecturer. 
 
 Before I left Lincolnshire, and during the year and 
 half I spent in London, I had read in the papers of 
 the day, what everybody read, about the meetings of 
 Chartists — from the great assemblage in Palace Yard, 
 on the 17th September, 1838, when the high-bailifif 
 of Westminster presided, — where the immortal Corn 
 Law Rhymer advocated the political rights of the 
 working classes, and where so many bold speeches 
 were made by men of rank and station, as well as by 
 working men — to the assembling of the " general 
 Convention," and the breaking up of that political 
 body ; and the Monmouthshire riots and consequent 
 banishment of Frost, Williams, and Jones, in February 
 1840. I say I had read about these transactions in 
 the newspapers ; and of the fierce agitation against 
 the cruel enactments of the new Poor Law, under 
 Oastler and Stephens. And I had seen mention of 
 be Bull Ring meetings at Birmingham ; and of the 
 seizure and imprisonment of many of the Chartist 
 .eaders ; and then of the release of some of them. 
 
I HEAR A CHARTIST SPEAKER. 1 35 
 
 But I had never attended a Chartist meeting, or met 
 with any one who maintained Chartist opinions. 
 
 Doubtless, the necessity I was under of finding 
 some employment that I might have bread, prevented 
 me from feeling much curiosity about public meetings, 
 during the earlier part of the time that I was in Lon- 
 don. And then, when I became editor of the Kentish 
 paper, I was eager to get back to Greenwich every 
 evening, when my work was done in London, and 
 glad to take up some favourite book, or walk with my 
 wife in the beautiful park, rather than seek out political 
 meetings. 
 
 The Chartist meeting, in Leicester, that I was now 
 sent to report, gave very small promise of importance. 
 I discovered the small room in " All Saints' Open," 
 after some inquiry, and found, at first, some twenty 
 ragged men collected. The place was filled in the 
 course of about a quarter of an hour, with women as 
 well as men ; and all were, apparently, of the necessi- 
 tous class, save, perhaps, half a dozen who were more 
 decently dressed than the crowd. 
 
 The lecturer entered, and, amidst eager clapping of 
 hands, made his way to the small platform. A work- 
 ing man told me his name was John Mason, and he 
 was a Birmingham shoemaker. The lecture was 
 delivered with great energy ; but it was sober and 
 argumentative, and often eloquent. The political 
 doctrines advocated were not new to me. I had im- 
 bibed a belief in the justice of Universal Suffrage when 
 
136 I AGREE WITH THE CHARTIST SPEAKER. 
 
 a boy from the papers lent me by the Radical brush- 
 makers. I heard from John Mason simply the recital 
 of the old political programme of the Duke of Rich- 
 mond, and his friends, at the close of the last century ; 
 of noble, honest Major John Cartwright ; of Hunt 
 and later Radicals. I had never had any doubt of 
 the equity that demanded a redistribution of Electoral 
 Districts, short Parliaments, the abolition of the pro- 
 perty qualification for members of Parliament, and 
 the payment of members. Of all the " Six Points " 
 of "the People's Charter," there was but one I did 
 not like : the Ballot. And I do not like it now. 
 
 It will be seen that there was nothing to startle me 
 in the lecturer's political doctrines. And I discerned 
 no tendency to violence in his address. He was, in- 
 deed, as I thought, exceedingly temperate in his lan- 
 guage ; and it was only when he came to the wind-up 
 that he struck the note that roused strong feeling. 
 He earnestly exhorted his hearers not to be led away 
 from their adherence to the People's Charter by the 
 Corn Law Repealers. 
 
 " Not that Corn Law Repeal is wrong," said he ; 
 "when we get the Charter, we will repeal the Corn Laws 
 and all the other bad laws. But if you give up your 
 agitation for the Charter to help the Free Traders, 
 they will not help you to get the Charter. Don't be 
 deceived by the middle classes again. You helped 
 them to get their votes — you swelled their cry of 
 ' The bill, the whole bill, and nothing but the bill ! ' 
 
HIS EXCITING PERORATION. 1 37 
 
 But where are the fine promises they made you ? 
 Gone to the winds ! They said when they had gotten 
 their votes, they would help you to get yours. But 
 they and the rotten Whigs have never remembered 
 you. Municipal Reform has been for their benefit — 
 not for yours. All other reforms the Whigs boast to 
 have effected have been for the benefit of the middle 
 classes — not for yours. And now they want to get 
 the Corn Laws repealed — not for your benefit — but 
 for their own. ' Cheap Bread ! ' they cry. But they 
 mean ' Low Wages.' Do not listen to their cant and 
 humbug. Stick to your Charter. You are veritable 
 slaves without your votes ! " 
 
 Such was the strain of the peroration. The speech 
 was received with frequent cries of " Hear, hear," and 
 " That's right ! " and sometimes with clapping of hands 
 and drumming of feet. 
 
 Two or three of the better-dressed men, who sat 
 on the platform, spoke, at the end, of the sufferings of 
 those who were yet in prison for the People's Charter 
 and then they gave three cheers for Feargus O'Connor, 
 who was at that time a prisoner in York Castle ; and 
 three cheers for Frost, Williams, and Jones, whom they 
 said they would have back again ; and it was nearly 
 eleven o'clock when the meeting broke up. 
 
 As we passed out into the street, I was surprised to 
 see the long upper windows of the meaner houses fully 
 lighted, and to hear the loud creak of the stocking- 
 frame. 
 
138 STOCKINGERS AND SCARCITY OF WORK. 
 
 " Do your stocking weavers often work so late as 
 this ? " I asked of some of the men who were leaving 
 the meeting, 
 
 " No, not often : work's over scarce for that," they 
 answered ; " but we're glad to work any hour, when 
 we can get work to do." 
 
 "Then your hosiery trade is not good in Leicester.?" 
 I observed. 
 
 " Good ! It's been good for nought this many a 
 year," said one of the men ; " We've a bit of a spurt 
 now and then. But we soon go back again to star- 
 vation ! " 
 
 " And what may be the average earning of a stock- 
 ing weaver .'' " I asked, — " I mean when a man is fully 
 employed." 
 
 " About four and sixpence," was the reply. 
 
 That was the exact answer ; but I had no right 
 conception of its meaning. I remembered that my 
 own earnings as a handicraft had been low, because 
 I was not allowed to work for the best shops. And I 
 knew that working men in full employ, in the towns of 
 Lincolnshire, were understood to be paid tolerably 
 well. I had never, till now, had any experience of the 
 condition of a great part of the manufacturing popu- 
 lation of England, and so my rejoinder was natural. 
 The reply it evoked was the first utterance that re- 
 vealed to me the real state of suffering in which 
 thousands in England were living. 
 
 " Four and sixpence," I said ; " well, six fours are 
 
FOUR AND SIXPENCE A WEEK. 1 39 
 
 twenty-four, and six sixpences are three shillings : 
 that's seven-and-twenty shillings a week. The wages 
 are not so bad when you are in work." 
 
 " What are you talking about ? " said they. " You 
 mean four and sixpence a day ; but we mean four 
 and sixpence a week." 
 
 " Four and sixpence a week ! " I exclaimed. "You 
 don't mean that men have to work in those stocking 
 frames that I hear going now, a whole week for four 
 •and sixpence. How can they maintain their wives 
 and children .'' " 
 
 " Ay, you may well ask that," said one of them, 
 sadly. 
 
 We walked on in silence, for some moments, for 
 they said no more, and I felt as if I could scarcely 
 believe what I heard. I knew that in Lincolnshire, 
 where I had passed so great a part of my life, the 
 farmers' labourers had wages which amounted to 
 double the earnings these stockingers said were theirs. 
 I had heard of the suffering of handloom weavers 
 and other operatives in the manufacturing districts, 
 but had never witnessed it. What I heard now 
 seemed incredible ; yet these spirit-stricken men 
 seemed to mean what they said. I felt, therefore, 
 that I must know something more about the real 
 meaning of what they had told me. I began to learn 
 more of the sorrowful truth from them ; and I learned 
 it day by day more fully, as I made inquiry. 
 
 A cotton manufacturer builds a mill, and puts 
 
140 HARD CASE OF STOCKINGERS. 
 
 machinery into it ; and then gives so much per week, 
 or so much per piece of work, to the men and women 
 and boys and girls he employs. But I found that the 
 arrangement in the hosiery trade was very different. 
 The stocking and glove manufacturers did not build 
 mills, but were the owners of the ' frames ' in which 
 the stockings and gloves were woven. These frames 
 they let out to the ' masters,' or middlemen, at a cer- 
 tain rent, covenanting to give all the employ in their 
 power to the said 'masters.' The Messrs. Biggs, in 
 my time, owned twelve hundred frames, it was said. 
 Perhaps fifty of these would be let out to William 
 Cummins, thirty to Joseph Underwood, and so on to 
 other * masters ' or middlemen. The * masters ' em- 
 ployed the working-hands, giving so much per dozen 
 for the weaving of the stockings or gloves, and charg- 
 ing the man a weekly frame-rent — which was, of course, 
 at a profit above the rent the ' master' paid the owner 
 of the ' frame.' 
 
 But it was by a number of petty and vexatious 
 grindings, in addition to the obnoxious ' frame-rent,' 
 that the poor framework -knitter was worn down, till 
 you might have known him by his peculiar air of 
 misery and dejection, if you had met him a hundred 
 miles from Leicester. He had to pay, not only 
 * frame-rent,' but so much per week for the ' standing ' 
 of the frame in the shop of the 'master,' for the 
 frames were grouped together in the shops, generally, 
 though you would often find a single frame in a 
 
HARDEST PART OF THEIR CASE. I4I 
 
 weaver's cottage. The man had also to pay three- 
 pence per dozen to the 'master' for 'giving out' of 
 the work. He had also to pay so much per dozen to 
 the female 'seamer' of the hose. And he had also 
 oil to buy for his machine, and lights to pay for in 
 the darker half of the year. All the deductions 
 brought the average earnings of the stocking-weaver 
 to four and sixpence per week. I found this ,to be a 
 truth confirmed on every hand. 
 
 And when he was * in work/ the man was evermore 
 experiencing some new attempt at grinding him down 
 to a lower sum per dozen for the weaving, or at 'dock- 
 ing ' him so much per dozen for alleged faults in his 
 work ; while sometimes — and even for several weeks 
 together — he experienced the most grievous wrong of 
 all. The ' master ' not being able to obtain full em- 
 ployment for all the frames he rented of the manu- 
 facturer, but perhaps only half employ for them — 
 distributed, or ' spread ' the work over all the frames. 
 
 "Well," the reader will very likely say, "surely, it 
 was better to give all the men half-work, than no 
 work to some, and half-work to others." But the foul 
 grievance was this : each man had to pay a whole 
 week's frame-rent, although he had only half a week's 
 work ! Thus while the poor miserable weaver knew 
 that his half-week's work, after all the deductions, 
 would produce him such a mere pittance that he 
 could only secure a scant share of the meanest food, 
 he remembered that the owner of the frame had the 
 
142 CHANGES IN LEICESTER. 
 
 full rent per week, and the middleman or ' master ' 
 had also his weekly pickings secured to him. 
 
 Again : a kind of hose would be demanded for 
 which the frame needed a deal of troublesome and 
 tedious altering. But the poor weaver was expected 
 to make all the alterations himself And sometimes 
 he could not begin his week's weaving until a day, 
 or a day and a half, had been spent in making the 
 necessary alterations. Delay was also a custom on 
 Monday mornings. The working man must call again. 
 He was too early. And, finally, all the work was 
 ended. The warehouses were glutted, and the hosiery 
 firms had no orders. This came again and again, in 
 Leicester and Loughborough and Hinckley, and the 
 framework-knitting villages of the county, until, when 
 a little prosperity returned, no one expected it to 
 continue. 
 
 How different is the condition of Leicester now 
 thirty years have gone over ! All who enter it for 
 the first time are pleased with the air of thrift the 
 town wears, and the moving population of the streets. 
 I saw lounging groups of ragged men in my time. I 
 hope what I saw will never be seen again. And I 
 heard words of misery and discontent from the poor 
 that, I hope, are not heard now. I should not like to 
 hear them again, for I know not what they might 
 again impel me to say or do, 
 
EXPERIENCE OF NEW LIFE. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LEICESTER : MY CHARTIST-LIFE BEGUN : 
 
 1841. 
 
 I SAID in an earlier chapter that I found myself in 
 a new world at Lincoln ; but Leicester was a new 
 world indeed to me, although I had been born in 
 it, nearly thirty-six years before. How unlike it was 
 to the life I had just seen in London : that medley of 
 experience of everything great and little which a man 
 can scarcely have anywhere but in the capital. How 
 unlike it was to the life I knew in Lincoln, where I 
 had mingled a good deal with the well-to-do circles of 
 society, and shared in their enjoyments. But how 
 utterly unlike it was to the earlier old Lincolnshire 
 life that I had known, wherein I mingled with the 
 poor and saw a deal of their suffering, — yet witnessed, 
 not merely the respect usually subsisting between 
 master and servant, but in many instances the strong 
 attachment of the peasantry to the farmers, and of 
 the farmers to their landlords. 
 
 Here, in Leicester, in my office of reporter, I soon 
 was witness to what seemed to me an appalling fact : 
 the fierce and open opposition, in pubHc meetings, of 
 
144 POLITICAL SIDES IN LEICESTER. 
 
 working men to employers, manifested in derisive 
 cries, hissing and hooting, and shouts of scorn. The 
 more I learned of the condition of the people, the 
 more comprehensible this sad state of things seemed to 
 me — but what was to be the remedy .? My old friend 
 Winks believed in the justice of universal suffrage, 
 with myself ; but as he belonged to the party of the 
 old political leaders, and they had decided to ask for 
 the repeal of the Corn Laws, he kept aloof from the 
 Chartists. I got into talk with a few of the lesser em- 
 ployers, and they seemed at their wit's end for a remedy. 
 
 The working men, I found, were divided. One party 
 believed in the justice of the demands made by the 
 Chartists, but held that the repeal of the Corn Laws 
 would benefit them — and these supported the manu- 
 facturers at the pubhc meetings. The other party 
 demanded the People's Charter as a first measure 
 and they were the majority at public meetings. 
 
 I often wished that some influential person — some 
 one who had a character in the town for real goodness 
 — would offer a compromise. The three brothers, 
 John, William, and Joseph Biggs, who were large 
 employers, had such a character, in my time, and 
 deserved it, too. The compromise that I wished for 
 was a proposal to demand both Charter and Corn 
 Law Repeal, and take anything that could be got 
 first But there was no spirit of compromise. The 
 manufacturers, to a man, stuck to one side, and would 
 have no union for the Charter. 
 
I WRITE FOR THE CHARTISTS. 1 45 
 
 As I considered the Chartist side to be the side of 
 the poor and the suffering, I held up my hand for the 
 Charter at pubHc meetings. Of course, I might have 
 taken neither side — the custom which is most usual 
 with reporters ; but I was made of mettle that must 
 take a side, and I could only take the side I did take. 
 
 I soon learned that this was an offence in their 
 eyes who supported the Leicestershire Mercury ; and 
 I speedily added to the offence. The Chartists had 
 started a penny weekly paper to which they gave the 
 high-sounding title of The Midland Counties Illumi- 
 nator. It was mean in appearance, and the fine, intel- 
 lectual old man, George Bown, who edited the paper, 
 lacked assistance, I wrote him a few articles under 
 promise of secresy ; but soon found that everybody 
 knew what I did. I was, therefore, not surprised when 
 the manager of the Leicestershire Mercury told me 
 that I must seek a new situation, for that the paper 
 had no sale sufficient to enable the proprietors to pay 
 my salary. 
 
 " Never mind, Tom," said my old friend Winks, 
 when I told him that I had received notice to leave 
 the Mercury in a month's time ; " don't you leave 
 Leicester. There will be something for you to do 
 soon." 
 
 " Don't leave Leicester ! " said a group of Chartists, 
 whom I met in the street, and who had heard of 
 my dismissal ; " stay and conduct our paper ; George 
 Bown wants to give it up." 
 
 10 
 
146 RESOLVE TO JOIN THE CHARTISTS. 
 
 And in a day or too a deputation from the Chartist 
 committee came to offer me thirty shillings a week, 
 if I would stay in Leicester to conduct their little 
 paper. My friend Winks shook his head at it. 
 
 " Have nothing to do with them, Tom," said he ; 
 " you cannot depend on 'em. You'll not get the thirty 
 shillings a week they have promised you." 
 
 " I don't expect it," I replied ; " but I think I can 
 make the paper into something better, if they will 
 give it into my hands ; and I think I can do some 
 good among these poor men, if I join them." 
 
 My friend argued against me strongly, and at last 
 angrily, declaring that I should ruin myself But my 
 resolution was taken. I felt I could not leave these 
 suffering stockingers. During the earlier weeks after 
 I entered Leicester, I had so little to fill my mind, or 
 even to occupy my time, that I purposed returning, 
 in right earnest, to my studies, so soon as I could re- 
 possess myself of the requisite books. But the more 
 I learned of the state of the poor, the less inclined I 
 felt to settle down to study. The accounts of wretch- 
 edness, and of petty oppressions, and the fierce de- 
 fiances of their employers uttered by working men at 
 public meetings, kept me in perpetual uneasiness, and 
 set me thinking what I ought to do. The issue was 
 that I resolved to become the champion of the poor. 
 " What is the acquirement of languages — what is the 
 obtaining of all knowledge," I said to myself, " com- 
 pared to the real honour, whatever seeming disgrace 
 
I CONDUCT THEIR NEWSPAPER. 1 47 
 
 it may bring, of struggling to win the social and poli- 
 tical rights of millions ?" 
 
 The day after they had sent to ask me to conduct 
 their paper, I said to one of the Chartist Committee, 
 " Cannot I have a meeting in your little room at All 
 Saints' Open, next Sunday evening, that I may ad- 
 dress your members ?" 
 
 " I am sure we shall be all glad to hear you," said he. 
 
 And so, having respect to the day, I spoke to them 
 for an hour, partly on a religious theme, and partly on 
 their suiTering and wrongs, and on the question of 
 their political rights, I offered a prayer — it was the 
 prayer of my heart — at the beginning and close of 
 the meeting. This was in March, and I held these 
 Sunday night meetings in the little room till the stir- 
 ring events of the spring and summer of that year, 
 1 841, compelled us to seek a much larger arena for 
 our enterprise. 
 
 The working men paid me thirty shillings for the 
 first week ; but could only raise half the sum the 
 second week. I found they were also in debt for paper. 
 So I proposed that they gave up their periodical to 
 me entirely, and I would father their little debt. I 
 obtained twenty pounds of a friend whom I must not 
 name, and made an engagement with Albert Cock- 
 shaw, the printer, to print the Midland Counties Il- 
 luminator on larger and better paper, and with better 
 type. And I also took a front room in the High 
 Street, as an office for my paper. The Chartists soon 
 
148 GOVERNMENT CHANGES APPROACH. 
 
 elected me their secretary ; and a great number of 
 them urged me to make my new place in the High 
 Street a shop for the sale of newspapers — saying they 
 would take their weekly Northern Star of me. So 
 I sold not only the Chartist Northern Star, but 
 papers and pamphlets of various kinds, and my little 
 shop became the daily rendezvous of working men. 
 The paper rose in sale — for some of the men, who 
 had no work, took it into the villages, and thus added 
 to its circulation. 
 
 As soon as the weather permitted, I began to get 
 the people together for meetings in the open air. On 
 Sunday mornings, I usually went to one of the neigh- 
 bouring villages ; but in the evening we held our 
 meetings in some part of Leicester. 
 
 The events of 1841 soon grew very exciting. The 
 death of Sir Ronald Ferguson, M.P. for Nottingham, 
 reduced the Whig majority to one on great questions. 
 And the cry became loud through the land for a 
 general election. Notwithstanding that the Whig 
 governments of Earl Grey and Lord Melbourne had 
 won Parliamentary Reform, Municipal Reform, put the 
 Church Revenues into the hands of Commissioners, and, 
 above all, given a cheap postage to the people, every- 
 body said, " Let us have a change ! " But the wildest 
 advice was given by some who professed the most 
 ultra-democratic doctrines. "Let us end the power of 
 the Whigs — vote for Tories in preference to Whigs, 
 the authors of the accursed Poor Law ! " became the cry. 
 
MR. WALTER AND NOTTINGHAM ELECTION. 1 49 
 
 Colonel Perronet Thompson, the veteran advocate for 
 Corn Law Repeal, kindly wrote me " Letters " for my 
 paper. But he advocated such measures ! That old 
 and steady advocates of freedom should have recom- 
 mended us to help the Tories, sounds very strange to 
 me now. But the poor took up the cry readily. They 
 remarked that the Whigs had banished John Frost 
 and his companions, and had thrown four hundred 
 and thirty Chartists into prison ; and therefore the 
 Whigs were their worst enemies. "We will be re- 
 venged upon the Whigs," became the cry of Chartists. 
 
 Mr. Walter, the well-known proprietor of the 
 powerful Times, so long a determined foe of the New 
 Poor Law, offered himself for Nottingham. The Not- 
 tingham Chartists determined to support him, and 
 wished some of us to go over from Leicester, to give 
 what help we could. I and John Markham went over, 
 and spoke at a few meetings. But I said to Mr. 
 Walter, as we met him in the street, " Sir, don't have 
 a wrong idea of the reason why you are to have 
 Chartist support. We mean to use your party to cut 
 the throats of the Whigs, and then we mean to cut 
 your throats also!" I said it with a jocular air, and 
 Mr. Walter laughed ; but he understood that the joke 
 was an earnest one. 
 
 Mr. Walter was returned for Nottingham ; but, in 
 the course of a few weeks, the general election came 
 on. And, before it, came Sir John Easthope and 
 Wynn Ellis, the members for Leicester, and a great 
 
ISO ELECTIONEERING INTRIGUES. 
 
 meeting for Corn Law Repeal was held in Leicester 
 market-place ; and John Collins of Birmingham, and 
 Markham and I, had to have our waggons for a 
 platform opposed to the grand stand of the respect- 
 ables ; and the war was now fairly begun. Meetings 
 in the open air were kept up nightly — unless the 
 weather forced us into the little room at All Saints' 
 Open — until the day of nomination for members of 
 parliament. 
 
 John Swain, the person with whom I lodged, was 
 \'ery savagely opposed to the New Poor Law, and he 
 proposed to me to meet, secretly, one of the influen- 
 tials of the Tory party who had something to say to 
 me concerning the approaching election. 
 
 " I cannot advise any of our Chartists to vote for 
 the Tories," I said to him. 
 
 " The Chartists have not twenty votes among them 
 all," said he ; and no one is going to ask you to get 
 the Chartists to vote for a Tory." 
 
 I consented to see the Tory gentleman, and his 
 proposal was that I should get the Chartists to hold 
 up their hands, at the nomination, for the Tory can- 
 didate. 
 
 "I believe," said I, "that the greater number of 
 Chartists will do that for the sake of revenge on the 
 Whigs, without my asking them." 
 
 " I shall want to see you again," said he, " on the 
 night before the nomination. I shall have to ask a 
 favour of you, and I hope you will not refuse me." 
 
THE "CHARTIST RUSHLIGHT" APPEARS. 151 
 
 The next step taken by our Leicester Chartists was 
 a very flattering one to myself. They proposed that 
 I should be nominated by two Chartist " freemen " as 
 the Universal Suffrage candidate for the parUamentary 
 representation of my native town ! 
 
 But, behold ! there was a sudden stoppage to the 
 seemingly prosperous current of my new fortunes. 
 Mr. Cockshaw, the printer, told me he could not print 
 another number of my paper. I owed him a few 
 pounds ; but I did not believe — nor did he say — that 
 this was his reason for discontinuing the printing of 
 my paper. " I am not at hberty to tell the reason," 
 were his words. There was but one interpretation 
 put upon his conduct by our Chartists. Mr. Cockshaw 
 was printer for the Corporation, and I had written in 
 what was deemed an unmannerly style of some of its 
 members, and, doubtless, I had ; and they wanted to 
 end my paper, and also get me out of the town. 
 
 I defeated the Whiggish stratagem, however. There 
 was not a printer in, the whole town of Leicester who 
 dared to print my paper, for fear of offending the Cor- 
 poration dignitaries, or dignitaries of somekind — except 
 Thomas Warwick, an honest, lowly man, although 
 he voted for the Tories, who had a small quantity of 
 type, and that but of a mean kind. I bargained with 
 him, however; and as I could no longer issue my 
 smart-looking paper at three-halfpence. The Midland 
 Counties Illuminator — we kindled a smaller reful- 
 gence, Tlie Chartist Rushlight, at one halfpenny. 
 
152 ISSUE OF THE TORY INTRIGUE; 
 
 The fun of the thing pleased everybody but the Whigs; 
 and the Tories bought our Rtishlights as fast as the 
 printer could throw them off, and our Chartists were 
 very merry over it. 
 
 The night before the nomination, the Tory gentle- 
 man sent for me. 
 
 " All I ask of you," he said, " is that you will secure 
 us as many resolute men of your party as possible, to 
 keep a firm stand in the centre and immediately before 
 the hustings. They shall be paid for their work," 
 
 " You think that will enable your party to get the 
 show of hands } " 
 
 " Exactly. We feel sure that the Mayor will pre- 
 tend that the Whigs have the show of hands — espe- 
 cially if he can say, — I could not see how the people 
 voted who were not in front." 
 
 " I do not see that it will be wrong to do what you 
 ask," said I ; " for even if they do really enable you 
 to get the show of hands, that will not determine the 
 election ; and your money will do our poor fellows 
 good." 
 
 " There will be no polling," said he ; " but keep 
 that secret, please." 
 
 The "Captain Forester" who had been announced 
 as the Tory candidate had not yet made his appear- 
 ance ; and I knew, now, that he was only a dummy, 
 and so felt no hesitation whatever in promising the 
 Tory gentleman that I would do what he wished. 
 And, accordingly, I summoned a few determined men, 
 
AND HOW THEY PAID FOR IT. 153 
 
 and they soon brought up scores of others ; and I took 
 care they were all paid before they went and took 
 up their stand in front of the hustings. Three small 
 linen bags were given to me, on the nomination 
 morning, each containing ten pounds in silver ; and 
 I paid away every coin to the poor ragged men, and 
 wished I had ten times as much to give them. The 
 Tory gentleman did not give me the bags, nor was 
 he present when I received them. A Tory trades- 
 man, who bore the highest character in Leicester for 
 uprightness and kindness to the poor, handed me the 
 bags — but I do not tell his name. 
 
154 THE OLD NOMINATION DAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ELECTIONS: CHARTIST LIFE : 184I. 
 
 They are about to abolish our old-fashioned Nomi- 
 nation Days — and not before due time. But I must 
 confess I enjoyed the old days. I used to enjoy them 
 in the old Guildhall at Lincoln, when Bulwer was 
 proposed by a leading Liberal, and old Dean Gordon 
 used to propose Colonel Sibthorpe. Poor dear old 
 Sibby! I can see his odd grimaces, and hear him 
 swear so funnily in his speeches, as if it were but 
 yesterday ! And the joke when old Ben Bromhead 
 had got his written speech in his hat, and young 
 Charley Fardell stole it out ! To see how old Ben 
 twisted his hat round to find the stolen speech, while 
 the people were laughing. Ah, some of those Lin- 
 coln days were naughty days, — and one must not tell 
 the history of them, to the full. 
 
 I must confess I enjoyed the nomination day in 
 Leicester market-place. Our Chartists kept their 
 stand well, in the centre, before the hustings. As I 
 faced them, the Tories with their blue flags were on 
 my right, and the Whigs with their orange and green 
 flags were on my left. I, as the universal suffrage 
 
THE NOMINATION DAY AT LEICESTER. 1 55 
 
 candidate for the representation of Leicester, had the 
 largest show of hands, — for only a part of our Chartist 
 crowd held up their hands for "Colonel Forester" who 
 was not to be found — while all the working-men who 
 were on the Tory side held up their hands for me, to 
 spite the Whigs. But the Mayor said Sir John East- 
 hope and Wynn Ellis had the show of hands — at which 
 there was much shouting on the Whig side — much 
 shouting for joy — but the scene was soon changed. 
 
 One of our Chartist flag-bearers happened, inten- 
 tionally, to droop his flag on one side, till it touched 
 the heads of some of the Whigs who Avere shouting. 
 The gudgeons caught the bait ! They seized the 
 poor little calico flag and tore it in pieces ! 
 
 " Now, lads, go it ! " shouted some strong voices in 
 the Chartist ranks, and the rush was instant upon the 
 Whig flags. A few escaped ; but his own supporters 
 declared that the orange and green flags which were 
 " limbed," or torn up in the course of perhaps ten 
 minutes, had cdst Sir John Easthope seventy pounds 
 — for they were all of silk. 
 
 A more gentle joke was played something earlier. 
 Samuel Deacon, a well-known native of Leicester, had 
 made a large tin extinguisher, and fastened it to a 
 pole. With this he approached the hustings, and be- 
 fore I could be aware of what he meant to do — placed 
 it on my head, while the Whigs cried out, " There ! 
 he has extinguished the RushHght ! " 
 
 The election for the borough was over; but then 
 
156 CHARTISTS AND JOSEPH STURGE. 
 
 came the elections for the north and south of the 
 county. I and Bairstow were proposed at Lough- 
 borough, for the Northern Division of the county ; 
 but we had no great number of hands held up for us. 
 On the nomination day for the Southern Division of 
 the county, which was held in Leicester Castle yard, 
 I thought I had the show of hands again ; but the 
 Sheriff decided for the Tories. 
 
 I was also present at the Nottingham election — 
 where the Chartists suddenly reversed their policy, 
 and voted against Walter, and in favour of the noble 
 philanthropist, Joseph Sturge. Feargus O'Connor, 
 while in York Castle, had advocated the policy of 
 voting for the Tories in preference to the Whigs ; 
 but he now came down to Nottingham, and by his 
 speeches encouraged the Chartists to support Joseph 
 Sturge. With the thought of rendering help in some 
 form or other, McDouall, Clark, and other Chartist 
 leaders, also came to Nottingham. The Tories, on 
 the other side, secured the presence of the redoubt- 
 able Joseph Raynor Stephens. 
 
 The night before the day of nomination the Tories 
 drew a waggon into the market-place, and Stephens 
 mounted it to address the crowd. The Liberals 
 had already scented the intent of their opponents, 
 and drew up a waggon facing the other, and at about 
 twenty yards from it. Joseph Sturge, Henry Vin- 
 cent, Arthur O'Neill, and other friends of Mr. Sturge, 
 were in the waggon when O'Connor and the other 
 
SCENE IN NOTTINGHAM MARKET-PLACE. 1 5/ 
 
 leaders of our Chartist party reached it. We climbed 
 up into the waggon ; but soon found there could be 
 no speaking. The crowd were assailing Stephens 
 with the vilest epithets, and tearing up his portrait 
 which had formerly been issued with the Northern 
 Star, and throwing the torn fragments at his face. 
 
 Stephens, meanwhile, with his spectacles on, and 
 with folded arms, stood silently and majestically 
 defying the crowd. 
 
 The Tory lambs — the reader has heard of the 
 " lambs of Nottingham ! " — the roughs who do all 
 the work of blackguards, either on the Whig or the 
 Tory side — the Tory lambs began to lose patience 
 because the crowd would not hear Stephens ; and the 
 leaders of them — chiefly butchers in blue linen coats 
 — were seen to form themselves into a body and 
 soon charged upon the Chartist crowd with their 
 fists. The battle was fierce, and the Tory lambs were 
 forcing their way towards our waggon. 
 
 Mr. Sturge, with Vincent, and the rest of Mr. S.'s 
 friends, quitted the waggon ; and it was wise of 
 them to do so. It was not our part, however, to 
 retreat. Feargus waited until the Tory lambs got 
 nearer, and then, throwing his hat into the waggon, 
 he cried out " Now, my side charge ! " and down he 
 went among the crowd ; and along with him went 
 McDouall and Tom Clark — and gallantly they 
 fought and faced the Tory butchers. It was no trifle 
 to receive a blow from O'Connor's fists ; and he 
 
158 O'CONNOR AND NOTTINGHAM LAMBS. 
 
 " floored them like nine-pins," as he said himself. 
 Once, the Tory lambs fought off all who surrounded 
 him, and got him down, and my heart quaked, — for 
 I thought they would kill him. But, in a very few 
 moments, his red head emerged again from the rough 
 human billows, and he was fighting his way as before, 
 
 I did not quit the waggon. Neither did another 
 of the so-called Chartist leaders of the time, who, it 
 was said, had been in the Navy several years, and 
 was usually called " The old Commodore/' or " Com- 
 modore Mead." 
 
 " Cooper," said he, " I think we had better not 
 quit the waggon." 
 
 " No," said I ; "you stick by me, Commodore, 
 and I'll play the Admiral ; and we'll keep the ship." 
 
 So we remained, and looked upon the battle. 
 Suddenly, I saw Stephens unfold his arms, and pull 
 off his spectacles to see who was drawing near to 
 him. It was McDouall, who had long had a sore 
 private grudge against him. Stephens did not stay 
 another moment ; but turned his back, jumped off 
 the other side of the waggon, and made his way out 
 of the crowd into a friendly shop in the Long Row 
 forthwith. 
 
 O'Connor and his party finally put the Tories to 
 flight, and sprang upon the Tory waggon, when three 
 lusty cheers were given ; and after Feargus and 
 McDouall had addressed the crowd it dispersed. 
 
 The nomination day was a very signal day in 
 
JOSEPH STURGE AND MR. WALTER. 1 59 
 
 Nottingham. O'Connor and Vincent were proposed 
 and seconded as candidates, as well as Mr. Sturge ; 
 but it was merely to give them the right of addressing 
 the people. And their speeches were noble. O'Connor 
 displayed greater knowledge of the science of politics, if 
 I may so speak, than I ever heard him display at any 
 time ; and Vincent's oratory was charmingly orna- 
 mental, and drew forth bursts of cheering. But when 
 Joseph Sturge spoke, and, in the course of his speech, 
 turned to look upon the aged Tory, Walter, who was 
 sitting near his feet, you might have heard a pin fall 
 in that vast audience. Joseph solemnly entreated his 
 opponent to remember that death was at hand, and 
 the great account must be given for our life-course, 
 before the throne of the Eternal Judge. I saw 
 Walter's lower jaw fall, and a conscience-stricken 
 look pass over his face as he listened to Sturge's 
 words ; and I did not wonder at the silence of the 
 crowd, and the awe I saw depicted on all their faces. 
 
 Mr. Sturge's committee were very confident that he 
 would win the election. McDouall and Clark and 
 I accompanied O'Connor to the committee-room that 
 evening. Thomas Beggs and others said they were 
 sure of Mr. Sturge's return, for they had received so 
 many pledges in his favour. It was agreed that it 
 would be well to watch during the night whether any 
 of the Tory agents were slily creeping about to try to 
 bribe voters. O'Connor said he would not sleep. 
 
 "We will parade the town, Cooper," said he; "and 
 
l6o COMMON FOLLIES AT ELECTIONS. 
 
 you shall lead the singing. We shall be ready then 
 to secure the polling-booths in the morning, so that 
 the first votes may be for Mr, Sturge : that is always 
 the surest step towards winning an election." 
 
 And parade the town we did, singing " The lion of 
 freedom is come from his den " (a song attributed to 
 me, but I never wrote a line of it : it was the compo- 
 sition of a Welsh Chartist woman) and 
 
 " We won't go home till morning — till Walter runs av/ay ! 
 We won't go home till morning — till Sturge has won the day!" 
 
 So foolish are the ways of men at election times ! I 
 have seen the gravest and soberest men do the wildest 
 and silliest things, at such times ; and therefore can- 
 not wonder that I have done them myself. 
 
 We called Joseph Sturge out of bed, about two 
 o'clock in the morning ; and he stood, in his shirt, at 
 the chamber window, while we gave three cheers for 
 his success, and three groans for Walter, and then bade 
 him " Good morning." About three o'clock, O'Connor 
 said " How d'ye feel. Cooper — pretty well } " I told 
 him I was well enough. "Then," said he, "I'll go 
 and have a sleep, for I'm drowsy ; but take care that 
 you keep the people together. Cooper, and I'll be with 
 you before the polling-booths are open." 
 
 But he did not return ; and the men began to drop 
 off, till I had but a paltry few to lead, and they were 
 chiefly half-starved, lean stockingers, several of them 
 from Sutton-in-Ashfield. We took care to be in the 
 
MR. WALTER, M.P. FOR NOTTINGHAM. l6l 
 
 neighbourhood of the polling-booths by five o'clock ; 
 but by six the Tory voters began to crowd into the 
 booths under the fierce protection of the " Lambs " — 
 the butchers, armed with stout sticks. 
 
 " Shall we have a fight, and drive 'em out .? " said 
 one of the poor stockingers to me ; " we'll do it — if 
 you'll speak the word." 
 
 " No," said I, " they would soon break some of your 
 poor heads or limbs. You have not the strength to 
 cope with these men. You had better go home and 
 go to bed ; and I'll go to the Sturge committee." 
 
 I went and told Thomas Beggs, and others, that the 
 Tories would have all the first votes. 
 
 " Never mind that," said one of the committee ; 
 " we are sure of the election." 
 
 " But if Walter keeps at the head of the poll till 
 noon, the waverers will then go in and vote for him, 
 instead of Mr. Sturge," said I. 
 
 I found it was in vain to talk to them, so I left 
 them to seek O'Connor; but found he had gone back 
 to London. Nor could I find any other of our men. 
 It turned out as I said it would, Walter kept at the 
 head of the poll till noon, and then the waverers hast- 
 ened to vote for him. Joseph Sturge failed. That he 
 might have won that election had the polling booths 
 been filled with his friends in the morning, I feel the 
 greatest certainty. Mr. Walter lost his seat for bri- 
 bery ; but Joseph Sturge was not returned in his 
 stead. 
 
 n 
 
1 62 LEICESTER AFTER THE ELECTION. 
 
 To return to Leicester. I was put out of the little 
 shop in High Street ; but Mr. Oldfield let me a house 
 in Church Street. So I had now a good shop and 
 several rooms of considerable size. Two large rooms 
 were set apart as coffee-rooms, and they were the re- 
 sort of working men, daily; but on Saturday evenings 
 they were crowded. All meetings of committees were 
 also held in these rooms. In the shop below, I also 
 commenced the sale of bread. During the remaining 
 part of the year 1841, I had a really good business, — 
 there being a little prosperity in the staple trade of 
 the town until some weeks after Christmas. 
 
 Instead of the halfpenny Rushlight, I started the 
 penny Extinguisher — taking the name from the play- 
 ful fact that occurred at the election. I continued to 
 address the people on Sundays, in the evenings, and 
 began now to take my stand in the market-place 
 for that purpose. We always commenced with wor- 
 ship, and I always took a text from the Scriptures, 
 and mingled religious teaching with politics. When ' 
 autumn came, we felt uncertain as to where our Sun- 
 day meetingswere to be held during the dark evenings. 
 There was a very large building in the town, which 
 had originally been built for Ducrow, called "the 
 Amphitheatre." It held 3,000 people. I had hired it 
 for O'Connor to speak in, and for other extraordinary 
 meetings ; but could not think of paying three pounds 
 for the use of it every Sunday night. In front of it 
 was a large first-floor room, which had been used also 
 
DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 162 
 
 u 
 
 by Ducrow's " horse-riders," as a dressing-room, and 
 tvhich was called the " Shaksperean Room." I got the 
 use of it, for all or any kind of meetings, at so much 
 per week ; and so now I held my Sunday night 
 meetings invariably in the " Shaksperean Room." 
 
 I shall not dwell on one recital. John Markham, a 
 shoemaker, who had been a Methodist local preacher, 
 was considered their " leader" by the Chartists, when 
 I entered Leicester. We continued friendly for some 
 time. But himself and a few others began to show 
 signs of coldness in the course of the autumn, and 
 went back to the little old room at All Saints' Open, 
 and constituted themselves a separate Chartist Asso- 
 ciation. So I proposed that we should take a new 
 name ; and, as we now held our meetings in the 
 " Shaksperean Rc-vm," we styled ourselves " The 
 Shaksperean Association of Leicester Chartists." 
 
 I shall conclude this chapter with the solemn re- 
 cord that my dear mother died on the ist of August 
 (her birthday) in this year, being seventy-one years 
 of age. I went over to Gainsborough to bury her, in 
 the churchyard so well known to me from the days of 
 childhood. 
 
 " I laid her near the dust 
 Of her oppressor ; but no gilded verse 
 Tells how she toiled to win her child a crust, 
 And, fasting, still toiled on : no rhymes rehearse 
 How tenderly she strove to be the nurse 
 Of truth and nobleness in her loved, boy, 
 Spite of his rags." 
 
1 64 CHARTIST ADULT SCHOOL FORMED. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CHARTIST POETS : CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : 
 
 1842, 
 
 I HAD not joined the ranks of the poor and the op- 
 pressed with the expectation of having those rough 
 election scenes to pass through. And now I had 
 passed through them, I began to turn my thoughts 
 to something far more worthy of a man's earnestness. 
 As soon as the Shaksperean Room was secured, I 
 formed an adult Sunday-school, for men and boys who 
 were at work on the week days. All the more intel- 
 ligent in our ranks gladly assisted as teachers ; and 
 we soon had the room filled on Sunday mornings and/ 
 afternoons. The Old and New Testaments, Channing's 
 " Self-culture," and other tracts, of which I do not 
 remember the names, formed our class-books. And 
 we, fancifully, named our classes, not first, second, 
 third, etc., but the 'Algernon Sydney Class,' 'Andrew 
 Marvel Class,' ' John Hampden Class,' ' John Milton 
 Class,' ' William Tell Class,' ' George Washington 
 Class,' 'Major Cartwright Class,' 'William Cobbett 
 Class,' and so on. 
 
 I began also to teach Temperance more strongly 
 
JOHN BRAMWICH AND WILLIAM JONES. 1 65 
 
 than before. I became a teetotaler when I entered 
 Leicester, and I kept my pledge, rigidly, for four years. 
 We devised a new form of pledge, — "I hereby promise 
 to abstain, etc., until the People's Charter becomes the 
 law of the land ; " and I administered this pledge to 
 several hundreds. I fear the majority of them kept 
 their pledge but for a brief period, yet some per- 
 severed. 
 
 Next, I drew up a body of rules for our Chartist 
 Association ; and, as we so often indulged in singing, 
 I proposed to two of our members who had occasion- 
 ally shown me their rhymes, that they should compose 
 hymns for our Sunday meetings. John Bramwich, 
 the elder of these persons, was a stocking- weaver, and 
 was now about fifty years old. He had been a soldier, 
 and had seen service in the West Indies and America. 
 He was a grave, serious man, the very heart of truth 
 and sincerity. He died of sheer exhaustion, from hard 
 labour and want, in the year 1846. William Jones, 
 the other composer of rhymes I referred to, was a 
 much younger man, of very pleasing manners and 
 appearance. He was what is called a "glove-hand," 
 and therefore earned better wages than a stockinger. 
 He had been a hard worker, but had acquired some 
 knowledge of music. He published a small volume 
 of very excellent poetry, at Leicester, in 1853, and 
 died in 1855, being held in very high respect by a 
 large circle of friends. 
 
 The contributions of Bramwich and Jones to our 
 
1 66 bramwich's chartist hymn. 
 
 hymnology, were published in my weekly Extin- 
 guisher, until we collected them in our " Shaksperean 
 Chartist Hymn Book." The following is the most 
 favourite hymn composed by Bramwich. — We sang 
 it to the hymn tune " New Crucifixion." 
 
 Britannia's sons, though slaves ye be, 
 God, your Creator, made you free ; 
 He Hfe and thought and being gave, 
 But never, never made a slave ! 
 
 His works are wonderful to see, 
 
 All, all proclaim the Deity ; 
 
 He made the earth, and formed the wave. 
 
 But never, never made a slave ! 
 
 He made the sky with spangles bright, 
 The moon to shine by silent night ; 
 The sun — and spread the vast concave, 
 But never, never made a slave ! 
 
 The verdant earth, on which we tread, 
 Was by His hand all carpeted ; 
 , Enough for all He freely gave, 
 
 But never, never made a slave ! 
 
 All men are equal in His sight, 
 The bond, the free, the black, the white : 
 He made them all, — them freedom gave ; 
 God made the man — Man made the slave ! 
 
 Fourteen hymns were contributed by Bramwich to 
 our " Shaksperean Chartist Hymn Book," and sixteen 
 by William Jones. The following was our favourite 
 
JONES'S CHARTIST HYMN. 167 
 
 hymn of those composed by Jones, and we usually 
 sang it to the hymn tune called " Calcutta." 
 
 Sons of poverty assemble, 
 
 Ye whose hearts with woe are riven, 
 
 Let the guilty tyrants tremble, 
 
 Who your hearts such pain have given. 
 
 We will never 
 From the shrine of truth be driven. 
 
 Must ye faint — ah ! how much longer ? 
 
 Better by the sword to die 
 Than to die of want and hunger : 
 
 They heed not your feeble cry : 
 Lift your voices — 
 
 Lift your voices to the sky ! 
 
 Rouse them from their silken slumbers, 
 
 Trouble them amidst their pride : 
 Swell your ranks, augment your numbers, 
 
 Spread the Charter, far and wide ! 
 Truth is with us : 
 
 God Himself is on our side. 
 
 See the brave, ye spirit broken, 
 
 That uphold your righteous cause ; 
 Who against them hath not spoken ? 
 
 They are, just as Jesus was, 
 Persecuted 
 
 By bad men and wicked laws. 
 
 Dire oppression. Heaven decrees it. 
 From our land shall soon be hurled : 
 
 Mark the coming time and seize it — 
 Every banner be unfurled ! 
 Spread the Charter ! 
 Spread the Charter through the world. 
 
1 68 MY OWN CHARTIST HYMN. 
 
 I venture to add one of the only two hymns that I 
 -ontributed to our Hymn Book : we sang it in the 
 ^ble air of the " Old Hundredth." 
 
 God of the earth, and sea, and sky, 
 To Thee Thy mournful children cry: 
 Didst Thou the blue that bends o'er all 
 Spread for a general funeral pall ? 
 
 Sadness and gloom pervade the land ; 
 Death — famine — glare on either hand ; 
 Didst Thou plant earth upon the wave 
 Only to form one general grave ? 
 
 Father, why didst Thou form the flowers ? 
 They blossom not for us, or ours : 
 Why didst Thou clothe the fields with corn i 
 Robbers from us our share have torn. 
 
 The ancients of our wretched race 
 Told of Thy sovereign power and grace, 
 That in the sea their foes o'erthrew — 
 Great Father ! — is the record true ? 
 
 Art Thou the same who, from all time, 
 O'er every sea, through every clime, 
 The stained oppressor's guilty head 
 Hast visited with vengeance dread ? 
 
 To us, — the wretched and the poor, 
 Whom rich men drive from door to door, — 
 To us, then, make Thy goodness known, 
 And we Thy lofty name will own. 
 
 Father, our frames are sinking fast : 
 Hast Thou our names behind Thee cast ? 
 Our sinless babes with hunger die : 
 Our hearts are hardening ! — Hear our cry I 
 
LITERARY LECTURES TO CHARTISTS. 169 
 
 Appear, as in the ancient days ! 
 Deliver us from our foes, and praise 
 Shall from our hearts to Thee ascend — 
 To God our Father, and our Friend ! 
 
 We now usually held one or two meetings in the 
 Shaksperean Room on week nights, as well as on 
 the Sunday night. Unless there were some stirring 
 local or political topic, I lectured on Milton, and 
 repeated portions of the " Paradise Lost," or on Shaks- 
 peare, and repeated portions of " Hamlet," or on 
 Burns, and repeated " Tam o' Shanter ; " or I recited 
 the history of England, and set the portraits of great 
 Englishmen before young Chartists, who listened with 
 intense interest ; or I took up Geology, or even 
 Phrenology, and made the young men acquainted, 
 elementally, with the knowledge of the time. 
 
 Often, since the days of which I am speaking, some 
 seeming stranger has stepped up to me, in one part of 
 England or another — usually at the close of a lecture 
 — and has said, " You will not remember me. I was 
 very young when I used to hear you in Leicester; but 
 I consider that I owe a good deal to you. You gave me 
 a direction of mind that I have followed," — and so on. 
 If events had not broken up the system I was forming^ 
 how much real good I might have effected in Leicester ! 
 
 These thoughts have just brought to mind a pleas- 
 ing incident which I ought to have mentioned earlier. 
 I had been appealing strongly, one evening, to the 
 patriotic feelings of young Englishmen, mentioning 
 
I/O THE YOUNG CHARTIST AND FUTURE M.P. 
 
 the names of Hampden and Sydney and Marvel; and 
 eulogizing the grand spirit of disinterestedness and 
 self-sacrifice which characterised so many of our brave 
 forerunners, when a handsome young man sprung 
 upon our little platform and declared himself on the 
 people's side, and desired to be enrolled as a Chartist. 
 He did not belong to the poorest ranks ; and it was 
 the consciousness that he was acting in the spirit of 
 self-sacrifice, as well as his fervid eloquence, that 
 caused a thrilling cheer from the ranks of working 
 men. He could not be more than fifteen at that 
 time ; he passed away from us too soon, with his 
 father, who left Leicester, and I have never seen him 
 but once, all these years. But the men of Sheffield 
 have signalized their confidence in his patriotism by 
 returning him to the House of Commons ; and all 
 England knows if there be a man of energy as well as 
 uprightness in that house, it is Anthony John Mundella. 
 Our meetings were well attended, the number of 
 our members increased greatly, and all went well 
 until January, 1842, when the great hosiery houses 
 announced that orders had ceased, and the greater 
 number of the stocking and glove frames must stand 
 still. The sale, not only of the Northern Star, but of 
 my own Extinguisher, declined fearfully. Some of the 
 working men began to ask me to let them have bread 
 on credit ; and I ventured to do it, trusting that all 
 would be better in time. Our coffee-room was still 
 filled, but not half the coffee was sold. 
 
" COMMONWEALTHSMAN NEWSPAPER. I/I 
 
 One afternoon, without counselling me, some five 
 hundred of the men who were out of work formed a 
 procession and marched through the town at a slow 
 step, singing, and begging all the way they went. 
 It wrung my heart to see a sight like that in Eng- 
 land. They got but little, and I advised them never 
 to repeat it. 
 
 While difficulties increased, I gave up both the 
 sale of bread and the publication of my Extinguisher 
 for a few weeks. But several of the most neces- 
 sitous men declared they must perish if I did not 
 let them have bread. So I returned to the sale of 
 bread — but had to give it to some to prevent them 
 from starving. Of course I contracted debt by so 
 doing ; and I did it very foolishly. I would not do it 
 again ; at least, I hope I should not do it. I found 
 also that our cause could not be held together with- 
 out a paper. We had no organ for the exposure 
 of wrongs — such as the attempts of some of the 
 grinding ' masters ' to establish the Truck System, 
 extraordinary acts of ' docking ' men's wages, and 
 so on. 
 
 So I now issued another paper, and called it the 
 Commonwealthsman, and inserted in it the lives of 
 the illustrious Hampden, Pym, Sir John Eliot, Selden, 
 Algernon Sydney, and others of their fellow-strugglers 
 for freedom. I had a good sale for the earlier num- 
 bers — for they were sold for me by agents at Man- 
 chester, Sheffield, Birmingham, Wednesbury, Bilston, 
 
172 STARVATION AMONG THE PEOPLE. 
 
 Stafiford, and the Potteries. But trade grew bad in 
 other towns ; and the sale soon fell off. 
 
 In Leicester everything looked more hopeless. 
 We closed the adult school — partly because the fine 
 weather drew the men into the fields, and partly be- 
 cause they were too despairing to care about learning 
 to read. Let some who read this mark what I am 
 recording. We had not many profane men in our 
 ranks, but we had a few ; and when I urged them not 
 to forsake school their reply was, " What the hell do 
 we care about reading, if we can get nought to eat ? " 
 
 A poor framework-knitter, whom I knew to be as 
 true as steel, concealed the fact of his deep suffering 
 from me for several weeks, though I saw the change 
 in his dress, and knew that he must have pawned all 
 but the mere rags he was wearing. He was fre- 
 quently with me in the shop, rendering kindly help. 
 I spoke to him, one night, about his case ; but some 
 one came into the shop and interrupted me, and he 
 suddenly retired. At eleven o'clock, just before we 
 were about to close the shop, he came in hastily, laid 
 a bit of paper on my desk, and ran out. 
 
 On the bit of paper he revealed his utter destitu- 
 tion, and the starvation and suffering of his young 
 wife and child. On the previous morning, the note 
 informed me, his wife awoke, saying, " Sunday come 
 again, and nothing to eat ! " — and as the babe sought 
 the breast there was no milk ! 
 
 About the same time — I think it was in the same 
 
MY OWN FRENZIED FEELING. 1 73 
 
 week — another poor stockinger rushed into my house, 
 and, throwing himself wildly on a chair, exclaimed, 
 with an execration, — "I wish they would hang me! 
 I have lived on cold potatoes that were given me 
 these two days ; and this morning I've eaten a raw 
 potato for sheer hunger ! Give me a bit of bre^d, 
 and a cup of coffee, or I shall drop ! " I should not 
 like again to see a human face with the look of half 
 insane despair which that poor man's countenance 
 wore. 
 
 How fierce my discourses became now, in the 
 market-place, on Sunday evenings ! I wonder that 
 I restrained myself at all. My heart often burned 
 with indignation I knew not how to express. Nay — 
 there was something worse. I began — from sheer sym- 
 pathy — to feel a tendency to glide into the depraved 
 of thinking some of the stronger, but coarser spirits 
 among the men. It is horrible to me to tell such a 
 truth. But I must tell it. For if I be untruthful 
 now, I had better not have begun my Life-story. 
 
 The real feeling of this class of men was fully 
 expressed one day in the market-place when we were 
 holding a meeting in the week. A poor religious 
 stockinger said, — " Let us be patient a little longer, 
 lads. Surely, God Almighty will help us soon." 
 
 " Talk no more about thy Goddle Mighty ! " was 
 the sneering rejoinder. " There isn't one. If there 
 was one. He wouldn't let us suffer as we do." 
 
 Such was the feeling and language of the stronger 
 
174 MOUNT SORREL " CAMP-MEETING." 
 
 and coarser spirits ; and it was shared by such of the 
 Socialists as we had among us. Not that there was 
 ever any union of the SociaHsts with us, as a body. 
 They had a room of their own in Leicester, and 
 their leading men kept at a distance from us, and 
 even protested against the reasonableness of our hopes. 
 Indeed, to show us that we were wrong, they brought 
 Alexander Campbell and Robert Buchanan (the father 
 of Robert Buchanan the poet) to Leicester, to lecture 
 on their scheme of "Home Colonisation" and chal- 
 lenged us to answer them. I sustained the challenge 
 myself, as the champion for the People's Charter. 
 
 During the summer of 1842, I often led the poor 
 stockingers out into the villages, — sometimes on. 
 Sunday mornings, and sometimes on week day 
 evenings, — and thus we collected the villagers of 
 Anstey, and Wigston, and Glenn, and Countesthorpe, 
 and Earl Shilton, and Hinckley, and Syston,and Mount 
 Sorrel, and inducted them into some knowledge of 
 Chartist principles. One Sunday we devoted entirely 
 to Mount Sorrel, and I and Beedham stood on a pulpit 
 of syenite, and addressed the hundreds that sat around 
 and above us on the stones of a large quarry. It was 
 a Gwennap — Wesley's grand Cornish preaching-place 
 — on a small scale. 
 
 Our singing was enthusiastic ; and the exhilaration 
 of that Chartist "camp-meeting" was often spoken 
 of afterwards. Now and then, I preached Chartist 
 sermons on Nottingham Forest, — where at that time 
 
SONG: "THE LION OF FREEDOM." 1 75 
 
 there was another natural pulpit of rock ; but it was 
 seldom I had meetings there, though I liked the 
 place, the open air, and the people, who were proud 
 of their unenclosed " Forest," — unenclosed, now, no 
 longer — but thickly built upon. 
 
 As the poor Leicester stockingers had so little work, 
 they used to crowd the street, around my shop door, 
 early in the evenings ; and I had to devise some way 
 of occupying them. Sometimes I would deliver them 
 a speech ; but more generally, on the fine evenings, 
 we used to form a procession of four or five in a rank, 
 and troop through the streets, singing the following 
 triplet to the air of the chorus " Rule Britannia : " 
 
 " Spread — spread the Charter — 
 Spread the Charter through the Land ! 
 Let Britons bold and brave join heart and hand ! " 
 
 Or chanting the " Lion of Freedom," which I have 
 already alluded to, — the words of which were as 
 follows : 
 
 The Lion of Freedom is come from his den ; 
 We'll rally around him, again and again : 
 We'll crown him with laurel, our champion to be : 
 O'Connor the patriot : for sweet Liberty ! 
 
 The pride of the people — He's noble and brave— 
 A terror to tyrants — a friend to the slave : 
 The bright star of Freedom — the noblest of men ; 
 We'll rally around him, again and agaia. 
 
176 POPULARITY OF FEARGUS O'CONNOR. 
 
 Who strove for the patriots — was up night and day — 
 To save them from falhng to tyrants a prey ? 
 'Twas fearless O'Connor was dihgent then : 
 We'll rally around him, again and again. 
 
 Though proud daring tyrants his body confined, 
 They never could conquer his generous mind : 
 We'll hail our caged lion, now freed from his den : 
 We'll rally around him, again and again. 
 
 The popularity of this song may serve to show how 
 firmly O'Connor was fixed in the regard of a portion 
 of the manufacturing operatives, as the incorruptible 
 advocate of freedom. As a consequence, they im- 
 mediately suspected the honesty of any local leader 
 who did not rank himself under the banner of Feargus, 
 the leader-in-chief. 
 
 n 
 
POLITICAL HOPES OF THE TIME. 1 77 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : CORN-LAW 
 REPEALERS: 1 842. 
 
 Our singing through the streets, in the fine evenings, 
 often accompanied with shouts for the Charter, had 
 no harm in it, ahhough many of the shop-keepers 
 would shut up their shops in real, or affected, terror. 
 This only caused our men to laugh, since all knew 
 there was no thought of injuring anybody. 
 
 " But why did you sing ' Spread the Charter,' and 
 and why did you keep up your Chartist Association?" 
 the thinking reader will say. Had you any hope of 
 success .'' You yourself, and the men you led, must 
 have had some real or imaginary expectation of a 
 change." 
 
 If the reader be little acquainted with the political, 
 industrial, and social history of this country, I recom- 
 mend him to turn to an article entitled " Anti-Corn- 
 Law Agitation," which he will find in No. 141 of the 
 Quarterly Review, published Dec. 1 842. The article is, 
 of course, filled with the strongest spirit of antagonism 
 to the celebrated "Anti-Corn-Law League;" but it 
 will present the inquirer with a truthful and most 
 
 12 
 
178 CORN-LAW REPEAL AGITATION. 
 
 thrilling epitome of the state of things in the manu- 
 facturing districts at that period. 
 
 It was not simply a few poor ragged Chartists in 
 Leicester who were expecting a change. It was ex- 
 pected in all our industrial regions. Agitation, under 
 the influence of the powerful League, was rife all over 
 the Midlands and the Northern Counties. Manufac- 
 turers declared things could not go on much longer 
 as they were. They began to threaten that they 
 would close their mills, or, as the Tories interpreted 
 the threats, to try to precipitate a revolution ! The 
 speeches of Richard Cobden, Joseph Sturge, George 
 Thompson, and James Acland — not to mention a host 
 of less powerful agitators — had not only stirred up a 
 strong feeling of discontent, but had excited a con- 
 fident expectation of relief 
 
 Now thirty years have passed away, I see how 
 much poor Chartists resembled the fly on the wheel 
 during that period of political agitation. But men 
 far more experienced than my poor self thought that 
 Chartism would succeed before Corn Law Repeal ; 
 that a great change was at hand, and that the change 
 would not be Free Trade, but a great enlargement of 
 the franchise, and the accompanying political de- 
 mands embodied in the People's Charter. 
 
 We petitioned Parliament twice during the time 
 that I was in Leicester, and two petty Conventions 
 were held in London ; to the first of which one of 
 the members of the old Convention, Thomas Rayner 
 
FEARGUS O'CONNOR AS A LEADER. 1 79 
 
 Smart, was sent as our delegate from Leicester ; and 
 young Bairstow to the second. Buncombe and 
 Wakley supported the prayer of these Chartist peti- 
 tions very boldly and bravely. But there was nothing 
 in the behaviour of the vast majority of the House of 
 Commons that indicated any enlargement of the 
 franchise to be at hand. Yet we still held by the 
 People's Charter, and fondly believed we should suc- 
 ceed. 
 
 Feargus O'Connor, by his speeches in various parts 
 of the country, and by his letters in the Northern 
 Star, chiefly helped to keep up these expectations. 
 The immense majority of Chartists in Leicester, as 
 well as in many other towns, regarded him as the 
 only really disinterested and incorruptible leader. I 
 adopted this belief, because it was the belief of the 
 people ; and I opposed James Bronterre O'Brien, and 
 Henry Vincent, and all who opposed O'Connor, or 
 refused to act with him. 
 
 Common sense taught me that no cause can be 
 gained by disunion. And as I knew no reason for 
 doubting the political honesty and disinterestedness 
 which O'Connor ever asserted for himself, and in 
 which the people believed, I stuck by O'Connor, and 
 would have gone through fire and water for him. 
 There was much that was attractive in him when I 
 first knew him. His fine manly form and his power- 
 ful baritone voice gave him great advantages as a 
 popular leader. His conversation was rich in Irish 
 
l80 COMPLETE SUFFRAGE ASSOCIATION. 
 
 humour, and often evinced a shrewd knowledge of 
 character. The fact of his having been in the House 
 of Commons, and among the upper classes, also lent 
 him influence. I do not think half a dozen Chartists 
 cared a fig about his boasted descent from " Roderick 
 O'Connor, the king of Connaught, and last king of all 
 Ireland ;" but the connection of his family with the 
 " United Irishmen " and patriotic sufferers of the last 
 century, rendered him a natural representive of the 
 cause of political liberty. 
 
 I saw no honest reason for deserting him, and 
 getting up a " Complete Suffrage Association," if the 
 people who got it up veritably meant politically what 
 we meant as Chartists. The working men said there 
 was deceit behind their cry of " Complete Suffrage ; " 
 and I maintained their saying. For the demagogue, 
 or popular " leader," is rather the people's instrument 
 than their director. He keeps the lead, and is the 
 people's mouthpiece, hand and arm, either for good 
 or evil, because his quick sympathies are with the 
 people ; while his temperament, nature, and energetic 
 will fit him for the very post which the people's voice 
 assigns him. 
 
 Besides, we could not think of giving up our de- 
 mand for the People's Charter, to adopt the new cry 
 for " Complete Suffrage," when we remembered what 
 had occurred in Leicester before that cry was heard. 
 I can never forget the stirring shout that went up 
 from the voices of working men in one of our Chartist 
 
WHO SHARED CHARTIST OPINIONS. l8l 
 
 meetings in the New JHall, when the eloquent successor 
 of the great Robert Hall, the Rev. J. P. Mursell, 
 uttered the words, — 
 
 " Men of Leicester, stick to your Charter ! When 
 the time comes, my arm is bared for Universal 
 Suffrage ! " 
 
 It is true that Mr. Mursell never attended another 
 Chartist meeting, although he was eagerly enough 
 looked for, and his presence hoped for by our poor 
 fellows. 
 
 " Where's Parson Barearm ? " shouted one of the 
 merriest of them, on one of our meeting nights, while 
 the room rang with laughter. 
 
 Nor was it the Rev. Mr. Mursell alone, of the 
 middle-classes, who was known to sympathise with 
 us in our political creed. The Messrs. Biggs, Baines, 
 Viccars, Hull, Slade, and others, were understood to 
 regard the People's Charter as a fair embodiment of 
 popular rights, although they acted and voted with 
 the League. 
 
 I maintained union — but no mere factiousness. I 
 never suffered any meeting to be held by Chartists, 
 while I was leader in Leicester, to oppose the repeal 
 of the Corn Laws. It was a part of Chartist policy, 
 in many towns, to disturb Corn Law Repeal meetings. 
 I never disturbed one ; and never suffered my party 
 to do it. The Leicester Whigs said we did. But it 
 was a falsehood. We were called disturbers as soon 
 as we entered a meeting, and before we had spoken ! 
 
1 82 THE HONEST PART WE TOOK. 
 
 Of course, there was a policy in that ; but it was a 
 dirty policy. 
 
 When we were fairly permitted to take our part, 
 they saw what we meant. There was one large meet- 
 ing of the Corn Law Repealers, in the market-place, 
 that I remember well, where I and a few of my Char- 
 tist friends were allowed to be on the platform. I 
 interrupted no speaker, nor did a single Chartist utter 
 a word of disapproval. They finished their speeches, 
 and put their proposition to the vote. I held up my 
 hand, and cried to my own party who composed a 
 large part of the crowd, — "Now, Chartists!" and 
 every man of them held up his hand for Corn Law 
 Repeal. I then told the chairman that I should beg 
 leave to make another proposition, and I would not 
 take up much time in doing it. I then proposed a 
 resolution in favour of the People's Charter ; and the 
 chairman put it formally to the vote. Mr. Wm. 
 Baines, Mr. Slade, Mr. Hull, Mr. Joseph Biggs, and 
 three or four others on the platform, held up their 
 hands with the great body of working men, "On the 
 contrary ! " said the chairman ; and there was a 
 solitary hand held up. It was that of Mr. Tertius 
 Paget. I have no doubt he remembers it well — but 
 never mind ! He was a young man then. 
 
 To resume the broken thread of my narrative. 
 The decrease of work, and the absolute destitution of 
 an immense number of the working classes in Leicester, 
 led to alarming symptoms, in the summer of 1842. 
 
THE "EASTILE" riot IN LEICESTER. 1 83 
 
 The Union Poor House, or ' Bastile,' as it was always 
 called by the working men, was crowded to excess ; 
 and the throngs who asked for outdoor relief for a 
 time seemed to paralyse the authorities. A mill was 
 at length set up at the workhouse, and it had to be 
 turned by the applicants for relief The working of the 
 wheel they declared to be beyond their strength ; 
 and no doubt some of the poor feeble stockingers 
 among them spoke the truth. They complained of 
 it also as degrading, and it kindled a spirit of strong 
 indignation among the great body of working men in 
 Leicester. 
 
 Meetings were held in the market-place to protest 
 against the measures of the Poor Law Guardians, and 
 against the support afforded to them in their harsh 
 measures by the magistrates. And at these meetings 
 I and my Chartist friends were often speakers. The 
 labourers at the mill were only allowed a few pence 
 per day ; and about forty of them used to go round 
 the town in a body, and beg for additional pence at 
 the shops. At length they resisted one of the officials 
 set to watch them at the wheel, and this led to a riot, 
 in which the windows of the Union Poor House were 
 broken. Police, however, were soon on the spot : the 
 disorder was quelled, and the ringleaders taken into 
 custody. 
 
 The whole affair was utterly unconnected with our 
 Chartist Association. None of the men who were in 
 custody were on our books as members ; and they 
 
l84 I PLEAD THE RIOTERS' CAUSE. 
 
 might have been tried and dismissed, or imprisoned, 
 as the case might be, had it not been for the proposal 
 made to me by a man who had generally passed for 
 a Tory, but who suddenly came and offered his name 
 and his subscription, as a member of the Shaksperean 
 Chartist Association. 
 
 This was Joseph Wood, an attorney of low practice, 
 but well known in the town. He offered to conduct 
 the cases of the men who had been placed in custody 
 for the " Bastile Riot," as it was called, and who had 
 to be brought before the magistrates. Their relatives 
 and friends had no sooner accepted his offer, than he 
 sought a private interview with me, and proposed a 
 scheme which too well accorded with my excited 
 imagination and feelings. It was, that I should, in a 
 formal way, by the drawing up of an agreement and 
 signing it, become his clerk, that he might empower 
 me to conduct the poor rioters' cases before the 
 magistrates, myself And I did this, bullying and con- 
 founding the witnesses, and angering the magistrates, 
 by my bold defence of the offenders, for two whole 
 days. The market-place was thronged with crowds who 
 could not get into the over-filled magistrate's room 
 to hear the trials. And at last the magistrates did 
 — what, if they had been possessed of the brains and 
 courage of men, they would have done, at first — put 
 an end to my pleading, by declaring that I was not a 
 properly qualified representative of any attorney. By 
 their foolish cowardice and incompetence, the town of 
 
A TROOP OF HORSE SENT FOR. 1 85 
 
 Leicester was in more danger of a real " riot," than it 
 had ever been, by our harmless singing of the " Lion 
 of Freedom" through its streets. A troop of horse 
 was sent for from Nottingham to overawe the work- 
 ing men ; and the convicted " rioters " were sentenced 
 and sent to gaol. 
 
 For myself, the " destiny " was in progress. I was 
 elected as delegate from Leicester to the Chartist 
 Conference, or Convention, which it had been resolved 
 should be held in Manchester, on the i6th of August. 
 As I had some small accounts owing to me for my 
 Commonwealthsman, in Birmingham, Bilston, Wol- 
 verhampton, Stafford, and the Staffordshire Potteries, 
 I thought I would take that route to Manchester. 
 We had learned in Leicester that some of the colliers 
 were on strike in the Potteries, and that the whole 
 body of them had struck, in South Staffordshire, or 
 the " Black Country," and were holding meetings In 
 the open air, almost daily ; but I had no foresight of 
 danger in going among them. 
 
1 86 MEETINGS IN THE "BLACK COUNTRY." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CHARTIST, LIFE, CONTINUED : THE RIOT IN THE 
 STAFFORDSHIRE POTTERIES : 1 842. 
 
 I LEFT Leicester on Tuesday, the 9th of August, 
 1842, and lectured that night, in the Odd Fellows 
 Hall, Birmingham. The next morning I was taken 
 on to Wednesbury, to assist in holding a meeting of 
 the colliers on. strike, at which, it was thought, 30,000 
 men were present. Arthur G. O'Neill, Linney, Pear- 
 son, and others addressed the colliers, counselling them 
 to persevere with their strike ; and, above all things, 
 to avoid breaking the law or acting disorderly. I 
 addressed them on the necessity of uniting to win the 
 People's Charter. On Thursday night, I spoke on the 
 same subject to another meeting of colliers at Bilston. 
 On Friday morning, I addressed another meeting, in 
 the open air, at Wolverhampton ; and the same even- 
 ing, addressed two meetings at Stafford, one in the 
 market-place, and the other on the Freemen's Com- 
 mon. 
 
 The people, everywhere, seemed perfectly orderly. 
 A policeman, stimulated by the Tory party at Staf- 
 ford, tried to create disorder ; but I drew the people 
 
"THOU SHALT DO NO MURDER." 1 8/ 
 
 away from the market-place to the common, and 
 defeated their purpose. And all seemed perfectly- 
 quiet when I reached Hanley, the principal town of 
 the Potteries, on the Saturday. I saw nothing of the 
 colliers who were on strike ; and companied with the 
 Teetotal Chartists, whom I had known when I paid a 
 few days' visit to Hanley, in April preceding. 
 
 On Sunday morning, in company with these Char- 
 tist friends, I went and spoke in the open air at Fen- 
 ton, and in the afternoon at Longton. In the evening 
 I addressed an immense crowd at Hanley, standing 
 on a chair in front of the Crown Inn : such ground 
 being called "the Crown Bank," by the natives. I 
 took for a text the sixth commandment: "Thou 
 shalt do no murder " — after we had sung Bramwich's 
 hymn " Britannia's sons, though slaves ye be," and I 
 had offered a short prayer. 
 
 I showed how kings, in all ages, had enslaved the 
 people, and spilt their blood in wars of conquest, thus 
 violating the precept, " Thou shalt do no murder." 
 
 I named conquerors, from Sesostris to Alexander, 
 from Caesar to Napoleon, who had become famous in 
 history by shedding the blood of millions : thus vio- 
 lating the precept, " Thou shalt do no murder." 
 
 I described how the conquerors of America had 
 nearly exterminated the native races, and thus violated 
 the precept, " Thou shalt do no murder." 
 
 I recounted how English and French and Spanish 
 and German wars, in modern history, had swollen the 
 
1 88 MY SERMON ON THE TEXT. 
 
 list of the slaughtered, and had violated the precept, 
 " Thou shalt do no murder." 
 
 I rehearsed the plunder of the Church by Henry 
 the Eighth^, and the burning of men and women for 
 religion, by himself and his daughter, Mary — who 
 thus fearfully violated the precept, " Thou shalt do no 
 murder." 
 
 I described our own guilty Colonial rule, and still ' 
 guiltier rule of Ireland ; and asserted that British 
 rulers had most awfully violated the precept, ' Thou 
 shalt do no murder.' 
 
 I showed how the immense taxation we were forced 
 to endure, to enable our rulers to maintain the long 
 and ruinous war with France and Napoleon, had en- 
 tailed indescribable suffering on millions ; and that 
 thus had been violated the precept, " Thou shalt do 
 no murder." 
 
 I asserted that the imposition of the Bread Tax was 
 a violation of the same precept ; and that such was 
 the enactment of the Game Laws ; that such was the 
 custom of primogeniture and keeping of the land in 
 the possession of the privileged classes ; and that such 
 was the enactment of the infamous new Poor Law. 
 
 The general murmur of applause now began to 
 swell into loud cries ; and these were mingled with 
 execrations of the authors of the Poor Law. — I went on. 
 
 I showed that low wages for wretched agricultural 
 labourers, and the brutal ignorance in which genera- 
 tion after generation they were left by the landlords, 
 
THE EFFECT ON MY HEARERS. 1 89 
 
 was a violation of the precept, "Thou shalt do no 
 murder." 
 
 I asserted that the attempt to lessen the wages of 
 toilers under ground, who were in hourly and momen- 
 tary danger of their lives, and to disable them from 
 getting the necessary food for themselves and families, 
 were violations of the precept, " Thou shalt do no 
 murder." 
 
 I declared that all who were instrumental in main- 
 taining the system of labour which reduced poor 
 stockingers to the starvation I had witnessed in Lei- 
 cester, — and which was witnessed among the poor 
 handloom weavers of Lancashire, and poor nailmakers 
 of the Black Country — were violating the precept, 
 "Thou shalt do no murder." 
 
 And now the multitude shouted ; and their looks 
 told of vengeance — but I went on, for I felt as if I 
 could die on the spot in fulfilling a great duty — the 
 exposure of human wrong and consequent human suf- 
 fering. My strength was great at that time, and my 
 voice could be heard, like the peal of a trumpet, even 
 to the verge of a crowd^composed of thousands. How 
 sincere I was, God knows ! and it seemed impossible 
 for me, with my belief of wrong, to act otherwise. 
 
 I fear I spent so much time in describing the wrong, 
 and raising the spirit of vengeance in those who heard 
 me, that the little time I spent in conclusion, and in 
 showing that those who heard me were not to violate 
 the precept, "Thou shalt do no murder," either lite- 
 
190 CAUSE OF THE "PLUG PLOT. 
 
 rally, or in its spirit, but that they were to practise the 
 Saviour's commandment, and to forgive their enemies, 
 produced little effect in the way of lowering the flame 
 of desire for vengeance, or raising the spirit of gentle- 
 ness and forgiveness. 
 
 Before the conclusion of the meeting, which was 
 prolonged till dusk, I was desired to address the 
 colliers on strike, on the same spot, — "the Crown 
 Bank" — the next morning at nine o'clock. I agreed, 
 and instantly announced the meeting. 
 
 I was lodging at the George and Dragon, an inn 
 to which a large room was attached in which Chartist 
 meetings were usually held. When I reached my inn, 
 the members of the Chartist committee told me the 
 reason why they had urged me to announce the meet- 
 ing for nine o'clock the next morning. They had re- 
 ceived instruction from the Chartist Committee in 
 Manchester to bring out the people from labour, and 
 to persuade them to work no more till the Charter be- 
 came law — for that that resolution had been passed in 
 public meetings in Manchester and Stockport, and 
 Staleybridge, and Ashton-under-Lyne, and Oldham, 
 and Rochdale, and Bacup, and Burnley, and Black- 
 burn, and Preston, and other Lancashire towns, and 
 they meant to spread the resolution all over England. 
 
 "The Plug Plot," of 1842, as it is still called in 
 Lancashire, began in reductions of wages by the Anti- 
 Corn-Law manufacturers, who did not conceal their 
 purpose of driving the people to desperation, in order 
 
MEETING ON THE "CROWN BANK." IQI 
 
 to paralyse the Government. The people advanced 
 at last, to a wild general strike, and drew the plugs 
 so as to stop the works at the mills, and thus ren- 
 der labour impossible. Some wanted the men who 
 spoke at the meetings held at the beginning of the 
 strike to propose resolutions in favour of Corn Law 
 Repeal ; but they refused. The first meeting where 
 the resolution was passed, " that all labour should cease 
 until the People's Charter became the law of the land," 
 was held on the 7th of August, on Mottram Moor. 
 In the course of a week, the resolution had been 
 passed in nearly all the great towns of Lancashire, 
 and tens of thousands had held up their hands in 
 favour of it. 
 
 I constituted myself chairman of the meeting on 
 the Crown Bank, at Hanley, on Monday morning, the 
 15th of August, 1842, a day to be remembered to my 
 life's end. I resolved to take the chief responsibility 
 on myself, for what was about to be done. I told the 
 people so. I suppose there would be eight or ten 
 thousand present. I showed them that if they carried 
 out the resolution which was about to be proposed, 
 no government on earth could resist their demand. 
 But I told them that " Peace, Law, and Order " must 
 be their motto ; and that, while they took peaceable 
 means to secure a general turn-out, and kept from 
 violence, no law could touch them. 
 
 John Richards, who was seventy years of age and 
 had been a member of the First Convention, — the 
 
[92 MIDDLE-CLASS ALARM IN HANLEY. 
 
 oldest Chartist leader in the Potteries, — proposed the 
 Resolution, " That all labour cease until the People's 
 Charter becomes the law of the land." 
 
 A Hanley Chartist, whose name I forget, seconded it, 
 and when I put the resolution to the crowd all hands 
 seemed to be held up for it ; and not one hand was 
 held up when I said " On the contrary." Three cheers 
 were given for success, and the meeting broke up. 
 
 I went to my lodging at the George and Dragon, 
 to remain till the evening, when I should lecture in 
 the room, according to printed announcement. But I 
 had not been many minutes in the inn, before a man 
 came in with a wild air of joy, and said they had got 
 the hands out at such and such an employer's ; others 
 followed ; and then one said the crowd had gone to 
 Squire Allen's, to seize a stand of arms that had be- 
 longed to the Militia. And then another came, and 
 said the arms were at Bailey Rose's ; and they had 
 gone thither for them ; and then another said they 
 had done neither. 
 
 I strolled out and saw the shopkeepers shutting 
 all their shops up, and some putting day-books and 
 ledgers into their gigs, and driving off! I stepped 
 into the Royal Oak, a small public-house kept by 
 Preston Barker, whom I had known in Lincoln. A 
 man came in there whom I stared to see. It was my 
 old Italian instructor, Signor D'Albrione! He had 
 been settled in the Potteries for a short time, as a 
 teacher, — a fact I had no knowledge of. Men soon 
 
THE MESSAGE I SENT TO LEICESTER. 1 93 
 
 came in with more reports of what the crowd were 
 doing — but the reports were contradictory. 
 
 I went out into the street, and had not gone many 
 yards before I saw a company of infantry, marching, 
 with fixed bayonets, and two magistrates on horse- 
 back accompanying their officers, apparently in the 
 direction of Longton. Women and children came 
 out and gazed, but there was scarcely a male person 
 to be seen looking at the soldiers. I met a man 
 soon, however, who told me that the crowd, after visit- 
 ing Bailey Rose's, had gone to Longton, and no doubt 
 the soldiers were going thither also. 
 
 I passed to and fro, and from and to my inn, and 
 into the streets, viewing the town of Hanley as having 
 become a human desert. Scarcely a person could be 
 seen in the streets ; all the works were closed, and the 
 shops shut. I went again to my inn and wrote a 
 letter to Leicester, telling our committee that they 
 must get the people into the market-place and propose 
 the Resolution to work no more till the Charter be- 
 came the law of the land. Then there was the sudden 
 thought that I must not send such a letter through 
 the post-office. A Chartist came into the inn whom 
 the landlord said I might trust ; and he offered to 
 start and walk to Leicester with the letter at once. I 
 wrote another letter for my dear wife, gave the man 
 five shillings, and committed the two letters to his 
 care. He delivered them safely, the next morning 
 in Leicester. 
 
 13 
 
194 NIGHT MEETING ON THE CROWN BANK. 
 
 The day wore on, wearily, and very anxiously, till 
 about five in the afternoon, when parties of men 
 began to pass along the streets. Some came into my 
 inn, and began to relate the history of the doings at 
 Longton, which had been violent indeed. Yet the 
 accounts they gave were confused, and I had still no 
 clear understanding of what had been done. 
 
 By six o'clock, thousands crowded into the large 
 open space about the Crown Inn, and instead of 
 lecturing at eight o'clock in the room, the committee 
 thought I had better go out at once, and lecture on 
 the Crown Bank. So I went at seven o'clock to 
 the place where I had stood in the morning. Be- 
 fore I began, some of the men who were drunk, and 
 who, it seems, had been in the riot at Longton, came 
 round me and wanted to shake hands with me. But 
 I shook them off, and told them I was ashamed to see 
 them. I began by telling the immense crowd — for its 
 numbers were soon countless — that I had heard there 
 had been destruction of property that day, and I 
 warned all who had participated in that act, that they 
 were not the friends, but the enemies of freedom — 
 that ruin to themselves and others must attend this 
 strike for the Charter, if they who pretended to be its 
 advocates broke the law. 
 
 " I proclaim Peace, Law, and Order ! " I cried 
 at the highest pitch of my voice. " You all hear me ; 
 and I warn you of the folly and wrong you are com- 
 mitting, if you do not preserve Peace, Law, and Order!" 
 
ADVISED TO LEAVE THE POTTERIES. 195 
 
 At dusk, I closed the meeting ; but I saw the 
 people did not disperse ; and two pistols were fired 
 off in the crowd. No policeman had I seen the whole 
 day ! And what had become of the soldiers I could 
 not learn, I went back to my inn; but I began to 
 apprehend that mischief had begun which it would 
 not be easy to quell. 
 
 Samuel Bevington was the strongest-minded man 
 among the Chartists of the Potteries ; and he said to 
 me, "You had better get off to Manchester. You 
 can do no more good here." I agreed that he was 
 right; and two Chartist friends went out to hire a gig 
 to enable me to get to the Whitmore station, that 
 I might get to Manchester: there was no railway 
 through the Potteries, at that time. But they tried 
 in several places, and all in vain. No one would 
 lend a gig, for it was reported that soldiers and police- 
 men and special constables had formed a kind of 
 cordon round the Potteries, and were stopping up 
 every outlet. 
 
 Midnight came, and then it was proposed that I 
 should walk to Macclesfield, and take the coach there 
 at seven the next morning, for Manchester. Two 
 young men. Green and Moore, kindly agreed to ac- 
 company me ; and I promised them half-a-crown each. 
 " But first," said I, " lend me a hat and a great- 
 coat. You say violence is going on now. Do not let 
 me be mixed up with it. I shall be known, as I pass 
 through the streets, by my cap and cloak ; and some 
 
196 I CHANGE MY DRESS AND DEPART. 
 
 who see me may be vile enough to say I have shared 
 in the outbreak." 
 
 So Miss Hall, the daughter of Mr. Hall, the land- 
 lord of the George and Dragon, lent me a hat and 
 great-coat. I put them on, and putting my travelling 
 cap into my bag, gave the bag to one of the young 
 men, and my cloak to the other; and, accompanied 
 by Bevington and other friends, we started. They 
 took me through dark streets to Upper Hanley ; and 
 then Bevington and the rest bade us farewell, and the 
 two young men and I went on. 
 
DESTRUCTION IN THE POTTERIES. 1 97 
 
 CHAPTER XTX. 
 
 CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED: REMARKABLE 
 NIGHT JOURNEY : 1 842. 
 
 My friends had purposely conducted me through dark 
 streets, and led me out of Hanley in such a way that 
 I saw neither spark, smoke, or flame. Yet the rioters 
 were burning the houses of the Rev. Mr. Aitken and 
 Mr. Parker, local magistrates, and the house of Mr. 
 Forrester, agent of Lord Granville (principal owner 
 of the collieries in the Potteries) during that night. 
 Scenes were being enacted in Hanley, the possibility 
 of which had never entered my mind, when I so 
 earnestly urged those excited thousands to work no 
 more till the People's Charter became the law of the 
 land. Now thirty years have gone over my head, 
 I see how rash and uncalculating my conduct was. 
 But, as I have already said, the demagogue is ever the 
 instrument rather than the leader of the mob. I had 
 caught the spirit of the oppressed and discontented, 
 thousands, and, by virtue of my nature and constitution, 
 struck the spark which kindled all into combustion. 
 
 Nor did the outbreak end with that night. Next 
 morning thousands were again in the streets of Hanley 
 
19^ REMARKABLE SPECIAL PROVIDENCE. 
 
 and crowds began to pour Into the town from the sur- 
 rounding districts. A troop of cavalry, under the 
 command of Major Beresford, entered the town, and 
 the daring colHers strove to unhorse the soldiers. 
 Their commander reluctantly gave the order to fire ; 
 one man was killed, and the mob dispersed. But 
 public quiet was not restored until the day after this 
 had been done, and scores had been apprehended and 
 taken to prison. 
 
 Many days passed before I learned all this. I 
 must now call the reader's close attention to a few 
 facts which very closely concern myself, and show 
 that, amidst the fulfilment of the " destiny," an Ever- 
 present and All-beneficent Hand was guiding events, 
 and preventing a fatal conclusion to my error. My 
 friend Bevington, and those who were with him, 
 charged the two young men, Green and Moore, who 
 accompanied me, not to go through Burslem, because 
 the special constables were reported to be in the 
 streets, keeping watch during the night ; but to 
 go through the village of Chell, and avoid Burslem 
 altogether. 
 
 I think we must have proceeded about a mile in our 
 night journey when we came to a point where there 
 were two roads ; and Moore took the road to the right 
 while Green took that to the left. 
 
 " Holloa ! " I cried out, being a short distance be- 
 hind them, " what are you about } what is the mean- 
 ing of this .'' " 
 
QUARREL OF MY TWO GUIDES. I99 
 
 " Jem, thou fool, where art thou going to ? " cried 
 Moore to the other. 
 
 "Why, to Chell, to be sure!" answered Green. 
 
 " Chell ! thou fool, that's not the way to Chell : it's 
 the way to Burslem," cried Moore. 
 
 " Dost thou think I'm such a fool that I don't know 
 the way to Chell, where I've been scores o' times ? " 
 said Green. 
 
 " So have I been scores o' times," said Moore ; " but 
 I tell thee that isn't the way to Chell." 
 
 " I tell thee that I'm right," said the one. 
 
 " I tell thee thou art wrong," said the other. 
 
 And so the altercation went on, and they grew so 
 angry with each other that I thought they would fight 
 about it. 
 
 " This is an awkward fix for me," said I, at length. 
 " You both say you have been scores of times to Chell, 
 and yet you cannot agree about the way. You know 
 we have no time to lose. I cannot stand here listen- 
 ing to your quarrel. I must be moving some way. 
 You cannot decide for me. So I shall decide for my- 
 self. I go this way," — and off I dashed along the 
 road to the left, Moore still protesting it led to Bur- 
 slem, and Green contending as stoutly that it led to 
 Chell. 
 
 They both followed me, however, and both soon 
 recognised the entrance of the town of Burslem, and 
 wished to go back. 
 
 " Nay," said I, " we will not go back. You seem 
 
200 ARRAY OF SPECIAL CONSTABLES. 
 
 to know the other way so imperfectly, that, if we 
 attempt to find it, we shall very likely get lost alto- 
 gether. I suppose this is the highroad to Maccles- 
 field, and perhaps it is only a tale about the specials.' 
 
 In the course of a few minutes we proved that it 
 was no tale. We entered the market-place of Bur- 
 slem, and there, in full array, with the lamp-lights 
 shining upon them, were the Special Constables ! 
 The two young men were struck with alarm ; and, 
 without speaking a word, began to stride on, at a 
 great pace. I called to them, in a strong whisper, not 
 to walk fast — for I knew that would draw observation 
 upon us. But neither of them heeded. Two persons, 
 who seemed to be officers over the specials, now came 
 to us. Their names, I afterwards learned, were Wood 
 and Alcock, and they were leading manufacturers in 
 Burslem. 
 
 " Where are you going to, sir ? " said Mr. Wood to 
 me. " Why are you travelling at this time of the 
 night, or morning rather ? And why are those two 
 men gone on so fast ? " 
 
 "1 am on the way to Macclesfield, to take the early 
 coach for Manchester," said I ; "and those two young 
 men have agreed to walk with me." 
 
 "And where have you come from.?" asked Mr. 
 Wood ; and I answered, " From Hanley." 
 
 * But why could you not remain there till the morn- 
 
 ing r 
 
 " I wanted to get away because there are fires and 
 
THEIR LEADERS EXAMINE ME. 201 
 
 disorder in the town — at least, I was told so, for I 
 have seen nothing of it." 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Alcock had stopped the two young 
 men. 
 
 " Who is this man } " he demanded ; " and how 
 happen you to be with him, and where is he going to.^ 
 
 " We don't know who he is," answered the young 
 men, being unwilling to bring me into danger ; " he 
 has given us half-a-crown a piece, to go with him to 
 Macclesfield. He's going to take the coach there for 
 Manchester, to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Come, come," said Mr. Alcock, "you must tell us 
 who he is. I am sure you know." 
 
 The young men doggedly protested that they did 
 not know. 
 
 " I think," said Mr. Wood, " the gentleman had 
 better come with us into the Legs of Man " (the prin- 
 cipal inn, which has the arms of the Isle of Man for 
 its sign), "and let us have some talk with him." 
 
 So we went into the inn, and we were soon joined 
 by a tart-looking consequential man. 
 
 " What are you, sir ? " asked this ill-tempered- 
 looking person. 
 
 " A commercial traveller," said I, resolving not to 
 tell a lie, but feeling that I was not bound to tell 
 the whole truth. And then the same person put 
 other silly questions to me, until he alighted on the 
 right one, " What is your name .-' " 
 
 I had no sooner told it, than I saw Mr. Alcock 
 
202 I COME BEFORE A MAGISTRATE IN BED. 
 
 write something on a bit of paper, and hand it to Mr. 
 Wood. As it passed the candle I saw what he had 
 written, — " He is a Chartist lecturer." 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen," I said, instantly, " I am a Char- 
 tist lecturer ; and now I will answer any question you 
 may put to me." 
 
 " That is very candid on your part, Mr. Cooper," 
 said Mr. Alcock. 
 
 " But why did you tell a lie, and say you were a 
 commercial traveller ? " asked the tart-looking man. 
 
 " I have not told a lie," said I ; " for I am a commer- 
 cial traveller, and I have been collecting accounts and 
 taking orders for stationery that I sell, and a periodi- 
 cal that I publish, in Leicester." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Wood, " now we know who 
 you are, we must take you before a magistrate. We 
 shall have to rouse him from bed ; but it must be 
 done." 
 
 Mr. Parker was a Hanley magistrate, but had 
 taken alarm when the mob began to surround his 
 house, before they set it on fire, and had escaped to 
 Burslem. He had not been more than an hour in 
 bed, when they roused him with the not very agree- 
 able information that he must immediately examine 
 a suspicious-seeming Chartist, who had been stopped 
 i 1 the street. I was led into his bedroom, as he sat 
 in bed, with his night-cap on. He looked so terrified 
 at the sight of me — and bade me stand farther off, 
 and nearer the door ! In spite of my dangerous cir- 
 
HE EXAMINES AND DISMISSES ME. 203 
 
 cumstances, I was near bursting into laughter. He 
 put the most stupid questions to me ; and at his re- 
 quest I turned out the contents of my carpet-bag, 
 which I had taken from the young men, with the 
 thought that I might be separated from them. But 
 he could make nothing of the contents, — either of my 
 night-cap and stockings, or the letters and papers it 
 held. Mr. Wood at last said, — 
 
 " Well, Mr. Parker, you seem to make nothing out 
 in your examination of Mr. Cooper. You have no 
 witnesses, and no charges against him. He has told 
 us frankly that he has been speaking in Hanley ; 
 but we have no proof that he has broken the peace. 
 I think you had better discharge him, and let him go 
 on«his journey." 
 
 Mr. Parker thought the same, and discharged me. 
 His house was being burnt at Hanley while I was in 
 his bedroom at Burslem. I was afterwards charged 
 with sharing the vile act. But I could have put Mr. 
 Parker himself into the witness-box to prove that I 
 was three miles from the scene of riot, if the witnesses 
 against me had not proved it themselves. The young 
 men, by the wondrous Providence which watched over 
 me, were prevented going by way of Chell. If we 
 had not gone to Burslem, false witnesses might have 
 procured me transportation for life ! 
 
 Were these young men true to me .-• Had they 
 deserted me, and gone back to Hanley } No : they 
 were true to me, and were waiting in the street ; and 
 
204 A SECOND SPECIAL PROVIDENCE, 
 
 now cheerily took the bag and cloak, and we sped on 
 again, faster. We had been detained so long, how- 
 ever, that by the time we reached the " Red Bull," a 
 well-known inn on the highroad between Burslem 
 and the more northern towns of Macclesfield, Leek, 
 and Congleton, one of the young men, observed by his 
 watch that it was now too late for us to be able to 
 reach Macclesfield in time for the early coach. The 
 other young man agreed ; and they both advised that 
 we should strike down the road, at the next turning 
 off to the left, and get to Crewe — where I could take 
 the railway for Manchester. We did so ; and had 
 time for breakfast at Crewe, before the Manchester 
 train came up, when the young men returned. 
 
 A second special Providence was thus displayed in 
 my behalf. If we had proceeded in the direction of 
 Macclesfield, in the course of some quarter of an hour 
 we should have met a crowd of working men, armed 
 with sticks, coming from Leek and Congleton to join 
 the riot in the Potteries. That I should have gone 
 back with them, I feel certain ; and then I might have 
 been shot in the street, as the leader of the outbreak ; 
 or, if taken prisoner, I might have forfeited my. life. 
 
 Do not feel surprised, reader, when I say I feel cer- 
 tain I should have gone back with that crowd. How 
 rapid are our changes of mind and the succession of our 
 impulses and resolves, when we are under high excite- 
 ment, none can know, except by dread experience. 
 As we journeyed along that night, I was compelled 
 
CONFLICTING THOUGHTS IN THE JOURNEY. 20$ 
 
 to keep behind the young men, in order to do battle 
 with my own thoughts. If truth did not demand it, 
 I would hardly tell what tumultuous thoughts passed 
 through me. 
 
 "Was it not sneaking cowardice to quit the scene 
 of danger .'' Ought I not to have remained, and again, 
 on the following morning, have summoned the people 
 to hear me, and proclaimed 'Peace, Law, and Order' ? 
 
 " Or, what if like scenes should be transacting 
 in Lancashire and elsewhere, and this be really an 
 incipient Revolution — ought I not to have remained, 
 and displayed the spirit of a leader, instead of shun- 
 ning the danger ? 
 
 " Could I expect the people to take the advice I 
 had given them in the morning, and expect all to be 
 as quiet as lambs, when labour was given up ? Had 
 I not better turn back, and direct the struggle for 
 freedom .'' 
 
 " No : it was better to go on to the Manchester 
 Convention, and learn the truth about Lancashire, 
 and know the spirit of the leaders with whom I had 
 to act. O'Connor would be there ; and surely he 
 would not be deficient in courage, if he saw any real 
 opportunity of leading the people to win a victory for 
 the People's Charter. 
 
 " But, whatever others might do, if the report given 
 in respecting the spirit of the people, by members of 
 the Convention, showed that there was a strong resolve 
 to work no more till Right was done — I would fight 
 
206 MANCHESTER CHIMNEYS SMOKELESS. 
 
 if the people had to fight. Why not end the Wrong, 
 at once, if it could be ended ? " 
 
 When I entered the railway carriage at Crewe, some 
 who were going to the Convention recognised me, 
 — and, among the rest, Campbell, secretary of the 
 " National Charter Association." He had left London 
 on purpose to join the Conference ; and, like myself, 
 was anxious to know the real state of Manchester. 
 So soon as the City of Long Chimneys came in sight, 
 and every chimney was beheld smokeless, Campbell's 
 face changed, and with an oath he said, " Not a single 
 mill at work ! something must come out of this, anc 
 something serious too 1 " 
 
EVIDENT ALARM IN MANCHESTER. 
 
 207 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : MY FIRST TRIAL 
 AND ACQUITTAL: 1 842. 
 
 In Manchester, I soon found McDouall, Leach, and 
 Bairstow, who, together with Campbell, formed what 
 was called " The Executive Council of the National 
 Charter Association." They said O'Connor was in 
 Manchester, and they hoped he would be at a meet- 
 ing to be held that afternoon, at a public-house. He 
 came to the place, but said it was not advisable to 
 hold the Conference there : some better place must 
 be had for the evening ; and we had better separate. 
 We all thought he seemed frightened. 
 
 In the streets, there were unmistakable signs of 
 alarm on the part of the authorities. Troops of 
 cavalry were going up and down the principal 
 thoroughfares, accompanied by pieces of artillery, 
 drawn by horses. In the evening, we held a meet- 
 ing in the Reverend Mr. Schofield's chapel, where 
 O'Connor, the Executive, and a considerable number 
 of delegates were present ; and it was agreed to open 
 the Conference, or Convention, in form, the next 
 morning, at nine o'clock. We met at that hour, the 
 
208 MANCHESTER CHARTIST CONFERENCE. 
 
 next morning, Wednesday, the 17th of August, when 
 James Arthur of CarHsle was elected President. 
 There were nearly sixty delegates present ; and as 
 they rose, in quick succession, to describe the state of 
 their districts, it was evident they were, each and all, 
 filled with the desire of keeping the people from re- 
 turning to their labour. They believed the time had 
 come for trying, successfully, to paralyse the Govern- 
 ment. I caught their spirit — for the working of my 
 mind had prepared me for it. 
 
 McDouall rose, after a while, and in the name of 
 the Executive proposed, in form, that the Conference 
 recommends the universal adoption of the resolution 
 already passed at numerous meetings in Lancashire, 
 — that all labour shall cease till the People's Charter 
 becomes the law of the land. When the Executive, 
 and a few others, had spoken, all in favour of the uni- 
 versal strike, I told the Conference I should vote for 
 the resolution because it meant fighting, and I saw it 
 must come to that. The spread of the strike would 
 and must be followed by a general outbreak. The 
 authorities of the land would try to quell it ; but 
 we must resist them. There was nothing now but 
 a physical force struggle to be looked for. We must 
 get the people out to fight ; and they must be irre- 
 sistible, if they were united. 
 
 There were shouts of applause from a few, and 
 loud murmurs from others, — and up rose O'Connor. 
 
 " I do not believe," said he, " that there is a braver 
 
OPPOSITION OF THE SPEAKERS. 209 
 
 man in this Conference than Mr. Cooper ; and I have 
 no doubt that he would do what he proposes others 
 should do. But we are not met here to talk about 
 fighting. We must have no mention of anything of 
 the kind here. We are met to consider what can be 
 done to make the Charter the law of the land ; and 
 the general extension of the strike which has been 
 begun is proposed as the means to be used. Let us 
 keep to the resolution before the meeting." 
 
 In spite of O'Connor's protest, Mooney of Colne, 
 Christopher Doyle, and one or two other delegates, 
 stood up, and in a fiery style told the Convention 
 they were for the strike because they were for fight- 
 ing ; and they were glad I had spoken out — for the 
 strike really meant fighting. 
 
 But now uprose William Hill, who had been a 
 Swedenborgian minister, and so was often termed 
 •' Reverend " — but who had for some years been 
 O'Connor's servant, as editor of the Northern Star. 
 He admired, he said, the clear intelligence which had 
 led me to proclaim in so decided a manner that 
 the strike meant fighting ; but he wondered that so 
 clear an intellect should dream of fighting. Fight- 
 ing ! — the people had nothing to fight with, and 
 would be mown down by artillery if they attempted 
 to fight. The strike had originated with the Anti- 
 Corn-Law League, and we should simply be their 
 tools if we helped to extend or prolong the strike. 
 It could only spread disaster and suffering. He de 
 
 14 
 
2IO DISCUSSION ABOUT FIGHTING. 
 
 nounced the strike as a great folly and a mistake ; 
 and he moved a resolution that the Conference en- 
 tirely disapproved of it. 
 
 Richard Otley of Sheffield followed on the same 
 side. He was astonished, he said, to hear his friend 
 Cooper talk of fighting. How could I expect poor 
 starving weavers to fight .'' and what had they to 
 fight with } Had I calculated that if we endeavoured 
 to form battalions for fighting, the people would need 
 food and clothing — they would need arms and powder 
 and shot ; they would, very likely, have to bivouac in 
 the fields — anyhow, could I expect poor weavers to 
 do that ? It would kill them in a few days. 
 
 Nothing caused so much amazement in the Con- 
 ference as the speech of George Julian Harney. He 
 supported Editor Hill — even he, Julian, the renowned 
 invoker of the spirits of Marat, Danton, and Robes- 
 pierre, in the old Convention times ! — Julian, the 
 notorious advocate of physical force, at all times ! 
 
 "What! Julian turned 'moral-force humbug!' — 
 what will happen next .'' " was said by the advocates of 
 the strike. And yet, Julian had supported Editor 
 Hill in a very sensible manner; and a more 
 sincere or honest man than Julian, perhaps, never 
 existed. 
 
 There were only six votes in favour of Editor Hill's 
 amendment. O'Connor spoke late — evidently wait- 
 ing to gather the spirit of the meeting before he 
 voted with the majority, which he meant to do from 
 
APPEAL TO "THE GOD OF BATTLES." 211 
 
 the first. Yet he meant to do nothing in support of 
 the strike, although he voted for it ! 
 
 McDouall was a different kind of spirit. He 
 hastily drew up an exciting and fiercely worded 
 address to the working men of England, appealing to 
 the God of Battles for the issue, and urging a uni- 
 versal strike. He got Leach to print this before the 
 Convention broke up in the evening. The address 
 was brought into the Convention, and McDouall read 
 the placard ; but Editor Hill defiantly protested 
 against it ; and O'Connor moved that instead of 
 its being sent out in the name of the Convention, the 
 Executive should send it out in their own name. 
 McDouall said the Executive would do so — and the 
 Conference broke up. 
 
 The publication of the address, with the names of 
 the Executive appended to it, caused the police to 
 look after them very sharply. Campbell got off to 
 London, McDouall got away into Yorkshire, and 
 only Leach was left at his own home in Manchester, 
 where the police soon found him. Bairstow, I took 
 back with me to Leicester. We walked through 
 Derbyshire, as far as Belper, and then took the 
 railway. 
 
 I found Leicester in a state of terror and discou- 
 ragement. Before my letter from Hanley reached 
 them, the working men had taken their own resolution, 
 and held a meeting in the market-place, declaring 
 their adherence to the strike which had commenced 
 
212 APPREHENSION BY THE POLICE. 
 
 in Lancashire. They then withdrew to an elevation 
 in the neighbourhood of Leicester, which bears the 
 singular name of" Momecker Hill." Here they were 
 charged by the county police, and dispersed. It 
 often causes a laugh in Leicester, to the present time, 
 when old Chartist days are mentioned, and some one 
 says, "Were you at the Battle of Momecker Hill .'' " 
 
 Laughter was not perceptible in Leicester, when I 
 re-entered it. The police, I was told, had charged 
 the people in the streets, as well as upon Momecker 
 Hill, and smitten and injured several with their 
 staves. I called Chartist friends together, with great 
 difhculty ; and endeavoured to reassure them. And 
 then I issued a printed address to the magistrates of 
 Leicester, boldly reprehending them for dispersing 
 the people ; and assuring them that I should still 
 contend for the People's Charter. 
 
 I had not been one week at home, before the 
 Leicester police came and handcuffed me, and took 
 me to the Town Hall, where — in presence of Stokes, 
 the Mayor, who looked as white as a sheet, and never 
 spoke a word ! — I was handed over to the constable 
 of Hanley, who had come to apprehend me. We 
 reached Hanley at night, and I was taken to a "lock- 
 up," where a large, coarse fellow, who was set to 
 watch over me, put huge iron bolts on my ancles, 
 so that I could not sleep as I lay in my clothes on a 
 board. The next day I was taken to Newcastle- 
 under-Lyme, and brought before Mr. Mainwaring and 
 
EXAMINATION BY MAGISTRATES. 21 3 
 
 Mr. Ayshford Wyse, magistrates. Several witnesses 
 appeared against me ; and I saw what I must expect 
 when the real trial came. I had to complain of the 
 " leading questions " put to the witnesses, eliciting 
 replies which were damaging to myself. 
 
 " He proclaimed ' Peace, Law, and Order,' and 
 shouted it aloud," said one of the meanest of the wit- 
 nesses, with a laugh. 
 
 " But how did he say it .'' " asked Mr. Mainwaring ; 
 " did he say it as if he meant it } " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " cried Dirty Neck, as the fellow was 
 called in the Potteries ; " it was only iniiendoy 
 
 " Is there any particular statute against inuendo ? " 
 I asked the magistrate ; " would it not be strange, if 
 I were convicted of the crime of inuendo ? Do you 
 think it right, sir, to put answers into men's mouths 
 in this way t " 
 
 They committed me to Stafford Gaol, on the 
 charge of aiding in a riot at Hanley, etc. But I was 
 kept at Newcastle-under-Lyme until next day, Sun- 
 day — when, to my amazement, I was borne away in 
 an open carriage drawn by four horses, with a troop 
 of cavalry, having drawn swords, escorting me, to the 
 Whitmore station, on what was then called the 
 " Grand Junction Line," there being no railway 
 through the Potteries at that time, as I said before. 
 At the Whitmore station, the constable of Newcastle- 
 under-Lyme handcuffed me to his wrist, and took me 
 in the train to Stafford ; and so on Sunday evening, 
 
214 MY FIRST IMPRISONMENT, 
 
 the 28th of August, 1842, I first became a prisoner in 
 Stafford Gaol. 
 
 From that time till the commencement of the 
 Special Assizes, in October, eight hundred persons 
 were brought to Stafford Gaol, as participators in the 
 riot of the 15th August I was surrounded with a 
 score, and sometimes more, of these men, in the prison 
 ward, in the daytime ; but I slept alone. During 
 these six weeks, before I was brought up for my 
 first trial, and while surrounded with the colliers and 
 potters who were charged with sharing in the riots, I 
 composed several of the simple tales which will be 
 found in "Wise Saws and Modern Instances," pub- 
 lished in 1845. I ^Iso commenced my intended "Pur- 
 gatory of Suicides," in blank verse, and struck off one 
 hundred lines. But these were afterwards abandoned. 
 
 The day of trial came, the nth of October, before 
 Sir Nicholas Conyngham Tindal, Lord Chief Justice 
 of the Common Pleas : Sir William FoUett, the 
 Solicitor-General, and Mr. Waddington, being the two 
 prosecuting barristers. I had engaged Mr. Williams, 
 an honest Radical of the Potteries, as my attorney ; 
 and he engaged Mr. Lee, as the barrister to assist me 
 on law points only — as I had determined to conduct 
 my own case. William Prowting Roberts, the 
 " Chartist Attorney-General," as he was often called, 
 also kindly promised to assist me with advice. 
 
 I felt stunned, as if a person had given me a blow 
 on the head, when Roberts came to have a private 
 
AND FIRST TRIAL, AT STAFFORD. 21 5 
 
 interview with me in the prison, but a week before the 
 trial, and he told me I was to be tried for the alleged 
 crime of " arson," or aiding and abetting the burning 
 of Justice Parker's house. 
 
 " They are about to arraign you," he also said, 
 on the morning before the trial, "in company with 
 seventeen other prisoners. Now, if you permit that, 
 you are a lost man. Mind what I say : you have a 
 chance of a fair trial, if you do two things — first, you 
 must demand 'to sever,' that is, to be tried alone. If you 
 persist in your demand, you will gain it. Secondly, 
 you must 'challenge the Jury,' that is, you must 
 ask every Juryman, before he is sworn, whether he 
 has served on any trial during this Special Assize 
 — and then object to him, if he has so served, — for all 
 who have hitherto served are prejudiced men. Refuse 
 to plead either 'guilty' or 'not guilty,' before the 
 court grants you leave to sever and to challenge the 
 Jury." 
 
 I refused to plead until both demands were granted 
 me, although I was resisted, very sternly, by Sir 
 William Follett. Two or three witnesses swore that 
 they saw me arm-in-arm with William Ellis (whom 
 I had never known or seen in my life) walking to 
 the fire at Justice Parker's house. One witness, Mr 
 Macbean, surgeon of Hanley, gave his evidence in 
 a clear, honest, and intelligent manner ; but no one 
 else did. The Solicitor-General, both in addressing 
 the Jury and in cross-examining my witnesses, used 
 
2l6 SIR WILLIAM FOLLETT AGAINST ME. 
 
 great unfairness, as I thought. Once he made me 
 spring up and contradict him. 
 
 "My lord, and gentlemen of the Jury," he said, 
 in his very deep voice, "the prisoner at the bar is 
 declared by several witnesses to have said, while 
 addressing the crowd that had just returned to Han- 
 ley, after burning the house of the Reverend Mr. 
 Vale, at Longton, * My lads, you have done your 
 work well, to-day !' What work, gentlemen .<* Why 
 the destruction of property, to be sure " 
 
 " Sir William !" I cried out, " you are slaughtering 
 me ! You know it is false to say I meant they had 
 done their work well in destroying property. You 
 know that your most intelligent witness, Mr. Mac- 
 bean, declared the words were, ' You have done your 
 work well in turning out the hands!' And those 
 were the words : wrong or right, I shall not deny 
 them." 
 
 Moore, Green, Worthington, Sylvester, and others 
 of my own witnesses, not only proved my alibi, but 
 the later witnesses against me showed that I was at 
 Burslem, in Justice Parker's bedroom, at the time 
 that the earlier witnesses swore they saw me, arm- 
 in arm, with William Ellis, in the streets of Hanley ! 
 I occupied some two hours of the time of the Court 
 in delivering my own address. I dealt, first, with the 
 evidence of the witnesses and their contradictions ; 
 secondly, I told the truth about my alibi on the night 
 of the riots ; and thirdly, I sketched my own life, and 
 
SIR NICHOLAS TINDAL IN MY FAVOUR. 21/ 
 
 asked the Jury if they could believe any intent of 
 urging men to the destruction of property could dwell 
 in the mind of one who had spent so much of his life 
 in mental and moral cultivation ? 
 
 The Judge, it was observed by Roberts, who was 
 his kinsman, and knew him well, was much affected 
 with my address ; and some of the ladies who sat 
 near him shed tears. In summing up, the Judge told 
 the Jury, most positively, that they could not convict 
 me of the crime of arson ; that I certainly was at 
 Burslem, and not at Hanley, during the time that Mr. 
 Parker's house was on fire. The Jur}^ retired ; and, 
 after twenty minutes of agonizing suspense for myself, 
 gave in their verdict of " Not Guilty." 
 
 I was taken down into the " glory-hole," as the 
 felons call the filthy place under the Courts of Assize 
 in Stafford ; and there I first saw William Ellis, who 
 had just been sentenced to twenty-one years' trans- 
 portation, although, he assured me, most solemnly, he 
 was not at the fires. I was taken back to the prison, 
 and two days afterwards I was again taken, in the 
 prison-van to the Court, and arraigned again before Sir 
 Nicholas Conyngham Tindal — first for the crime of 
 conspiracy with William Ellis, Joseph Capper, and John 
 Richards ; and secondly, for the crime of sedition. 
 
 Again, kindly instructed by Roberts, I asked "to 
 traverse : " that is, to have my trial adjourned to the 
 next Assizes. Sir William Follett smiled with glad- 
 ness when he heard my request The ambitious, 
 
2l8 MY RELEASE ON BAIL. 
 
 hard-working, highly intelligent man was dying ; and 
 the fortnight's terrible work at Stafford, though he 
 was paid several thousands for it, hastened his end. 
 He readily consented, and Daddy Richards, as he 
 was always called in the Potteries, was also allowed 
 to traverse. But Capper would not traverse. 
 
 " I want to go whooam," said the obstinate old 
 man ; "try me and get done wi' me. I've done nowt 
 amiss." . 
 
 So they arraigned him, separately, on the charge of 
 sedition, and soon brought him in guilty, and sen- 
 tenced him to two years' imprisonment. I knew 
 when they had done that, that I should receive a 
 sentence of imprisonment also for two years, at some 
 future day. Daddy Richards and I were taken back 
 to prison ; and although we readily found friends — 
 substantial friends — who offered bail for us, the 
 Staffordshire magistrates threw all kinds of impedi- 
 ment in our way — evidently desiring to keep us in 
 prison. After five more weeks had passed we were 
 liberated. My first imprisonment had thus lasted 
 eleven weeks. 
 
MY RETURN TO LEICESTER. 2 IT 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : STURGE CONFERENCE : 
 SECOND TRIAL: 1 842 — 1 843. 
 
 I HAD a public entry into Leicester — a procession 
 round the town, with flags, — and all that sort of 
 thing ; but I saw, before the day was over, that all 
 had been going wrong in my absence. Duffy, an 
 excitable Irishman, who had suffered a long impri- 
 sonment for Chartism, and had so suffered that he 
 had become sad and soured, had formed a party with 
 a few turbulent men ; and two or three other petty 
 parties were opposed to these : in brief, all was dis- 
 cord and jealousy. My poor wife, too, who had 
 sustained her burden of trouble most heroically, had 
 gradually declined, till she was obliged to tenant her 
 bedroom only. 
 
 The election of Mr. Thomas Gisborne for Notting- 
 ham drew me away from home for a few days. It 
 was determined to give Thomas Slingsby Buncombe, 
 M.P., a public entry into Nottingham, — as the poli- 
 tical patron or advocate under whose persuasion 
 Mr. Gisborne was to be accepted by the Nottingham 
 electors. O'Connor wished me to meet him at Not- 
 
220 THOMAS SLINGSBY BUNCOMBE. 
 
 tingham, to do honour to Duncombe ; and so I went 
 over. Our Chartists joined the procession with their 
 flags, minghng friendHly with the other shades of 
 Liberals ; and O'Connor and I, adorned with rosettes, 
 led the horses of the open carriage in which Mr. 
 Duncombe entered Nottingham. He was in the 
 very prime of life, and I never saw a handsomer 
 man in form and figure ; nor could aught surpass, in 
 attractiveness, the winning smile he wore, and the 
 graceful way in which he acknowledged the hearty 
 and almost tumultuous welcome he received. 
 
 During Christmastide, at Leicester, Chartist divi- 
 sions were hushed, that we might make provision for 
 taking our part in what was afterwards called the 
 ' Great Birmingham Conference,' and by some the 
 ' Great Sturge Conference.' Since it was composed 
 of more than 400 persons, it might well bear a desig- 
 nation of importance. The leaders of the Complete 
 Suffrage party had met Lovett, Collins, O'Brien, and 
 other old Chartists who were not of O'Connor's party, 
 at Birmingham, in an earlier part of the year ; and it 
 had then been determined to hold a Conference on 
 a large scale of representation. 
 
 Leicester was privileged to return four delegates. 
 The Complete Suffrage party wished two of the 
 delegates to be chosen in a meeting composed of 
 parliamentary electors only ; and to leave the unre- 
 presented to elect the two other delegates. But this 
 did not meet the views either of Chartists or of 
 
STURGE CONFERENCE AT BIRMINGHAM. 221 
 
 working men generally. They forced their way into 
 the meetings called by the respectables ; and the 
 respectables disappeared. It was of their own re- 
 spectable good pleasure that they withdrew. If they 
 had remained, working-men would have voted for the 
 Rev. J. P. Mursell and Mr. William Baines, to be 
 delegates with Duffy and myself. But respectables 
 held our characters to be defective, and they would 
 not act with us. So we acted by ourselves. I and 
 Duffy and two other Chartists were voted delegates 
 for Leicester, and we went to Birmingham : no re- 
 spectables went. 
 
 Our Chartist delegates were the most numerous 
 party in the Birmingham Conference ; but my expec- 
 tation rose when I saw so many persons present 
 belonging to the middle class. I thought that if 
 such persons would assemble with us to confer about 
 presenting a petition to Parliament for making a law 
 whereby all mature men should have the franchise, it 
 showed we were really advancing. If the strike for 
 the Charter had ended almost as soon as it begun, 
 and had ended disastrously, — if neither we nor the 
 Anti-Corn-Law League had succeeded in paralysing 
 the government, — it looked as if there were a party in 
 the country who were determined yet to let the 
 Government understand that there was real cause for 
 discontent, and it was time the wrong should be 
 righted. 
 
 The truly illustrious Joseph Sturge was elected 
 
222 CONDUCT OF "COMPLETE SUFFRAGISTS." 
 
 chairman of the Conference, by acclamation — for not 
 a single working-man delegate in the meeting wished 
 for any other chairman. And now, if Mr. Sturge 
 himself, or Edward Miall, or the Rev. Thomas 
 Spencer, or the Rev. Patrick Brewster of Paisley, or 
 Mr. Lawrence Hey worth of Liverpool, or any other 
 leading member of the Complete Suffrage party 
 present, had risen in that assembly, and spoken 
 words of real kindness and hearty conciliation, I am 
 persuaded that not even O'Connor himself, if he had 
 desired it, could have prevented the great body of 
 working-men delegates from uttering shouts of joy. 
 
 But there was no attempt to bring about a union — 
 no effort for conciliation — no generous offer of the 
 right hand of friendship. We soon found that it was 
 determined to keep poor Chartists " at arm's length." 
 We were not to come between the wind and their 
 nobility. Thomas Beggs of Nottingham, a mere 
 secondary member of the Complete Suffrage party, 
 was put up to propose their first resolution, to the 
 effect,— That the " People's Bill of Rights " form the 
 basis from v/hich the petition should be drawn that 
 this Conference would present to Parliament. 
 
 But what was the " People's Bill of Rights " .? A 
 document which had been drawn up by a barrister, 
 it was said, at the request of the Complete Suffrage 
 party, in which the six points of our Charter were em- 
 bodied, and some definite propositions were made for 
 distributing the country into equal electoral districts. 
 
NOBLE CONDUCT OF WILLIAM LOVETT. 223 
 
 But Chartists knew nothing of all this. And it was 
 preposterous to ask us to vote for what we knew no- 
 thing of. Copies of the new bill were laid on the 
 tables. But who could be expected to read and digest 
 a mass of print amounting to many pages, in the lapse 
 of a few hours, or while listening to exciting speeches, 
 and then give a judgment on it .-' Murmurs of discon- 
 tent, and soon of indignation, began to arise — when 
 up rose William Lovett, throwing up his tall form to 
 its full height, and, with a glance of haughty defiance 
 towards the Complete Suffrage leaders, to our utter 
 amazement he led the attack upon them ! 
 
 If they had made up their minds, he said, to force 
 their Bill of Rights upon the Conference, he would 
 move that the People's Charter be the basis from 
 whence the petition should be drawn for presentation 
 to Parliament. He also openly charged the Com- 
 plete Suffrage party with unmanly secresy. "You 
 have not kept faith with me," he said ; " when I and 
 my friends met you, in this town, some months ago, 
 we were given to understand that no measures con- 
 trary to our views would be taken without our being 
 informed of it ; and now this resolution is proposed — 
 so contrary to fairness. If you will withdraw your 
 motion, I will withdraw mine ; and then we will en- 
 deavour to come to a fair agreement. If you refuse 
 to withdraw your resolution, I stand by mine as an 
 amendment." 
 
 Lovett's conduct won the hearts of all who were 
 
224 SPEAKERS IN THE CONFERENCE. 
 
 O'Connor Chartists, and, apparently, of O'Connor 
 himself — for he followed with a highly-spiced eulo- 
 gium on Lovett. But Lovett evidently did not ac- 
 cept his flattery. He was irreconciliably opposed to 
 O'Connor, as a mere trader on political agitation ; 
 and he was, constitutionally, too proud to bear the 
 thought of being under another's leadership. But 
 so far as parties could be distinguished in that Con- 
 ference, there were now but two. We had looked on 
 Lovett and his friends as a doubtful party when the 
 Conference was opened. All thought of that was 
 now gone ; and the debate soon began to be very 
 stormy — for the Complete S-ufTrage party stuck by 
 their " People's Bill of Rights," and we stuck by our 
 " People's Charter." 
 
 The best orator in the Conference was a friend of 
 Lovett's, utterly unknown to the great majority of 
 delegates. He was then a subordinate in the British 
 Museum, but has now, for many years, been known 
 to all England as the highly successful barrister, 
 Serjeant Parry. The Reverend Patrick Brewster 
 of Paisley distinguished himself by the length of his 
 speech ; and Mr. Lawrence Heyworth by his offen- 
 siveness. 
 
 " We will espouse your principles, but we will not 
 have your leaders," he cried; and when the outcry 
 against him grew strong, he grew still more offensive 
 — " I say again," he shouted, " we'll not have you — you 
 tyrants 1" 
 
THE SPEECH OF PARSON WADE. 22$ 
 
 The good chairman now interposed, and begged of 
 him not to proceed in that style ; or I think George 
 White, and Beesley, and a few others, who were heard 
 swearing roughly, would have been disposed to try 
 another and more conclusive way of arguing than mere 
 speech. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Spencer, a clergyman of the Com- 
 plete Suffrage party, was heard with kindly patience, 
 for he addressed us respectfully, though he did not 
 convince us. We had a clergyman on our side also — 
 a very great contrast, every way, to Mr. Spencer — but 
 well known for many years, among London Radicals, 
 as a very determined politician : the famous, fat 
 " Parson Wade," as he was always called. 
 
 " What is this ' Bill of Rights ' ? " he asked ; " this 
 mysterious something which we are expected to swal- 
 low — this thing begotten in darkness, and brought 
 forth in a coal-hole — this 
 
 'Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.' 
 
 This pig in a poke i* — What is it I say ? We know 
 nothing about it. And I wonder at the effrontery — 
 nay, sir, I tell you plainly I wonder at the impudence 
 of any party who can call together a Conference like 
 this, and mock us with such a proposition." 
 
 " I am a Chartist," he cried, in conclusion ; " I am 
 a whole hog ! and I don't care who knows it." 
 
 During the time that some prosy speaker was 
 occupying the Conference, or rather consuming their 
 
 15 
 
226 SEPARATION OF THE TWO PARTIES. 
 
 time, I fell into conversation with James Williams of 
 Sunderland. He expressed to me his regret that 
 something had not been done — even if the attempt 
 were unsuccessful — to bring back the Conference to 
 fairness. I told him it was too late — for it was now 
 far on, on the second day ; — but it would be well to 
 propose a resolution even if none voted with us. It 
 would be a protest for fairness, if it were no more. 
 So he moved, and I seconded, a proposition that both 
 People's Charter and People's Bill of Rights be laid 
 on the table, that they might form the basis of the 
 petition to be sent to Parliament by the Conference. 
 I do not think we had half a dozen supporters. It 
 was, as I said, too late. Chartists were not likely to 
 give way under such circumstances. To abandon 
 their Charter, for which so many of them had suffered 
 imprisonment, and for which all had endured scorn 
 and persecution — in order to accept a proposition so 
 offensively advocated by some, and so irrational in its 
 suddenness — could not be expected of them. 
 
 When the decisive vote was taken, we were appa- 
 rently as three to one ; and Joseph Sturge, after a 
 little hesitation, rose and told us that he and his 
 friends had come to the determination to leave us : 
 they would withdraw, and hold a Conference by them- 
 selves. All was tumult for a time. An independent 
 Quaker, from the Isle of Wight, protested, and said 
 he would not withdraw. The Rev. H. Solly, of Yeovil, 
 also refused to withdraw. And Arthur O'Neill, though 
 
THE CHARTISTS SIT BY THEMSELVES. 22/ 
 
 no O'Connorite, stuck by us, like a true-hearted par- 
 tisan of the side of the poor, as he has always been. 
 Henry Vincent, with his characteristic modesty, never 
 opened his lips in the Conference ; and, with his pro- 
 verbial attachment to respectability, withdrew with 
 the Complete Suffrage party ! 
 
 What a wretched look did the face of good Joseph 
 Sturge wear as he uttered his last words to us, and 
 stepped down from the chair ! 
 
 "Cooper," said O'Connor to me, "that man is 
 not happy. He does not want to leave us." And I 
 thought so too. 
 
 Mr. Patrick O'Higgins of Dublin, an old associate 
 of Feargus — (there was a rumour, once, that he was 
 to marry O'Connor's sister) — was proposed by O'Con- 
 nor as our chairman, and Lovett as our secretary ; 
 and we prepared to continue the Conference ; but we 
 felt wearied, although there was a deal of talk. 
 
 I asked Lovett, openly, if we might expect him to 
 join us heartily in our effort to get the Charter ; but 
 he told us, unhesitatingly, that he meant to abide by 
 his own plans ; and unless we accepted them he could 
 not join us. Not a man of the O'Connorite party felt 
 disposed to do this ; so my attempt to conciliate 
 Lovett failed. He and Parry, and his other friends, 
 left us before the Conference was formally concluded ; 
 and we retired to a smaller room, where I proposed a 
 plan of organisation, with a view of strengthening our 
 members ; but the Executive opened a quarrel with 
 
228 ALL ENDS IN DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 O'Connor ; and soon it was all quarrel and confusion, 
 and we came to a conclusion without any form at all. 
 
 When my plan of organisation was published, 
 Editor Hill proposed his. Letters followed in the 
 Northern Star ; and a fuss was made about " Organisa- 
 tion " for a time ; but no real and effective organisa- 
 tion ever took place. That Birmingham Conference 
 ruined the prospects of Chartists ; and the Complete 
 Suffrage party never made any headway in the 
 country. The middle and working classes could form 
 no union for winning the broad franchise ; and so the 
 expectation of winning it grew faint and fainter. 
 
 The months of January and February, 1843, passed 
 away very drearily. I was in debt to John Cleave for 
 copies of the Northern Star and other periodicals ; I 
 was in debt to Warwick, my printer ; I was in debt 
 to my baker, for bread given away to the poor ; I 
 was in debt to the lawyer who had prepared my case 
 for defence and perfected my bail. And the divisions 
 which had sprung up rendered it difficult for me to 
 keep the Chartist party together — although Markham, 
 the old leader, now, in the time of my trouble, showed 
 himself friendly. 
 
 It was proposed to raise money for the law expenses 
 by the performance of a play. So we hired the 
 Amphitheatre, and I took the part of Hamlet — as 
 I knew the whole play by heart. We performed the 
 play twice ; but I found it useless to proceed further 
 in that direction : the amphitheatre, which, as I have 
 
MY SECOND TRIAL AT STAFFORD. 229 
 
 already said, held 3,000 people, was crowded to excess, 
 each night ; but the people who went on the stage 
 as actors and actresses, all demanded payment, both 
 for the cost of their dresses and their time, and so 
 the income hardly covered expenses. 
 
 I was glad when we reached the month of March, 
 1843, and the Spring Assizes at Stafford drew near. 
 The Judge, this time, was the Hon. Sir Thomas 
 Erskine ; and the Counsel arrayed against myself, 
 and Daddy Richards, and Capper (for Ellis was al- 
 ready across the sea), were, Serjeant Talfourd, M.P., 
 Mr. Godson, M.P. for Kidderminster, Mr. Richards, 
 an elderly barrister, and young Mr. Alexander. 
 
 My second trial commenced on my birthday, 
 March 20th, 1843. I was angered greatly when I 
 found that the Hanley lawyers and magistrates had 
 resolved, in this my second trial, to revive the old, 
 vilely false charge of " arson," — although I had been 
 acquitted of the charge after a full trial, where I had 
 the most powerful pleader at the bar against me, and 
 the best lawyer on the Bench for my Judge ! 
 
 I would have no counsel; nor had I the slightest 
 legal assistance this time. I was sole lawyer and 
 sole counsel for myself and also for my companions in 
 trouble. The trial began on Monday morning, and I 
 exerted all my strength up to Saturday at noon 
 in cross-examining the witnesses brought against us, 
 and making them contradict themselves — for some 
 of them were the very scum of the Potteries for bad 
 
230 MY DEFENCE FOR TEN HOURS. 
 
 character, and would have sworn away any man's 
 Hfe for a few shillings. Major Beresford was the 
 last witness brought up against us ; and I was sur- 
 prised when they told me there were no more wit- 
 nesses to appear, as the list they gave me before the 
 trial contained several other names. 
 
 The Court broke up for an hour, and then I had 
 to begin my defence. I had only half finished when 
 the usual time came for closing the Court ; and so I 
 had to resume on Monday morning — making about 
 ten hours altogether for my defence. I do not think 
 that I ever spoke so powerfully in my life as during 
 the last hour of that defence. The peroration, the 
 Stafford papers said, would never be forgotten ; and 
 I remember, as I sat down, panting for breath and 
 utterly exhausted, how Talfourd and Erskine and the 
 Jury sat transfixed, gazing at me in silence ; and the 
 whole crowded place was breathless, as it seemed, 
 for a minute. 
 
 The witnesses on our side were not subjected to 
 much cross-examination, except my friend Beving- 
 ton ; but his intelligence and perfect self-possession 
 brought him easily through. The Judge and Counsel 
 and Jury were all wearied, and hastened to come to 
 an end. Judge Erskine took nearly the whole of 
 Tuesday to sum up ; and first told the Jury that he 
 should not read to them that part of his notes which 
 recorded the evidence that I was present at the fires — 
 unless they wished it to be read — but should write 
 
REAL TRIUMPH OVER VILLAINY. 23 1 
 
 Mistake on all the pages, instead. The Jury conferred 
 together a few moments, and desired him to write 
 Mistake. I felt this to be a great triumph — for God 
 had delivered me from the snare of those who still 
 hoped they should get me sent over the sea ; and I 
 was declared innocent of the charge of felony ! 
 
 We were, of course, declared Guilty of the crimes 
 of Sedition and Conspiracy ; but the good, kind- 
 hearted Erskine said, that, since our case had been 
 removed by " Writ of Certiorari " to the Court of 
 Queen's Bench when we traversed, he should not pro- 
 nounce sentence, but leave that to the Chief Justice 
 and Judges of that Court. So again John Richards 
 and I went back to our homes, by virtue of our 
 bail 
 
232 FAREWELL TO LEICESTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PLEADING IN THE COURT OF QUEEN'S BENCH: 
 CHARTIST PRISONER LIFE : 1 843. 
 
 And now the most heartrending trial I had ever to 
 meet in my life was at hand. My poor dear wife was 
 in a very dangerous state, worn almost to a skeleton, 
 always in bed, and incapable of helping herself ; and 
 I had to leave her in that state on the 2nd of May — 
 for we were summoned to appear in London to receive 
 sentence on the 4th. I had told her that I expected 
 two years' imprisonment, because they had given 
 Capper that sentence. One of her sisters, with other 
 women, who stood around her bed, as I stooped to 
 give her, as I expected, the last token of love in this 
 life, burst into an exclamation of amazement, as they 
 saw her glance upwards and smile, with an expression 
 that meant, " We shall meet in heaven ! " 
 
 I spoke in the market-square of Northampton on 
 the evening of the 2nd of May, and in the John Street 
 room, in London, on the evening of the 3rd. On the 
 morning of the 4th, in the court of Queen's Bench, 
 O'Connor, Harney, Doyle, Leach, Bairstow, Hill, 
 Parkes, Arran, Railton, Brooks, James Arthur, and 
 
SEVERITY OF LORD DENMAN. 233 
 
 several other members of the Manchester Convention, 
 and I with them, were first arraigned, and bound in 
 ;^ioo each to keep the peace, and appear again when 
 summoned, and then dismissed. Next, Daddy Richards 
 and I (for Capper was safe in Stafford Gaol, and Ellis 
 was sent across the sea) were re-arraigned, as convicted 
 of sedition and conspiracy, before Lord Denman (the 
 Lord Chief Justice of the Queen's bench), Sir John 
 Patteson, and Sir John Williams ; and we were directed 
 to plead "in mitigation of judgment, or sentence." 
 
 Sir Frederick Pollock and Serjeant Talfourd were 
 in court all day ; but Sir William Follett was only 
 called in, from the House of Commons, just at the 
 close. O'Connor, Wheeler, Skevington of Lough- 
 borough, and a great band of Chartists, were also 
 in court, all day, and witnessed all the proceedings. 
 Judge Patteson and Judge Williams read Judge 
 Erskine's notes of our trial ; and again, it was read 
 out that " Mistake " was written on the evidence for 
 felony, by the judge, at the request of the jury. 
 When they had finished the reading of Judge Erskine's 
 notes, I began to plead, and referred to printed proofs 
 that the outbreak originated with the Anti-Corn-Law 
 League ; but was interrupted by Lord Denman, who 
 told me that I had said all that at Stafford, and need 
 not repeat it now. I recommenced ; but again he 
 interrupted me, saying, very angrily, — 
 
 " We cannot have the time of this court taken up 
 with mere repetitions of what you said at Stafford. 
 
234 OLD DADDY RICHARDS' SPEECH. 
 
 You are here simply to plead in mitigation of judg- 
 ment — and so, go on, sir ! " 
 
 The last words were spoken with such haughty- 
 harshness, that I burst into tears. I had been taught 
 to worship this man, all my life. He was Brougham's 
 coadjutor in the defence of poor Queen Caroline, and 
 bore so high a name for patriotism, liberality, and 
 uprightness, that my sensitive nature felt his words 
 as if my mother had chidden me. 
 
 " My lord," I said in a broken voice, " is that 
 worthy of yourself — of the name of Denman .-' I can- 
 not address the Court, if your lordship speaks to me 
 in that manner. Will you allow John Richards to go 
 on, and let me address the Court when h^ has done .'' " 
 
 " If you like ! " said the Lord Chief Justice, in the 
 same haughty tone. 
 
 So I sat down, and Daddy Richards went on, and 
 very admirably, too — for the old man had fine native 
 powers, and spoke with a little stateliness that was 
 very becoming to a white-headed, large-foreheaded 
 man of threescore and ten. He told the Court that 
 he learnt his first lessons in patriotism and politics 
 from " the Right Honourable Charles James' Fox, 
 and the Right Honourable William Pitt." He gave 
 a really clever sketch of the progress of opinion in 
 politics during his own time — strongly set forth the 
 broken promises of the Whig Ministry and its sup- 
 porters — and argued well for the People's Charter ; in 
 conclusion, telling the Lord Chief Justice, to his face, 
 
WE RECEIVE OUR SENTENCES. 235 
 
 that his lordship's doings in the past had greatly- 
 helped the progress of Chartism. 
 
 " My lords," said the fine old man, " I have spent 
 my life in the good old cause of freedom, and I be- 
 lieve still that it will prevail. I am seventy years 
 old ; but I shall live to see the People's Charter be- 
 come the law of the land yet ! " 
 
 The Judges smiled, and O'Connor and the Char- 
 tists looked as if they could have liked to give the old 
 Daddy thnie cheers. I resumed when the old man 
 concluded — I think about one o'clock ; and I went on 
 till five, and then asked if I might conclude my plea 
 on the morrow. 
 
 Lord Denman eyed me with cruel archness this 
 time, and, with a grim mocking smile, said, — "We 
 mean to hear you out to-night." 
 
 So he beat me out of my naughty design of making 
 them sit two days ; and in another hour and a half I 
 concluded. 
 
 Sir William Follett was now summoned from the 
 House of Commons to address the Court. 
 
 " My lords," said he, " I entreat you to pass a se- 
 vere sentence on the prisoner Cooper : you will pro- 
 bably have some consideration for the advanced age 
 of the prisoner Richards." 
 
 Sir John Patteson, the large dark-eyed, and large- 
 horned Judge — for he was deaf, and wore huge hear- 
 ing horns — ^had to pronounce sentence ; and he 
 spoke to us with admirable courtesy — but sentenced 
 
236 OASTLER AND THE QUEEN'S PRISON, 
 
 me to two years', and John Richards to one year's, 
 imprisonment in Stafford GaoE 
 
 I sprang up immediately, and begged, before the 
 Court was broken up that the Judges would allow 
 me literary privileges during my imprisonment — as 
 the chaplain of Stafford Gaol had forewarned me that 
 if I came there again as a convicted offender, I could 
 have nothing but the Bible and Prayer Book to read, 
 and could not be allowed to write or receive a letter, 
 or make use of pen, ink, and paper; since all that 
 was contrary to the rules of the prison. 
 
 " We have no control over the rules of any gaol in 
 the kingdom," replied the Lord Chief Justice, as 
 haughtily as ever ; " at present you are committed 
 to the custody of the Marshal of the Marshalsea — so 
 get down, sir ! " 
 
 We remained only one week in the Queen's Prison 
 — " Queen's Bench Prison " as it used to be called. 
 Richard Oastler then occupied what the prisoners 
 called " the state-room " ; and I and Daddy Richards 
 dined with him on the Sunday. Mr. Oastler wrote to 
 Lord Kenyon to intercede with Lord Denman, and 
 get him to express his wish to the Stafford magis- 
 trates that I should be allowed the literary privileges 
 I had asked for ; but Denman sternly refused. 
 
 We were suddenly told, at ten o'clock on the night 
 before we left the Queen's Prison, that we were to be 
 taken to Stafford at six the next morning. I neither 
 took off my clothes, 'nor slept, that night ; but passed 
 
RETURN TO STAFFORD GAOL. 237 
 
 it in busily revolving the events of the last two years 
 of my life, and resolving that I would turn the two 
 years' imprisonment into a fresh start for an honour- 
 able life, or die, I vowed that I would break down 
 the system of restraint in Stafford Gaol, and win the 
 privilege of reading and writing, or end my life in the 
 struggle. I thought I should never see my dear wife 
 again : she would die before I left the prison, and so 
 I need not be careful of my life on her account. And 
 if I could not write the poem on which I believed my 
 whole future on earth depended — if it were to be 
 honourable — it was not worth enduring two years' 
 dismal and unrelieved imprisonment, to come out in 
 rags and with a ruined constitution. 
 
 My resolution was at once put to the test when we 
 reached Stafford Gaol again. My box, in which I had 
 a considerable number of books, was taken from me, 
 and one of the turnkeys demanded the key to it. I 
 refused to give it him ; and he said he must take it 
 from my pocket. 
 
 . " Do, if you dare," said I ; "if you attempt it, I'll 
 knock your teeth down your throat ! " — and I said it 
 in such a way that he slunk aside, and said no more. 
 
 We were put into the same day-room with Capper ; 
 and for the first few weeks we all three slept in one 
 room. Very soon, we were placed in separate sleep- 
 ing cells. Each cell had a stone floor; was simply 
 long enough to hold a bed, and broad enough for one 
 to walk by the side of it. An immense slab of cast 
 
238 SEVERE TREATMENT IN PRISON. 
 
 iron formed the bedstead, and it rested on two large 
 stones. A bag stufifed so hard with straw that you 
 could scarcely make an impression on it with your 
 heel formed the bed. Two blankets and a rug com- 
 pleted the furniture. There was no pillow ; but 
 remembering that, from my former imprisonment, I 
 had brought in with me a small Mackintosh pillow, 
 which I could blow up and put under my head. The 
 best thing I had was a very large and very heavy 
 camlet travelling cloak. If I had not brought this 
 with me, I could not have slept in that cell during the 
 winter without becoming a cripple for life, or losing 
 my life. 
 
 The prison-bell rang at half-past five, and we were 
 expected to rise and be ready to descend into the 
 day-yard at six. At eight, they brought us a brown 
 porringer, full of "skilly" — for it was such bad un- 
 palatable oatmeal gruel, that it deserved the name — 
 and a loaf of coarse, dark-coloured bread. At twelve 
 at noon, they unlocked the door of our day-room, and 
 threw upon the deal table a netful of boiled pota- 
 toes, in their skins, and a paper of salt — for dinner. 
 At five in the evening, they brought us half a porrin- 
 gerful of " skilly ; " but no bread. At six, we were 
 trooped off, and locked up in our sleeping cells for the 
 next twelve hours. 
 
 I demanded better food ; and was told I could not 
 have it. I asked to write to my wife, and receive a 
 letter from her; but still they refused. One day I 
 
I BEGIN TO TRY TO MEND IT. 239 
 
 slipped past one of the turnkeys, as he unlocked our 
 day-room door, ran along the passages, and got to 
 the door of the governor's room, and thundered at it 
 till he came out in alarm. 
 
 " Give me food that I can eat," I said ; " or some 
 of you shall pay for it." 
 
 " Go back — ^get away to your day-room," cried the 
 governor. 
 
 " I will, if you will give me something to eat," I 
 said. 
 
 " Here — come here, and take him away ! " cried 
 the governor to two of the turnkeys who had just 
 then appeared, but who looked sorely affrighted. 
 
 " I'll knock the first man down who dares to touch 
 me," said I ; and the turnkeys stood still. 
 
 The governor burst into laughter, for he saw they 
 were plainly in a fix. 
 
 " What d'ye want to eat. Cooper .-* " said he, in a 
 gentle tone ; " tell me, and I'll give it you." 
 
 " All I want of you, at present," said I, " is a cup of 
 good coffee, and a hearty slice of bread and butter. 
 When I can speak to the magistrates, I shall ask for 
 something more." 
 
 And I did ask the magistrates ; but they would not 
 yield. So I led the officers of the prison a sorely 
 harassing life, poor fellows ! I was ever knocking at 
 the door, or shattering the windows, or asking for the 
 surgeon or governor, or troubling them in one way or 
 other. I had not gone to the gaol chapel since my 
 
240 I SEIZE THE GAOL CHAPLAIN. 
 
 return to Stafford. I refused to do so ; because when 
 I was in the gaol during those eleven weeks, we 
 Chartist prisoners had to be locked up in a close box 
 while we were in the chapel, and look at the chaplain 
 through iron bars. I said I would not be treated in 
 that degrading way, and refused to go. But when 
 we had been about a month in the gaol, the second 
 time, Capper said to me one day as they returned from 
 the chapel, — ' You should go to the chapel now ; they 
 have taken us out of the lock-ups, and we sit in the 
 open chapel, along with the short-timers, now." 
 
 I made no reply to Capper ; but what he said 
 raised a resolve in my mind at once. He told me 
 this on a Wednesday ; but Friday was also a chapel 
 day. So when the Friday came, I took one of the 
 prayer-books in my hand, and placed myself next the 
 door, to be ready to step out in a moment, when the 
 turnkey opened it, and said, " Chapel !" 
 
 He unlocked the door ; and, before he could say 
 " Chapel," he stammered, in surprise, " Axejou going, 
 to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I, and stepped past him in a moment. 
 Capper and Richards took their seats in the open 
 part of the chapel, facing the pulpit, and I sat down 
 beside them, keeping my eyes strictly fixed on the 
 open door, where the chaplain must enter. I no 
 sooner caught sight of his white surplice, than I 
 bounded forward, and seizing him by the arm, just 
 as he was about to step up into the pulpit, I cried, — 
 
I TRY A BOMBARDMENT. 24 1 
 
 " Are you a minister of Christ ? If you be, see 
 me righted. They are starving me, on skilly and 
 bad potatoes ; and they neither let me write to my 
 wife, or receive a letter from her — if she be alive ! " 
 
 The poor chaplain shook like an aspen leaf, and 
 stared at me with open mouth, but could not 
 speak ! 
 
 " D'ye hear, man .'* " I cried, shaking him by the 
 arm — " Will you see me righted, I say .'' " 
 
 " He's mad ! — he's mad ! " gasped the poor chap- 
 lain ; "take him off! take him away !" 
 
 Four of the turnkeys seized me by the legs and 
 arms, and bore me away, while I made the chapel 
 and vaulted passages ring with my shouts of " Mur- 
 der ! murder ! " 
 
 This violence exhausted me greatly ; and the 
 surgeon prescribed some extra food. I think it was 
 two boiled eggs, with coffee and bread and butter. 
 But as all went on as usual the next day, I con- 
 tinued to tease the keepers, and to send messages to 
 the governor, and to ask for the magistrates ; but 
 nothing was yielded to me. So about eight or ten 
 days after my adventure in the chapel, I said to 
 Capper and old Daddy Richards, — 
 
 " Go out into the day-yard, both of you. I want 
 to try the effect of a bombardment ; and I don't want 
 either of you to be in the scrape." 
 
 " What art thou about to do, Tom ^ " said the dear 
 old Daddy ; " art thou about to ruin us .-' " 
 
 16 
 
242 THREATENED WITH THE BLACK-HOLE, 
 
 " Ruin you ! you old goose," I said ; " you are 
 ruined, — are you not ? " 
 
 The old man ran off, laughing, into the day-yard, 
 wondering what I was about to do. There was no 
 chair in our day-room ; but only a heavy wooden 
 bench, on which we all three were expected to sit. It 
 was very heavy ; but I got hold of it, and turning one 
 end unto the inner door, I let go, as a sailor would 
 say — at the door, with all my might, crying "Murder ! 
 murder ! murder ! " Soon came the whole body of 
 turnkeys ; and the chief of them, Chidley, who was 
 a large, stout man, opened the door, and cried, — 
 
 " What do ye mean by this } We'll settle you ! 
 Come along — we'll take you to the black-hole ! " 
 
 They took me to no black -hole ; but they locked 
 me up in an empty room, and kept me there till dusk 
 of evening, when they took me to bed without food. 
 
 I found my strength sorely lessened by these con- 
 tinued and exhaustive attempts to break down the 
 prison system ; and one morning, when the bell rang 
 at half-past five, I felt so weak that I could not rise. 
 Soon came a turnkey, unlocked the door, and threw 
 it open as usual. 
 
 " Holloa ! " said he ; how's this } — why are you not 
 up .? " 
 
 " I am too weak to get up," I answered ; and he 
 closed the door, locked it, and went his way. 
 
 In a few minutes, I heard the feet of several per- 
 sons in the passage, and could tell that they were 
 
HELP FROM ONE WHO IS "LAGGED." 243 
 
 sweeping it. They drew near the door, and I heard 
 a whispering. Soon one of them whispered through 
 the large keyhole. 
 
 " Mester Kewper ! dooant yo knaw me ? My 
 name's John Smith. I cum thrum th' Potteries ; an' 
 I heerd yo' speeak that day, upo' th' Craan Bonk. 
 Dun yo want owt .-* " 
 
 " Want aught } " I said, " why, what can you get 
 me ? " 
 
 " Some bacca, if you like — or, maybe, the old 
 Daddy would like some." 
 
 " But how can you get it, and what are you doing 
 in the passage .'' " 
 
 " Why, we've getten lagged,* yo see ; and they 
 setten us to sweep th' passages and th' cells, till we 
 go off. We can get you owt yo like, throo th' 
 debtors. There's a chink i' th' wall where we get 
 things through." 
 
 "Can you get me some sheets of writing paper 
 — one large sheet — and a few pens and a narrow 
 bottle of ink } If you can, I'll give you the money 
 to buy 'em." 
 
 And I thrust two shillings under the bottom of* 
 the door, for the space was wide ; and they pro- 
 mised to bring me what I wanted, if I could be in 
 the same place the next morning. 
 
 "I'll take care to be here," said I. And the next 
 morning, when the turnkey found me in bed, as he 
 * Sentenced to transportation. 
 
244 I PETITION PARLIAMENT. 
 
 Opened the door, he closed it again, without asking a 
 question, and left me alone as before. 
 
 "Can you get me a letter sent out to the post- 
 office } " I asked, as they brought me the ink and 
 pens and paper. 
 
 " Yes," they said ; " if yo conna be here ageean to- 
 morrow morning, leave th' letter under th' mattrass. 
 We shall be sure to get it a few minutes after. We 
 knaw them amung th' debtors that^ 11 see it sent safe 
 to the post-office." 
 
 I drew up a petition to the House of Commons .on 
 the larger sheet of paper — asking that I might have 
 food on which I could subsist ; that I might be allowed 
 to write to my wife and a few friends, and receive 
 letters from them ; and that I might be allowed the 
 use of my books, and be also allowed to write what I 
 pleased, for my own purposes, during my confine- 
 ment. 
 
 I also wrote to the great friend of poor Chartist 
 prisoners, noble Thomas Slingsby Buncombe, and 
 told him that I had written out a petition to the 
 House of Commons, and should address it to himself 
 Tor presentation ; that I should put it into the hands 
 of the governor of the gaol on the morrow, and request 
 him to place it before the magistrates. I particularly 
 desired Mr. Buncombe to mark how long it was be- 
 fore he received the petition, and to note that it was 
 dated. 
 
 I left the letter under the mattrass ; and it was safely 
 
THE GOVERNOR IN A PUZZLE. 245 
 
 received by Mr. Buncombe. When the governor made 
 his usual morning call, just as he entered our day- 
 room, I put the petition into his hands. 
 
 " Please to show that to the magistrates," said I ; 
 " and then take care that it is sent to Mr. Buncombe, 
 the member of Parliament for Finsbury." 
 
 " What is it, sir ? " asked the governor, all in a 
 flutter. 
 
 " A petition to the House of Commons," said I. 
 
 " Take it back sir — take it back — I'll have nothing 
 to do with it," cried the poor governor, trying to push 
 it into my hands. 
 
 " On your peril, sir," said I, " lay that petition be- 
 fore the magistrates. Refuse, if you dare, sir ! And 
 tell the magistrates if they do not send the petition to 
 Mr. Buncombe, they shall be reckoned with, if I live 
 to get out of this place." 
 
 " Where did you get the paper, sir ? " he asked ; 
 " and the pens and ink ? " 
 
 " I shall not tell you. If you were to hang me you 
 should not know." 
 
 " Well, sir," said he, going away ; " I must tell thcg 
 magistrates all about it ; but, depend upon it, you 
 have got yourself into a pretty mess." 
 
 " Tell the magistrates they will get themselves into 
 a pretty mess, if they do not forward my petition to 
 Mr. Buncombe," I shouted after him. 
 
246 THE MAGISTRATES BECOME KINDLY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 CHARTIST prisoner's LIFE, CONTINUED: 
 1843— 1845. 
 
 For many days I asked the governor of the gaol, as 
 he paid us his morning visit, if my petition had been 
 sent to Mr. Duncombe ; but his answer was " No." 
 At length it was "Yes;" and, two days after, Governor 
 Brutton suddenly opened the door of our day-room, 
 and, with a really happy look, said, — 
 
 " Now, come. Cooper, the magistrates want to see 
 you ; and do be respectful to them, and you'll get all 
 you want." 
 
 "Trust me, governor," said I, "if there be a 
 change of that sort in the wind, I'll be respectful 
 enough." 
 
 The magistrates invited me to sit down, after they 
 ^ad said " Good morning, Mr. Cooper ; " and I 
 thought that was really respectful, and I would be 
 respectful also. 
 
 The Hon. and Rev. Arthur Talbot, brother to Earl 
 Talbot, read Mr. Duncombe's letter to me, stating 
 that he had presented my petition to the House of 
 Commons, and had asked the Speaker if it were right 
 
PRIVILEGES GRANTED TO ME. 247 
 
 and constitutional to detain the petition of a political 
 prisoner nearly a fortnight, as the magistrates had 
 done ; and the Speaker had replied that it was neither 
 right nor constitutional. He (Mr. Duncombe) did 
 not wish to make any harsh observations : he simply 
 thought that my requests were so reasonable that the 
 magistrates would deem it right to comply with them. 
 
 " I may say," said Mr. Talbot, " that your own con- 
 duct in the gaol induced us to detain your petition — 
 but we will say no more about that. With regard to 
 your food, the surgeon has full liberty from us, now, 
 to allow you what he deems necessary for your health. 
 We have also resolved that you shall be allowed to 
 write to your wife and receive letters from her ; but 
 all letters must be delivered open by yourself to the 
 governor, and he will open all letters from your wife, 
 before he delivers them to you. In the course of 
 time we may allow you, also, to correspond with two 
 or three of your friends, — so long as they are not 
 political." 
 
 "May I write to my wife weekly, and receive a 
 letter from her weekly.?" I asked; "you ought to 
 allow me to do that, considering that she seemed 41 
 near death when I left her." 
 
 My request was granted at once. 
 
 " And now, gentlemen," I said, " there is one more 
 favour I must beg of you. Let me have the use of 
 my books, and also be allowed to proceed with my 
 writing. I have an unfinished romance that I want 
 
248 BETTER FOOD GRANTED TO US. 
 
 to complete, and some other things I want to do. I 
 hope there will be no objection to my employing my- 
 self in a peaceable way. Depend upon it, you shall 
 not have to complain of my behaviour if you treat 
 me reasonably." 
 
 " You have no objection to our seeing the books, I 
 hope.''" said the Hon. and Rev. Mr, Talbot ; " if they 
 be political, we should object to your having them." 
 
 " I will open the portmanteau, if you will order it 
 to be brought in," said I ; "and you can take out the 
 political books, if you find any ; but I do not think 
 you will." 
 
 They took out two small books which I cared no- 
 thing for, and which I did not know that I had with 
 me ; and then they gave up the portmanteau and all 
 that it contained into my possession. I thanked 
 them, and went back to my day-room. 
 
 My companions were highly gladdened ; for when 
 the surgeon came to visit us, and asked what I 
 wished for in the way of food, he prescribed an equal 
 allowance for them also : so my struggle had won 
 food for all three of us. I asked, first, for coffee ; and 
 we had a good allowance of it, and the article was 
 good. We had also a sufficient allowance of sugar, 
 butter, and rice. The surgeon would only allow us a, 
 quarter of a pound of meat daily, at first ; and this 
 was our worst allowance : it was invariably either a 
 bit of the breast of mutton, or of the " sticking piece " 
 of beef; and became so unwelcome before my two 
 
FELLOW-PRISONERS AND VISITORS. 249 
 
 years' confinement was ended, that I often loathed 
 the very sight of the meat. One evil we had to 
 endure was beyond the surgeon's power to remedy. 
 We had to take all the water we drank from a pump 
 in our day-yard ; and it was so bad that we had to 
 let the bucket stand a long time that all the unmen- 
 tionable stuff might settle to the bottom, before we 
 could use the water. I should not forget to say that 
 Mr. Hughes, the surgeon, kindly directed that I 
 should have the use of an arm-chair, so that I could 
 sit by myself to write, at the table, while the old men 
 chose to sit by the fire. The reader must understand 
 that our day-room was not a palace. The floor was 
 stone slabs, and the wind assailed us in every quarter. 
 It was a place to create tooth-ache and neuralgia, 
 daily. 
 
 In the course of the first summer, we had ah ad- 
 dition to our number ; and in the second spring a 
 second companion sojourned with us for a short time. 
 On the 1 2th of August, 1843, Arthur G. O'Neill of 
 Birmingham, came in to undergo a year's imprison- 
 ment ; and on the 6th of April, 1844, Joseph Linney 
 of Bilston was transferred from the Penitentiary, 
 London, to complete his term of imprisonment with 
 us. His stay was but short : he left us in twelve 
 weeks. 
 
 I was allowed but three visitors, as friends, during 
 my imprisonment : one at the end of six months, 
 another at the end of twelve, and another at the end 
 
250 BAD CONDUCT OF BAIRSTOW. 
 
 of eighteen. My dear old friend and benefactor, Dr. 
 J. B. Simpson of Birmingham came first ; and my 
 dear departed friend, Thomas Tatlow of Leicester, 
 came last. The other visitor was Bairstow, to whose 
 hands the poor stockingers had committed a little 
 money for my relief ; but he kept three-fifths of it for 
 himself. Let me dismiss the name of this depraved, 
 pitiable young man. I had taken him into my house 
 and given himself and his wife hospitality for many 
 months ; I had given him money for his journeys ; 
 and when I left Leicester, I gave him the care of my 
 business, that he might live out of it, and take care 
 my wife did not want — telling him, in the presence of 
 all the men who crowded round me, as I was depart- 
 ing, that, if my wife died, Bairstow was to consider the 
 business entirely his own. 
 
 But he made the house a place of dissipation, 
 invited card-players into it, and ruined the business 
 altogether; so that the house had to be given up, and 
 my wife had to be carried out and taken care of, 
 chiefly by my dear and true friends Thomas Tatlow 
 and William Stafford, who provided her with a kind 
 nurse in her suffering. Bairstow's acceptance with 
 the people as an orator had caused me to keep him 
 at Leicester. He left his wife before the end of my 
 imprisonment ; and was never more heard of. He is 
 supposed to have come to his end in some obscure way. 
 
 My great business in the gaol has yet to be related. 
 During the first two months I not only could not get 
 
MY FIRST SPENSEREAN STANZA. 25 I 
 
 at my books, but I had locked up the only copy I 
 possessed of the hundred lines written as a blank verse 
 commencement of my purposed poem, " The Pur- 
 gatory of Suicides." As I could not recover them, 
 and did not know whether they would ever yield to 
 allow me the use of my books and papers, I thought 
 I could defeat their purpose by composing the poem 
 and retaining it in my mind. So my thoughts were 
 very much intent on making a new beginning, — and 
 on the night of the loth of June, 1843, when we had 
 been one month in the gaol, I felt suddenly empowered 
 to make a start ; and when I had composed the four 
 opening lines, I found they rhymed alternately. It 
 was a pure accident — for I always purposed to write 
 my poem in blank verse. Now, however, I resolved 
 to try the Spenserean stanza. So I struck off two 
 stanzas that night : they are the two opening stanzas 
 of my poem ; and they are the first Spenserean stanzas 
 I ever wrote in my life. 
 
 The remembrance that Byron had shown the stanza 
 of the " Faery Queene " to be capable of as much 
 grandeur and force as the blank verse of " Paradise 
 Lost," while he also demonstrated that it admits the 
 utmost freedom that can be needed for the treatment 
 of a grave theme, determined me to abide by the 
 Spenserean stanza. When I obtained the use of 
 writing materials, at the end of those two months of 
 struggle, I very soon had a fair copy written of the, 
 perhaps, thirty stanzas I had by that time composed. 
 
252 BOOKS I READ IN THE GAOL. 
 
 The creation of my " Purgatory of Suicides " I have 
 called my " great business " in the gaol. And so it 
 was — for it employed a great part of my thought, and 
 absorbed some mental effort, of almost every day I 
 spent in Stafford Gaol, except one period of three 
 months that I shall have to refer to. 
 
 I could revel in Shakspeare and Milton as soon as 
 I got possession of my books ; and in Chambers' 
 " Cyclopaedia of English Literature " I had portions 
 of almost every English poet of eminence. At an 
 after-date, I had " Childe Harold," and Shelley (the 
 small pirated edition), with Jarvis's translation of "Don 
 Quixote," White's " Selborne," and other books, sent 
 into the gaol. But I set about solid reading. I read 
 Gibbon's great masterpiece entirely through, in the 
 gaol. The reader will remember that this was my 
 second reading of the magnificent "Decline and Fall." 
 In Latin, I read the ^neid and the Commentaries 
 through once more, attended a little to my Greek, and 
 also re-read the volume of German stories, twice or 
 thrice. 
 
 O'Neill had been allowed to have some books, and 
 so I read his copy of Prideaux's " Connexion of the 
 Old and New Testament," Milner's Church History, 
 and some other things he possessed. We also formed 
 a purpose of pursuing the study of language together, 
 as O'Neill had been a student in his time. I had 
 copies of the New Testament in several languages, 
 and we read in each, every morning, for a short time ; 
 
THREE months' PASSION FOR HEBREW. 253 
 
 but one of my constitutional periods of passion ap- 
 proached, and I was carried away with it. 
 
 I fastened on the Hebrew, with a fine old German- 
 printed Old Testament and the lexicon of Gesenius ; 
 and for three months I read nothing, thought of 
 nothing, but Hebrew. I copied out all the verbs, 
 I classified and copied out nouns. I purposed to 
 commit everything to memory. My poem stood still 
 — everything stood still — but Hebrew. At length, 
 I almost raved about it while talking to O'Neill — 
 who kindly and affectionately watched his oppor- 
 tunity, when he saw my health was giving way, and 
 I was becoming incapable ; and then he took all my 
 Hebrew books into his own possession, and told me I 
 must give it up, or I should lose my senses. I had 
 common sense enough to perceive, in a day or two, 
 that I was wrong ; and so I tore myself away from 
 the study of Hebrew, and never attended to it again, 
 except with great caution, while I remained in the gaoL 
 During the three months my passion had lasted, to 
 the best of my memory, I went through about two- 
 thirds of my Hebrew Bible. 
 
 Good old Daddy Richards left us on the 4th of 
 May, 1844; Linney left us on the 29th of June; 
 O'Neill's time of imprisonment ended on the loth of 
 August ; and on the 30th of September, 1844, Capper 
 left me, a lonely prisoner, for I had yet seven months 
 to serve. 
 
 I had broken down the stupid custom of sending 
 
254 I AM LEFT A LONELY PRISONER. 
 
 US to our sleeping cells at six in the evening, before 
 O'Neill came into the gaol ; and soon after I obtained 
 leave to buy candles for my use, that I might read or 
 write till nine o'clock, when we were taken to our 
 sleeping cells. Now I was left alone, I began to feel 
 very apprehensive for the consequences, if I should 
 have to sleep another winter on the bag of straw and 
 iron slab, in that cold shivering hole, where the water 
 trickled down the walls in damp weather. I was 
 tormented with neuralgia of the head ; I was often 
 obliged to lie on my back a whole day, with neuralgia 
 of the heart ; and I told the governor and the surgeon 
 that I believed it would end my life, if I had no 
 better sleeping-place. To my unspeakable relief, the 
 governor said I should sleep in my day-room, so that 
 I could keep the fire in, through the night, if I pleased. 
 Thus, I believe, my life was preserved by Him who 
 has the hearts of all men in His keeping ; and whose 
 loving watchfulness has so often shown itself in the 
 preservation of my life. 
 
 That " God helps them who help themselves," how- 
 ever, I am fully convinced. If I had not shown both 
 resolution and perseverance, I should never have se- 
 cured any deliverance from the torturous inflictions 
 of what is called "gaol disciphne." 
 
 " I admire your pluck. Cooper," said the dear old 
 governor to me one day, in an undertone, a short time 
 before I left the gaol : " your day-room was the day- 
 room of the Reverend Humphrey Price, the * good 
 
AM VISITED BY A NOBLEMAN. 255 
 
 parson of Needwood Forest,' as he was called. He 
 was a clergyman who sympathised, like you, with the 
 poor ; and for defending the poor wretched carpet- 
 weavers of Kidderminster, had to pass a year in this 
 , prison. But he was never allowed a single privilege. 
 He had to go to bed every night at six o'clock, was 
 never allowed the use of a candle, and had to submit 
 to the common dietary of the prison. The poor man 
 seemed to take it all like a martyr. What he might 
 have gained if he had shown as much spirit as your- 
 self, I cannot tell; but he never seemed to have the 
 spirit to ask for anything." 
 
 The magistrates looked in upon me, now and then, 
 when I was left alone. One day, I had a very agree- 
 able and distinguished visitor. It was Lord Sandon, 
 now Earl of Harrowby. He addressed me with so 
 much courtesy and kindness, that I responded cheer- 
 fully. After a few minutes his interest increased, and 
 he sat down to talk. 
 
 My old German-printed Hebrew Bible (given to 
 me by good Mr. Lumley, the bookseller) happened to 
 catch his eye ; and I opened it, and showed him the 
 arrangement of the Chamesh Megilloth (Ruth, Song 
 of Songs, Ecclesiastes, Lamentations, and Esther) 
 immediately after the Torah, or Pentateuch. My 
 noble visitor remarked that he had never seen an 
 arrangement like it — for he had been intent on study- 
 ing Hebrew at one time himself We diverged to 
 other subjects ; and when the courteous nobleman 
 
256 REMARKABLE OFFER MADE TO ME. 
 
 was gone, I found that nearly half an hour had 
 elapsed since he entered my day-room. 
 
 The behaviour of Earl Ferrers was of a different 
 order. He came one day to the little window in the 
 passage, and looked at me through his quizzing-glass. 
 1 put on my cap and went close to the window to 
 look at him with a pair of eyes on flame, and that 
 meant, " Who are you, you rude rascal ? " He dropt 
 his quizzing-glass, and slunk away ! 
 
 The chaplain — not the reverend gentleman whom I 
 used so roughly at the beginning of my imprisonment 
 — paid me two remarkable visits, but a short time 
 before my term of imprisonment ended. He desired 
 me to walk out into the day-yard with him, as he 
 wished to have a particular conversation with me. 
 
 " Mr. Cooper," he said, very suddenly, " you would 
 like to go to Cambridge .-'" 
 
 "To the University?" said I, quickly; "I should 
 think so. What of that, sir .?" 
 
 " You can go direct from this gaol, on the day that 
 your time expires, I undertake to say — if you choose," 
 be replied. 
 
 " Go to Cambridge, from this gaol !" I repeated in 
 wonder. 
 
 " Yes : all your wants will be provided for. You 
 will have no trouble about anything — only — " and he 
 stopped and smiled. 
 
 "Only I must give up politics?" said I; "I see what 
 you mean." 
 
MY REFUSAL, ON PRINCIPLE. 257 
 
 " That's it," said he ; *' that's all." 
 
 " I would not degrade or falsify myself by making 
 such a promise," I replied, " if you could ensure all 
 the honours the University could bestow, although it 
 has been one of the great yearnings of my heart — from 
 a boy, I might say — to go to a University." 
 
 Th<^ kindly chaplain blamed me for my unwilling- 
 ness ; assured me that all who conversed with me 
 lamented to see me in such a case, and wondered how 
 a man with such a nature and such attachments ever 
 became a Chartist But he took his leave without 
 accomplishing the purpose for which he had been 
 sent. By whom he had been sent, he would not say, 
 though I asked him during his second visit — when he 
 was still more earnest, ajid seemed distressed when 
 he found I would not yield. He would not say by 
 whom he had been sent ; but I had a shrewd guess 
 about it when I thought of my noble visitor, and our 
 conversation over the ancient Hebrew Bible. I ought 
 gratefully to say that the good chaplain (Rev. Thos. 
 Sedger, now curate of Bracon Ash, near Norwich) 
 presented me with a valuable copy of Horace de 
 Arte Poeticd, before I left the gaol ; and, a few years 
 ago, sent me a copy of his translation of Grotiits de 
 Veritate. 
 
 The romance that I mentioned, and which was 
 begun in Lincoln, and the MSS. partially shown to 
 a celebrated author when I first went to live in 
 London, I finished in the gaol ; and also wrote 
 
 17 
 
258 END OF MY IMPRISONMENT. 
 
 several tales to complete a volume, if I could find a 
 publisher. These and my " Prison Rhyme " I took 
 out of prison with me as my keys for unlocking the 
 gates of fortune. I was in rags ; for although Leices- 
 ter friends had impoverished themselves to send me 
 money to pay for my extra fire, candles, washing, and 
 vvriting materials, I could not expect more of them. 
 A kind friend in London, whom I must not name, 
 sent me ten pounds, fourteen days before my time 
 expired ; and so I got a suit of clothes and a hat, and 
 other things I wanted. 
 
 I left Stafford Gaol at six o'clock on the morninsr 
 of the 4th of May, 1 845 ; and reached London, and 
 slept that night at the house of the friend who had 
 sent me the ten pounds. 
 
 I must now go back, and enter on the recital I have 
 delayed to begin, and which I dread to touch. But 
 it must be given. 
 
GLANCE AT MY RELIGIOUS STATE. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 SCEPTICISM IN THE GAOL : LONDON, AND 
 DISAPPOINTMENTS: 1845. 
 
 When I first took upon me to talk to Leicester 
 Chartists, in the httle room at All Saints' Open, on 
 those Sunday evenings during the spring of 1841, 
 religion formed the staple of my discourse. I had felt 
 so deep a sense of unworthy treatment when I left 
 the Methodists in 1835, that — as I said at the close of 
 my ninth chapter — " I sought occupation for thought 
 that should not awake tormenting remembrances ; " 
 — and so I had avoided religious literature, and con- 
 versation on theological topics, as much as possible. 
 And it was not until I began to talk to poor suffering 
 men about religion that I became conscious of any 
 change in my belief, or in the state of my re- 
 ligious conscience — to adopt one of the phrases of 
 the day. 
 
 If any one had asked me what I considered myself 
 to be in point of religious belief, six years after I left 
 the Wesleyans, I should have answered that I was a 
 Wesleyan still. But I had not spent many months 
 in talking to the Leicester Chartists, before my 
 
26o LOVE OF CHRIST'S MORAL BEAUTY. 
 
 "religious conscience " began to receive a new " form 
 and pressure " from its new surroundings. I could not 
 preach eternal punishment to poor starving stock- 
 ingers. But when the belief in eternal punishment 
 is given up, the eternal demerit of sin has faded from 
 the preacher's conscience ; and then what consistency- 
 can he see in the doctrine of Christ's atonement ? 
 
 Whenever I looked inward — though, alas ! I had 
 little leisure for reflection during all the fiery excite- 
 ment of my Leicester life — I found that I had ceased 
 to be orthodox in my belief Yet I never ceased to 
 worship the perfect moral beauty of Christ ; and, 
 thank God ! I never ceased to enthrone the goodness 
 and purity and love of Christ in the minds and hearts 
 of the Leicester poor. To the last hour of my teach- 
 ing in Leicester, I also maintained, in the hearing of 
 the crowds who listened to me, that the miracles and 
 resurrection of the Saviour were historical facts. 
 
 But, before I left Leicester, clouds of unspoken 
 doubt began to roll across my reason, of a darker 
 and more horrible shade than even a disbelief of the 
 Gospel records. I gave the reader a hint of what I 
 mean towards the end of my sixteenth chapter. The 
 coarse atheism expressed by some of the stronger 
 spirits among working men, I often felt, found an echo 
 in my own mind, that startled me. When I could 
 not sleep after a day of more than ordinary excite- 
 ment, atheistic reasonings would arise, as I thought 
 of the sufferings of the poor, the extreme differences 
 
RAPID GROWTH OF SCEPTICISM. 26 1 
 
 in men's condition, and the cruel lot of all in every 
 age who contend for truth and right. These distress- 
 ing doubts and reasonings for many months passed 
 away when they arose, leaving no conscious lodgment 
 in my mind. Yet they would come again. 
 
 It was not until I entered on my last imprisonment 
 — in May, 1843, — that I was conscious of atheistic 
 reasonings becoming habitual. How swift is the pro- 
 cess of depravity, even in the understanding, as well 
 as in the heart ! How rapidly the mind and heart 
 take up an entrenched position in unbelief, none can 
 tell but those who speak from experience. I believe 
 those two months of torture, at the beginning of my 
 two years' imprisonment, served, most fearfully, to 
 bring my atheistic reasonings to a head. I was 
 conscious of incorruptible disinterestedness in my 
 advocacy of the rights of the poor. I regarded my 
 imprisonment, with its harsh treatment, as a grievous 
 wrong. My tender wife was enduring suffering that 
 brought her near to death. And the poor were suf- 
 fering still ! I had not lessened their evils an atom 
 by my struggles. It was a world of wrong, I now 
 reasoned ; and there could not be in it the Almighty 
 and beneficent Providence in which I had all my life 
 devoutly believed. I must give it all up as a dream ! 
 
 I had never given up the practice of prayer ; and I 
 knelt beside my iron slab and bag of straw, though I 
 hardly felt I prayed — until, one night, I sprang up 
 from my knees, and said, "I'll pray no more ! " Nor 
 
262 BAD INFLUENCE OF STRAUSS. 
 
 did I ever kneel to pray again so long as I remained 
 in prison. My angered and distempered mmd set 
 itself, now, defiantly to resist the thought of a God. 
 And in the morbid condition of feeling and thought 
 that grew to be natural in the prison, I fell into 
 trains of reasoning about moral evil and the pain I 
 supposed to be so prevalent in creation — such as the 
 reader will occasionally find in my Prison Rhyme. 
 
 As the end of my imprisonment drew nearer, my 
 gloom began to lessen and hope to brighten. I felt 
 less inclined to dwell on doubts, and wished I were 
 not troubled with them at all. When the railway 
 train began to bear me towards London, on that 
 beautiful May morning of my release, I burst into 
 tears, and sobbed with a feeling I could not easily 
 subdue, as I once more saw the fields and flowers and 
 God's glorious sun. The world was so beautiful, I 
 dared not say there was no God in it ; and the old, 
 long-practised feeling of worship welled up in my 
 heart, in spite of myself. 
 
 Nor did I, after my release from imprisonment, 
 yield helplessly to atheistic reasonings. They would 
 arise in my mind, perforce of old habit ; but I did not 
 settle down in them. I never proclaimed blank atheism 
 in my public teaching. And I feel certain that I should 
 have broken away from unbelief altogether, had I not 
 fastened on Strauss, and become his entire convert. 
 I read and re-read, and analysed, the translation in 
 three volumes, published by the Brothers Chapman : 
 
MR. buncombe's letter. 263 
 
 the translation begun by Charles Hennell, and finished 
 by the authoress of "Adam Bede." I became fast 
 bound in the net of Strauss ; and at one time would 
 have eagerly helped to bind all in his net : nor did I 
 feel thoroughly able to break its pernicious meshes, 
 or get out of it, myself, for twelve years. 
 
 I was so ill during the first week after my release, 
 that I could not quit my lodging. The kind friend 
 who had sent me pecuniary relief before I quitted 
 prison, still supplied my wants. As soon as I had 
 strength for it, I called on Mr. Buncombe, who was 
 then lodging in the Albany, Piccadilly. He received 
 me with extreme kmdness ; and asked what I pur- 
 posed doing. I told him I had written a poem and 
 other things, in prison, and wished he could intro- 
 duce me to a publisher. 
 
 " A publisher ! " said he, " why, you know. Cooper, I 
 never published anything in my life. I know nothing 
 of publishers. — Oh, stop ! " said he, suddenly, " wait a 
 few minutes. I'll write a note, and send you to Disraeli." 
 He wrote the note, and read it to me. As nearly 
 as I can remember, it ran thus : 
 
 " My dear Disraeli,— I send you Mr. Cooper, a Chartist, 
 
 red-hot from Stafford Gaol. But don't be frightened. He 
 
 won't bite you. He has written a poem and a romance ; and 
 
 thinks he can cut out 'Coningsby,' and 'Sybil' ! Help him if 
 
 you can, and oblige, yours 
 
 T. S. Buncombe." 
 
 "But you would not have me take a note like 
 that ? " I said. • , 
 
264 INTERVIEW WITH MR. DISRAELI. 
 
 " Would not I ? " he answered ; " but I would. 
 It's just the thing for you ; get off with you, and 
 present it at once. You'll catch him at home, just 
 now. Grosvenor Gate — close to the Park — anybody 
 will tell you the house — now, away with you at 
 once ! " 
 
 It was Sunday at noon, and away I went to 
 Grosvenor Gate. A tall Hebrew in livery came to the 
 door, with a silver waiter in his hand. 
 
 " This is Mr. Disraeli's, I believe ? " I said. 
 
 " Yes : but Mr. Disraeli is not at home," was the 
 answer, in ceremonious style. 
 
 " Then, when will he be at home .? " I asked, " as I 
 wish to present this note of introduction to him, from 
 Mr. Duncombe." 
 
 " Mr. Duncombe, the member of Parliament .■' " asked 
 the man in livery. And when I answered "Yes," he 
 presented the waiter, and said, " You had better give 
 me the note : Mrs. Disraeli is at home." 
 
 I gave him the note ; and he closed the door, I 
 waiting in the hall. He soon returned, saying, " Mr. 
 Disraeli will see you. You understand it was my 
 business to say * Not at home.' You will excuse 
 me ? " 
 
 " Why don't you bring the gentleman up .? " cried a 
 light silvery voice from above. 
 
 The servant led me up the staircase ; and, at the 
 top, Mrs. Disraeli very gracefully bowed, and with- 
 drew ; and the servant took me into what was evidently 
 
TALK WITH THE FUTURE PREMIER. 265 
 
 the literary man's " study " — a small room at the top 
 of the house. 
 
 One sees paragraphs very often, now, in the papers 
 about the expressionless and jaded look of the Con- 
 servative leader's face, as he sits in the House of 
 Commons. Yet, as I first looked upon that face 
 twenty-six years ago, I thought it one of great in- 
 tellectual beauty. The eyes seemed living lights ; and 
 the intelligent yet kindly way in which Mr. Disraeli 
 inquired about the term of my imprisonment, and 
 treatment in the prison, convinced me that I was in 
 the presence of a very shrewd as well as highly 
 cultivated and refined man. 
 
 " I wish I had seen you before I finished my last 
 novel," said he ; " my heroine, Sybil, is a Chartist." 
 
 I gave into his hands the MSS. of the First Book 
 of my " Purgatory of Suicides." 
 
 " I shall be happy to read it," he said ; " but what 
 do you wish me to do .'' " 
 
 "To write to Mr. Moxon," said I, " and recommend 
 him to publish it — " if you think it right to do so, when 
 you have looked it over." 
 
 " But Mr. Moxon is not my publisher," said he ; 
 " and I offered him a poem of my own, some years 
 ago, but he declined to take it. Why do you wish 
 me to write to Mr. Moxon so particularly." 
 
 " Because he publishes poetry ; and as he has pub- 
 lished poetry of his own " 
 
 " Ah, poet-like ! " said the future Prime Minister of 
 
266 INTERVIEW WITH MR. MOXON. 
 
 England, — " you think he must sympathise with you, 
 because he is a poet. You forget that he is a trades- 
 man too, and that poetry does not sell nowadays. 
 Well, I'll write to Mr. Moxon, when I have looked 
 at your manuscript." 
 
 He then directed me to call on a certain day in the 
 week following, when he promised a note should be 
 ready for Mr. Moxon. 
 
 I presented the note ; and Mr. Moxon smiled, and 
 said, " Mr. Disraeli knows that poetry is a drug in 
 the market. He does not offer me one of his own 
 novels." 
 
 Mr. Moxon declined to receive my poem, assuring 
 me that he dared not venture to publish any poem of a 
 new author, for there was no prospect of a sale. He 
 was very courteous, and seemed to wish me to stay 
 and talk. He also showed me a portrait which he 
 valued highly in one of his rooms. I t/imk it was 
 a portrait of Charles Lamb. He also told me that 
 Alfred Tennyson and the venerable Wordsworth had 
 passed an hour together in that room lately. He 
 looked at Mr. Disraeh's note, and read it again ; and I 
 gave the manuscript of the first book of my " Prison 
 Rhyme " into his hands ; and he read parts of it, and 
 still detained me, to show me something else ; and 
 when I left him, he said, — 
 
 " I certainly would publish your poem, Mr. Cooper, 
 if I saw anything like a chance of selling it ; but I 
 repeat to you, that all poetry is a perfect drug in the 
 
I TRY MR. COLBURN, PUBLISHER. 26/ 
 
 market, at present ; and I have made up my mind to 
 publish no new poetry Whatever." 
 
 I wrote to Mr. Disraeli, and told him that I had 
 failed, and desired him to take the trouble to write 
 me a note to his own publisher, Mr. Colburn, as he 
 had offered to do at first. 
 
 By the next post, I had the note for Colburn, and 
 soon waited on him. I sent up the note to his room ; 
 and on being invited up-stairs was met by the little 
 shrewd-looking publisher himself, and his trusty adviser 
 Mr. Schoberl. 
 
 " We publish no poetry whatever : it is a perfect 
 drug in the market," said Mr. Schoberl ; " but Mr. 
 Disraeli says here, in his note, that you have written a 
 romance. What is the subject of it, pray ? " 
 
 I gave him a brief description of it ; and, turning 
 to Mr. Colburn, he said, " I think Mr. Cooper might as 
 well send us the manuscript, and let us look at it." 
 
 " By all means," said Mr. Colburn. 
 
 I took the manuscript ; and they kept it a few days, 
 when they sent it back, with a very polite refusal to 
 publish it. 
 
 And now I ventured to call upon Mr. Disraeli the 
 second time. He seemed really concerned at what I 
 told him ; and when I asked him to give me a note to 
 Messrs. Chapman and Hall, he looked thoughtful, and 
 said, — 
 
 " No : I know nothing of them personally, and I 
 should not like to write to them. But I will give you 
 
2d8 MR. AINSWORTH AND MR. JOHN FORSTER. 
 
 a note to Ainsvvorth, and desire him to recommend 
 you to Chapman and Hall." 
 
 I took the note to Mr. Ainsworth's house, at 
 Kensal Green, He was not at home ; but his sweet- 
 looking daughter received Mr. Disraeli's note and my 
 MSS. from my hands very courteously, and assured 
 me she would give them to her father. 
 
 I called again two days after, and was invited into 
 the drawing-room, into which Mr. Ainsworth entered 
 from his garden. He was a handsome, fresh-looking 
 Englishman, and showed a very pearly set of teeth 
 as he smiled. He conversed about my imprisonment; 
 and said the poetry was excellent, but all poetry sold 
 badly now, and he was afraid Messrs. Chapman and 
 Hall would not be much inclined to take my poem. 
 
 " I think," he said, " I had better give you a note 
 to John Forster of the Examiner. They consult him 
 about everything they publish." 
 
 So I next took the MSS., with Mr. Ainsworth's 
 letter, to Mr. John Forster, and left my parcel at his 
 office, or chambers, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, for they 
 said he was not in. When I called, two or three days 
 afterwards, I was met by a stout, severe-looking man, 
 who began to examine me with the spirit of a bitter 
 Whig examining a poor Chartist at the bar. He 
 seemed not to hear anything I said, unless it was an 
 answer to one of his lawyer-like questions ; and he 
 usually interrupted me if I spoke before he put another 
 question to me. I knew that was the practice of law- 
 
CHAPMAN AND HALL : HOPES. 269 
 
 yers ; but I thought a man with the intellect of John 
 Forster should sink the character of lawyer — should 
 forget his profession — while talking to a poor literary 
 aspirant. 
 
 " I suppose you would have no objection to alter 
 the title you give yourself," he said ; " I certainly 
 should advise you to strike ' the Chartist ' out." 
 
 " Nay, sir," I replied ; " I shall not strike it out. 
 Mr. Disraeli advised me not to let any one persuade 
 me to strike it out ; and I mean to abide by his ad- 
 vice. I did not resolve to style myself * the Chartist ' 
 upon the title-page of my book, without a good deal 
 of consideration." 
 
 My offended interlocutor frowned, and bit his lip ; 
 and seemed determined to get quit of the thing. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Cooper," he said, in conclusion, " I will 
 give you a note to Messrs. Chapman and Hall. There 
 can be no question as to the excellence of your 
 poetry ; but I do not know how far it may be ad- 
 visable for Messrs. Chapman and Hall to connect 
 themselves with your Chartism." 
 
 I could not see that any publisher would necessarily 
 connect himself with my Chartism by publishing my 
 poem ; but I said no more to the Whig literary man 
 for I wanted to be gone. 
 
 Messrs. Chapman and Hall seemed to take great 
 interest in me, when I went to them. At their 
 own request, I fetched the entire MSS. of my Prison 
 Rhyme, the Romance, and the Tales, from my lodg- 
 
270 THE END IS DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 ing, and put them all into their hands, that they 
 might form their own judgment of them, as I sup- 
 posed. But, I have no doubt, the entire parcel was 
 transferred to Mr. John Forster. About a week 
 passed, and I was told my Poem and Romance were 
 declined ; but they, perhaps, might take the Tales, if 
 I would wait till some volumes they were then issu- 
 ing, or about to issue, in a series, were published. I 
 turned away, disappointed, in this instance ; for the 
 eager interest with which Messrs. Chapman and Hall 
 first received me, and the manner in which they 
 requested me to show them all the MSS. I had, had 
 rendered me sanguine that they would really become 
 my publishers. 
 
 1 
 
MY FRIEND MR. MACGOWAN. 2/1 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 DIFFICULTIES AND SUCCESS: "THE PURGATORY 
 OF suicides" is PUBLISHED: 1845. 
 
 I HAD kept aloof from Chartists and Chartism since 
 my release from imprisonment, for I had learned that 
 O'Connor, in a fit of jealousy, had denounced me. 
 Somebody, it seemed, had filled him with the belief 
 that I meant to conspire against him when I got loose. 
 A few petty subscriptions which had been raised for 
 me in Nottingham, and elsewhere, were withdrawn 
 in consequence of his denunciations of me in his 
 Northern Star ; and I sent back two or three sums 
 which were sent to me as Chartist subscriptions. 
 
 My disgust at O'Connor's conduct was so great 
 that I had resolved never to speak to him again. But 
 I was moved to alter my mind in a way that I could 
 not foresee. I went to call on my old friend Mr. 
 Dougal Macgowan, the printer of the Kentish Mer- 
 cury, — whom I had not seen since I ceased to 
 edit that paper, and left London, in November 1840. 
 He was now printing the Northern Star, for 
 O'Connor ; for the paper was nearly ruined, like 
 Chartism itself, about this time, and O'Connor had 
 
2/2 PERSUADED TO VISIT O'CONNOR. 
 
 transferred the publication of the paper from Leeds 
 to London, with the hope of restoring its circulation. 
 Mr. Macgowan assured me that O'Connor was sorry 
 for having written against me, and wished I would 
 call on him at his lodgings in Great Marlborough 
 Street, as he wished to apologise to me, and renew 
 his friendship with me. I told Mr. Macgowan that 
 since O'Connor had not signified his recantation in the 
 Northern Star, I should decline calling upon him. 
 
 About a week after I met Mr. Macgowan, and he 
 was very urgent with me to go and see O'Connor. 
 He assured me that O'Connor took great interest in 
 my poem, and wished me to read some parts of it to 
 him. 
 
 " To tell you the whole truth," said Mr. Macgowan, 
 " he affirms that if you will give the manuscript into 
 my hands, he himself will pay for the printing of it. 
 And, surely, if it be printed, we can get it published, 
 somehow. Do go and see him, and hear what he 
 says, that you may judge for yourself." 
 
 This occurred the very day after my manuscripts 
 had been sent back by Chapman and Hall, following 
 on the heel of all the other failures. Macgowan's 
 hint seemed to open the way for escape from difficulty 
 to a man who was set fast. It was not the way I 
 wanted my poem to get before the eyes and minds 
 of readers ; but when a man is in a strait, he feels 
 he cannot affi^rd to despise any offisr of help. 
 
 I went and saw O'Connor, and he apologised with 
 
GENEROUS OFFER OF O'CONNOR. 2/3 
 
 great apparent sincerity ; and said he would make an 
 open apology in his paper. What rendered me the 
 more ready to forgive him, was the sight of several 
 letters which had been sent him from Chartists for 
 whom I had done acts of kindness at considerable 
 cost to myself The gratuitous malice of some 
 people would be a puzzling anomaly in the history of 
 human nature, if experience did not show it to be a 
 history of contradictions. I was astonished at what I 
 read. Such a twisting of minute, unimportant facts, 
 and such skill in misinterpreting my motives ! I 
 could not have thought the writers capable of such 
 ingenious and profitless wickedness, if I had not 
 known their handwriting. 
 
 I had to read parts of my " Purgatory" to O'Connor. 
 He had had the education of a gentleman, and had 
 not lost his relish for Virgil and Horace, at that time 
 of day ; and, while I read, he listened, and made 
 very intelligent criticisms. He begged that I would 
 permit him to bear the expense of printing my 
 poem ; and that I would put it into Macgowan's handa 
 immediately. As for a publisher, he felt sure, he said, 
 that there would be no difficulty in finding one. 
 
 So I took my manuscript to Mr. Macgowan, and 
 soon began to see the proof-sheets. Occasionally, I 
 called on O'Connor, and conversed with him ; and he 
 invariably expounded his Land Scheme to me, and 
 wished me to become one of its advocates. But I 
 told him I could not ; and I begged of him to give 
 
 i8 
 
274 TRYING TO FIND A PUBLISHER. 
 
 the scheme up, for I felt sure it would bring ruin and 
 disappointment upon himself and all who entered into 
 it. He did not grow angry with me at first, but 
 tried to win me by assurances of his esteem and 
 regard, and of his kindly intentions towards me. I 
 could not, however, be won ; for all he said in expli- 
 cation of his scheme, only served to render it wilder 
 and worse, in my estimation. 
 
 When Macgowan had got as far as the end of the 
 Fourth Book with the printing of my poem, he pro- 
 posed that we should take the printed part and try 
 some of the publishers with it, 
 
 " Because," said he, " although O'Connor has given 
 me his word to pay the cost of printing and binding 
 five hundred copies, yet the book will need advertising. 
 We ought, therefore, to get some publisher to take 
 the book, that he may advertise it." 
 
 So we set out ; and as I had a lingering belief that 
 Messrs. Chapman and Hall reluctantly gave up their 
 wish to publish my poem through the influence of 
 their literary adviser, I proposed that we should call 
 on them first. Mr. Edward Chapman, however, did 
 not seem at all favourably disposed ; and Macgowan 
 was so much disheartened with our rebuff, that he 
 said he could not proceed further, that day. He re- 
 turned to Great Windmill Street, Haymarket ; and I 
 turned from Chapman and Hall's door, in the narrow 
 part of the Strand, to walk to my lodging in Black- 
 friars Road. Under the postern of Temple Bar, I ran 
 
FRIENDSHIP OF JOHN CLEAVE. 2/5 
 
 against John Cleave ; and he caught hold of me in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Cooper ? " he asked ; 
 " you look very miserable, and you seem not to know 
 where you are ! " 
 
 " Indeed," I answered, " I am very uneasy ; and I 
 really did not see you when I ran against you." 
 
 " But what is the matter with you ? " he asked 
 again. 
 
 " I owe you three-and-thirty pounds," said I ; " and 
 I owe a deal of money to others ; and I cannot find a 
 publisher for my book. Is not that enough to make 
 a man uneasy ? " 
 
 And then I told him how I and Macgowan had 
 just received a refusal from the publishing house in 
 the Strand. More I needed not to tell him ; for I had 
 told him all my proceedings from the time I left prison, 
 and ever found him an earnest and kind friend. 
 
 " Come along with me," said he ; " and I'll give you 
 a note to Douglas Jerrold ; he'll find you a publisher." 
 
 "Do j/ou know Douglas Jerrold ? " I asked. 
 
 " Know him ! " said the fine old Radical publisher ; 
 "I should think I do. I've trusted him a few half- 
 pence for a periodical, many a time, when he was 
 a printer's apprentice. If he does not find you a 
 publisher, I'll forfeit my neck. Jerrold's a brick ! " 
 
 So I went to the little shop in Shoe Lane, whence 
 John Cleave issued so many thousands of sheets of 
 Radicalism and brave defiance of bad governments, in 
 
2/6 INTRODUCTION TO DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 his time ; and he gave me a hearty note of commen- 
 dation to Jerrold, and told me to take it to the house 
 on Putney Common. I went without delay, and left 
 Cleave's note, and the part of the " Purgatory " which 
 Macgowan had printed, with Mrs. Jerrold, and inti- 
 mated that I would call again in three or four days. 
 
 I called, and received a welcome so cordial, and 
 even enthusiastic, that I was delighted. The man 
 of genius grasped my hand, and gazed on my face, 
 as I gazed on his, with unmistakable pleasure. 
 
 " Glad to see you, my boy ! " said he ; " your 
 poetry is noble — it's manly; I'll find you a publisher. 
 Never fear it. Sit you down ! " he cried, ringing the 
 bell ; " what will you take .-' some wine ? Will you 
 have some bread and cheese .-* I think there's some 
 ham — we shall see." 
 
 It was eleven in the forenoon : so I was in no 
 humour for eating or drinking. But we drank two 
 or three glasses of sherry ; and were busy in talk till 
 twelve. 
 
 " I had Charles Dickens here last night," said he ; 
 " and he was so taken with your poem that he asked 
 to take it home. I have no doubt he will return it 
 this week, and then I will take it into the town, and 
 secure you a publisher. Give yourself no uneasiness 
 about it. I'll write to you in a few days, and tell you 
 it is done." 
 
 And he did write in a few days, and directed me to 
 call on Jeremiah How, 132, Fleet Street, who pub- 
 
THE PUBLISHER FOUND AT LAST 277 
 
 lished Jerrold's " Cakes and Ale," Mrs. S. C. Hall's 
 "Ireland and its Scenery, etc.," the Illustrated "Book 
 of British Ballads," and other popular novelties of the 
 time. Mr. How agreed at once to be my publisher ; 
 and when he learned from me that I did not like the 
 thought of O'Connor paying the printer, and that I 
 meant to repay O'Connor, being unwilling to receive 
 a favour from him, since we had begun to differ very 
 unpleasantly concerning the Land Scheme, — Mr. How 
 immediately offered to go with me to Mr. Macgowan 
 and take the responsibility of the printing upon him- 
 self. Mr, Macgowan readily took an acceptance for 
 the money from Mr. How ; I think it was £4^, being 
 the cost of 500 copies — paper, printing, and binding. 
 It might be a trifle more or less. 
 
 The growth of O'Connor's Land Scheme rendered 
 him haughty towards me, when he found he could not 
 reckon on me as one of his helpers — of whom he 
 readily found plenty. I ceased to visit him at last — 
 for I was either told he was not at home, or his bear- 
 ing was unpleasant to me. I forbear to enter into the 
 recital of the quarrel — the real and fierce quarrel — I 
 had with O'Connor, afterwards, about his land scheme. 
 Any of my readers who wish for information regard- 
 ing it may consult the " History of the Chartist Move- 
 ment," by Dr. Gammage of Sunderland, I would have 
 mentioned Dr, Gammage's work earlier and often, if 
 there had not been so many little mistakes in it. Yet 
 
278 MY POEM, AND THE "BRITANNIA." 
 
 I know no person living who could write a History of 
 Chartism without making mistakes. I am sure that I 
 could not ; and I endeavour, in this memoir, to keep 
 out of the stream of its general history ; and only refer 
 to Chartism when it becomes absolutely necessary for 
 making my narrative intelligible. 
 
 My " Purgatory of Suicides : a Prison Rhyme, in 
 Ten Books ; by Thomas Cooper the Chartist " — as 
 it was entitled, was published towards the end of 
 August, 1845. Some will think, perhaps, that I have 
 been too minute in narrating the sinuosities of my 
 experience in attempting to get my book before the 
 reading public. Yet I humbly judge that I am 
 simply making legitimate contributions to hterary 
 history, by giving the details of my experience. The 
 narrative may be of real service to some poor literary 
 aspirant in the future. 
 
 The first trumpet-blast that was heard in praise of 
 my poem was that from the Britannia newspaper of 
 August 30th. This periodical had been edited by Dr. 
 Croly, and had risen to considerable literary reputation 
 and influence. The criticism on my poem was not 
 written by Dr. Croly, as people have reported ; but by 
 the editor who succeeded him, Mr. David Trevenian 
 Coulton. Mr. Coulton was a most kind-hearted man, 
 and a great enthusiast in aught that he approved ; but his 
 commendation of my poem was too undistinguishing, 
 and was greater than it deserved. William Howitt's 
 generosity led him to write a very enthusiastic eulogy 
 
PUBLICATION OF SIMPLE TALES. 279 
 
 of my *' Prison Rhyme " in the Eclectic Review ; and 
 he also sent a very noble congratulatory letter to me, 
 and I went to see him and good Mary Howitt. Our 
 friendship has continued till I am growing old, and 
 he is really an old man. None of the great or lead- 
 ing periodicals of the day noticed my existence ; but 
 the commendations of my book in smaller periodicals 
 were countless ; and the 500 copies which formed the 
 first edition were sold off before Christmas. 
 
 Mr. How seemed kindly desirous of bringing me 
 before the reading public as fully as possible ; and 
 soon proposed to bring out the simple tales I had 
 written in prison, Douglas Jerrold had published one 
 of them — and that, perhaps, the very simplest, 
 " Charity begins at Home " — in his " Shilling Maga- 
 zine " — for which I also wrote a few other things, in 
 prose and verse. Mr. How thought the Tales I had 
 in manuscript were too numerous for one volume, and 
 persuaded me to give him the fragment of a story 
 which was partly autobiographical, in order to make 
 two volumes. These he issued about eight weeks 
 after the publication of my " Purgatory," and insisted 
 on calling them " Wise Saws and Modern Instances " 
 — though I wished them to bear the unpretending 
 title of " Simple Stories of the Midlands and Else- 
 where." 
 
 Next, Mr. How proposed that I should issue a 
 Christmas Book ; and I agreed on condition that it 
 should be in rhyme. So " The Baron's Yule Feast" 
 
280 COMMENDATION BY W. J. FOX. 
 
 came to be published. But, as it was not brought 
 out till the middle of January, the sale was very slow 
 — for the proper opportunity for sale was lost. 
 
 Alas ! my poor publisher's money was exhausted. 
 He had spent a nice little fortune on publishing. 
 And now the great printer on whom he had leaned, 
 and from whom he had expected credit — even the 
 millionaire, as he was accounted to be — had gone into 
 the shade, on account of unprosperous railway specu- 
 lations. In short, my publisher failed ; and my 
 seemingly bright literary prospects were blighted ! 
 
 I received thirty-two pounds from Mr. How for 
 the two volumes of Tales ; but not a farthing for the 
 "Purgatory." In fact, though we talked oi my having 
 ;^500 for the copyright of it, we never drew up any 
 agreement in writing, for either the " Purgatory " or 
 " The Baron's Yule Feast " : so that my poems were 
 still entirely my own when Mr. How failed. 
 
 Let no one suppose, however, that my literary 
 labours produced me only disappointment and 
 disaster. One of the first to call public attention to 
 my " Prison Rhyme " was the eloquent W. J. Fox, at 
 that time one of the most popular speakers in London 
 and the country, and afterwards M.P. for Oldham. 
 In addition to his Sunday morning discourses at 
 South Place, Finsbury Square, he was at that period 
 also delivering lectures, on Sunday evenings, on lite- 
 rary and other topics, in the National Hall, Holborn. 
 He made my " Purgatory " the subject of one of these 
 
MUNIFICENCE OF MR. ELLIS. 28 1 
 
 Sunday evening lectures ; and said more kind things 
 about me than I can repeat. He also invited me to 
 his house ; and from that time honoured me with a 
 most kind, and I might almost say a paternal friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Through the commendation of me by Mr. Fox, the 
 Committee of the National Hall — (among whom were 
 William Lovett, James Watson, Richard Moore, 
 Henry Hetherington, Charles Hodson Neesom, and 
 other well-known Chartists, of the anti- O'Connor 
 school) — invited me to lecture. Among the hearers 
 was Mr. William Ellis, then a plain citizen of London, 
 but afterwards well-known and most deservedly re- 
 spected as the founder of the Birkbeck Schools. He 
 accompanied me to my lodgings in Blackfriars Road, 
 one night at the close of October, 1845, and wrote me 
 out a cheque on a Lombard Street bank for £100. 
 
 I paid brave John Cleave his ;^33 ; sent part pay- 
 ment to the lawyer for the expenses of my Trials, 
 " Writ of Certiorari," effecting of " Bail," etc. etc., — 
 and also sent sums to others to whom I was indebted ; 
 and felt happier when I had paid away the ;^ioo 
 than I did when I received it. I had many addi- 
 tional proofs of Mr. Ellis's munificent kindness after- 
 wards. 
 
 I was favoured with interviews by the Countess of 
 Blessington — to whom, through Mr. How's persuasion, 
 I dedicated my Christmas Rhyme, or " Baron's Yule 
 Feast ;" and also by Charles Dickens, with whom I 
 
282 LETTER OF THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 afterwards corresponded, and for one of whose peri- 
 odicals I wrote a little. But the most illustrious man 
 of genius to whom my poem gave me an introduction 
 was Thomas Carlyle. I had dedicated my volume to 
 him without leave asked, and from simple and real in- 
 tellectual homage — in a sonnet composed but a day 
 or two before I quitted the gaol. At first, I meant 
 to prefix a sonnet as a dedication to each book, and I 
 wrote three or four of the sonnets — one to my play- 
 fellow, Thomas Miller, another to Thomas Moore 
 (who was then living), and another to Harriet Marti- 
 neau. But I put this thought aside — fearing it would 
 be deemed too formal (though there is a separate 
 dedication to each book of " Marmion "), and resolved 
 to dedicate the volume to Mr, Carlyle. I sent him 
 the poem ; and he sent me a letter so highly charac- 
 teristic of his genius that I insert it here : — 
 
 " Chelsea, September i, 1845. 
 "Dear Sir, , ^ ^ ^0 
 
 " I have received your Poem ; and will thank you for that 
 kind gift, and for all the friendly sentiments you entertain to- 
 wards me, — which, as from an evidently sincere man, whatever 
 we may think of them otherwise, are surely valuable to a man. 
 
 " I have looked into your Poem, and find indisputable traces of 
 genius in it,— a dark Titanic energy struggling there, for which 
 we hope there will be clearer daylight by-and-by ! If I might 
 presume to advise, I think I would recommend you to try your 
 next work in Prose, and as a thing turning altogether on Facts, 
 not Fictions. Certainly *-he music that is very traceable here 
 might serve to irradiate into harmony far profitabler things than 
 what are commonly called ' Poems,'— for which, at any rate, 
 the taste in these days seems to be irrevocably in abeyance. 
 
SUBSTANTIAL KINDNESS DISPLAYED. 283 
 
 We have too horrible a Practical Chaos round us ; out of which 
 every man is called by the birth of him to make a bit of Casinos : 
 that seems to me the real Poem for a man,— especially at pre- 
 sent. I always grudge to see any portion of a man's musical 
 talent (which is the real intellect, the real vitality, or life of him) 
 expended on making mere words rhyme. These things I say 
 to all my Poetic friends, — for I am in real earnest about them : 
 but get almost nobody to believe me hitherto. From you I 
 shall get an excuse at any rate ; the purpose of my so speaking 
 being a friendly one towards you. 
 
 " I will request you farther to accept this Book of mine, and to 
 appropriate what you can of it. ' Life is a serious thing,' as 
 Schiller says, and as you yourself practically know ! These 
 are the words of a serious man about it ; they will not altogether 
 be without meaning for you. 
 
 " Unfortunately, I am just in these hours getting out of town ; 
 and, not without real regret, must deny myself the satisfaction of 
 seeing you at present. 
 
 ." Believe me to be, 
 
 " With many good wishes, 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 " T. Carlyle." 
 
 A copy of " Past and Present " came by the same 
 postman who brought me this letter — containing Mr. 
 Carlyle's autograph. The reader may remember that 
 the motto to " Past and Present " is from Schiller — 
 " Ernst ist das Leben " — Life is a serious thiftg. 
 
 I owe many benefits to Mr. Carlyle. Not only 
 richly directoral thoughts in conversation, but deeds 
 of substantial kindness. Twice he put a five-pound 
 note into my hand, when I was in difficulties ; and 
 told me, with a look of grave humour, that if I could 
 never pay him again, he would not hang me. 
 
284 A VALUABLE FRIENDSHIP FORMED, 
 
 Just after I sent him the copy of my Prison Rhyme, 
 he put it into the hands of a young, vigorous, in- 
 quiring intelligence who had called to pay him a re- 
 verential visit at Chelsea. The new reader of my 
 book sought me out and made me his friend. That 
 is twenty-six years ago, and our friendship has con- 
 tinued and strengthened, and has never stiffened into 
 patronage on the one side, or sunk into servility on the 
 other — although my friend has now become " Right 
 Honourable," and is the Vice-President of " Her 
 Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council." 
 
 At the very moment that I read the revise of this 
 chapter, my friend has become about the "best- 
 abused " man in England. But I am so sure of his 
 most pellucid conscientiousness and sterHng political 
 integrity, that I fully believe his most determined foes 
 at the present will become his most devoted friends in 
 the future. 
 
EFFORTS FOR CHARTIST EXILES. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 JOURNEY FOR JERROLD'S PAPER : INTERVIEW 
 WITH WORDSWORTH: 1 846. 
 
 In spite of the difference between O'Connor and my- 
 self, I tried to help the sufferers by Chartism. I had 
 instituted a " Veteran Patriots' Fund," and an " Ex- 
 iles' Widows' and Children's Fund;" and I endeavoured 
 to keep these funds in existence, until I was driven 
 out of my purpose by sheer abuse. This, however, 
 did not prevent me from ministering to the relief of 
 the sufferers, so far as I was able, myself I also held 
 it a duty to join in every effort for effecting the recall 
 of those who had been exiled for political struggles. 
 On the loth of March, 1846, noble Thomas Shngsby 
 Duncombe made a motion, in the House of Com- 
 mons, for the recall of Frost, Williams, and Jones, to- 
 gether with William Ellis, who had been reckoned my 
 fellow-conspirator. The venerable Richard Oastler, 
 James Watson, Richard Moore, and others, made 
 efforts to win members of Parliament to vote for 
 the motion. 
 
 We were eager to learn what success we should 
 have; and I went with Mr. Oastler to the lobby of the 
 
286 ENGAGEMENT FOR JERROLD'S PAPER. 
 
 House of Commons, and waited till the division was 
 over. We had the promise of a vote from Mr. Disraeli ; 
 and at a quarter to twelve we learned the pitiful re- 
 sult, as he came out of the House into the lobby. 
 
 " We have polled but thirty-one," said he ; " and 
 there were one hundred and ninety-six against us. 
 Macaulay made a most bloodthirsty speech." 
 
 In the spring of 1846, Douglas Jerrold informed me 
 that he was about to commence a weekly newspaper, 
 and wished me to contribute to it. He, and his in- 
 telligent adviser, Mr. Tomline, at length determined 
 that I should go out for three months through the 
 manufacturing counties, and collect accounts of the 
 industrial, social, and moral state of the people. The 
 Times had had its " Commissioner," a short time be- 
 fore, giving such accounts ; and it was proposed that 
 I should furnish weekly articles to the new paper. It 
 was June before the arrangements were made for my 
 beginning. I visited the midland and northern Eng- 
 lish counties, and sent articles to the newspaper, en- 
 titled " Condition of the People of England." 
 
 During the first week in September, while at Car- 
 lisle, the weather being as fine as in July, I set out to 
 walk through the Lake country ; and as I drew near 
 Rydal Mount, I could not resist the desire of making an 
 attempt to see the patriarchal Poet Laureate. I think 
 it better to insert here the " Reminiscence of Words- 
 worth " I inserted in Cooper's Journal than to write 
 the sketch over again. The reader will please to re- 
 
ARRIVAL AT RYDAL MOUNT. 28/ 
 
 member that the article was written and published in 
 May, 1850. 
 
 I saw the patriarchal poet who has just departed, in 
 his own home, in September, 1846; and cannot forbear 
 recording, very briefly, the pleasing remembrances of 
 that interview, now that every lover of poetry is dwell- 
 ing with emotion on the fact of his death. I had set 
 out from my friend James Arthur's, at Carlisle, for a 
 four days' walk through the mountain and Lake 
 country, — taking simply my stick in my hand, and a 
 map of the district in my pocket On the second day 
 I climbed Skiddaw ; and on the third, having left 
 beautiful Keswick in the morning, I reached Rydal 
 Lake in the afternoon. 
 
 There was a magnet in the very name of Rydal 
 Mount : how was I to get past it without attempting 
 to see and talk with Wordsworth .'' I asked, at a 
 house by the highway side, where he lived ; and was 
 immediately pointed to his cottage, lying upwards 
 and to the left, a little out of the direct road to Am- 
 bleside. I began to walk in that direction ; but I 
 was somewhat puzzled as to whether my purpose was 
 not too romantic to be carried out. 
 
 / had no introduction, — a fact which would have 
 settled the question at once had I been in Lon- 
 don, and the wild thought had entered my head of 
 attempting to make a call so unceremoniously on 
 any of the great men of letters living there. But 
 
288 I INVENT AN INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Rydal Mount, thought I, does not come, cannot come, 
 under the same category with London : it is an out- 
 of-the-way place ; and many must have come on 
 pilgrimage to it, who had no introduction. Yes, — I 
 reasoned again, — in their carriages they might come, 
 and would then seem to assert their right to be at- 
 tended to ; but what will be said to me, covered with 
 dust, and having nothing to recommend me, except — 
 but I scarcely dared to hope it — the patriarchal Poet 
 Laureate should have heard that a Prison Rhyme was 
 sent forth last year, by a Chartist, — and yet what sort 
 of a recommendation would that be to Wordsworth } 
 That was my forlorn hope, however ; and, determined 
 not to fail for want of trying, I boldly strode up to 
 the door, and knocked. 
 
 Behold, a servant-maid came to the door, and when 
 I asked " Is Mr. Wordsworth in .■' " and she answered 
 " Yes," — I was for one moment completely at a loss 
 —for she looked at me from head to foot with an 
 expression which told me she was surprised that I 
 should come there covered with dust, and so plainly 
 dressed. To send in a request, verbally, I felt at once 
 would not do. 
 
 " Stop a moment ! " I said, — took off my hat, drew 
 a slip of paper from my pocket, and resting it on 
 my hat-crown, I wrote instantly — "Thomas Cooper, 
 author of ' The Purgatory of Suicides,' desires to pay 
 his devout regards to Mr. Wordsworth." I requested 
 the maid to present it ; and, in half a minute, she 
 
KINDNESS OF THE PATRIARCHAL POET. 289 
 
 returned, and said, with an altered expression of face, 
 " Come in, sir, if you please." 
 
 In another half minute I was in the presence of that 
 majestic old man, and I was bowing with a deep and 
 heartfelt homage for his intellectual grandeur — with 
 which his striking form and the pile of his forehead 
 served to congrue so fully — when he seized my hand, 
 and welcomed me with a smile so paternal, and such 
 a hearty " How do you do ? I am very happy to see 
 you " — that the tears stood in my eyes for joy. 
 
 How our conversation opened I cannot remember ; 
 and yet I think every word he uttered I can recollect 
 — though not the order in which the remarks came 
 from him. This I attribute partly to our conversation 
 being broken by the visit of a very intelligent and 
 amiable lady — (the widow of a great and good man, 
 the late Dr. Arnold, of Rugby) — accompanied by her 
 little daughter ; and also by my being invited to take 
 some refreshment in the adjoining room, and at the 
 kind solicitation of Mrs. Wordsworth, — whose con- 
 versation was of too great excellence for me to forget 
 it. It related chiefly to Southey, whose bust was in 
 the room; and for whose genius and industry — in 
 spite of the Toryism of his manhood — I had a deep 
 admiration, to say nothing of the noble strains for 
 freedom written in his youth. 
 
 What the great author of "The Excursion" said 
 respecting my Prison Rhyme I shall not relate here ; 
 but, remembering what he said, I can also bear the re- 
 
 19 
 
290 THE TORY IS A CHARTIST! 
 
 membrance that the Quarterly, Edinburgh, Westminster, 
 and Times, have hitherto, and ahke, judged it fit to be 
 silent as to there being such a poem in existence. 
 
 Nothing struck me so much in Wordsworth's con- 
 versation as his remark concerning Chartism — after 
 the subject of my imprisonment had been touched 
 upon. 
 
 " You were right," he said ; " I have always said 
 the people were right in what they asked ; but you 
 went the wrong way to get it." 
 
 I almost doubted my ears — being in the presence of 
 the " Tory " Wordsworth. He read the inquiring ex- 
 pression of my look in a moment, — and immediately 
 repeated what he had said. 
 
 " You were quite right : there is nothing unreason- 
 able in your Charter : it is the foolish attempt at 
 physical force, for which many of you have been 
 blamable." 
 
 I had heard that Wordsworth was vain and egotis- 
 tical, but had always thought this very unlikely to be 
 true, in one whose poetry is so profoundly reflective ; 
 and I now felt astonished that these reports should 
 ever have been circulated. To me, he was all kind- 
 ness and goodness ; while the dignity with which he 
 uttered every sentence seemed natural in a man 
 whose grand head and face, if one had never known 
 of his poetry, would have proclaimed his intellectual 
 superiority. 
 
 There was but one occasion on which I discerned 
 
TALK ABOUT BYRON'S POETRY. 29 1 
 
 the feeling of jealousy in him : it was when I men- 
 tioned Byron. " If there were time," he said, "I could 
 show you that Lord Byron was not so great a poet as 
 you think him to be — but never mind that now." I 
 had just been classing his own sonnets and " Childe 
 Harold" together, as the noblest poetry since "Paradise 
 Lost;" but did not reassert what I said : I should have 
 felt that to be irreverent towards the noble old man, 
 however unchanged my own judgment remained. 
 
 " I am pleased to find," he said, while we were talk- 
 ing about Byron, "that you preserve your muse chaste, 
 and free from rank and corrupt passion. Lord Byron 
 degraded poetry in that respect. Men's hearts are 
 bad enough. Poetry should refine and purify their 
 natures ; not make them worse." 
 
 I ventured the plea that "Donjuan" was descriptive, 
 and that Shakspeare had also described bad passions 
 in anatomising the human heart, which was one of the 
 great vocations of the poet. 
 
 " But there is always a moral lesson," he replied 
 quickly, " in Shakspeare's pictures. You feel he is not 
 stirring man's passions for the sake of awakening the 
 brute in them : the pure and the virtuous are always 
 presented in high contrast ; but the other riots in cor- 
 rupt pictures, evidently with the enjoyment of the 
 corruption." 
 
 I diverted him from a theme which, it was clear, 
 created unpleasant thoughts in him; and asked his 
 opinion of the poetry of the day. 
 
2g2 TALK ABOUT TENNYSON AND SOUTHEY. 
 
 " There is little that can be called high poetry," he 
 said. " Mr. Tennyson affords the richest promise. He 
 will do great things yet ; and ought to have done 
 greater things by this time." 
 
 " His sense of music," I observed, " seems more per- 
 fect than that of any of the new race of poets." 
 
 " Yes," he replied ; " the perception of harmony lies 
 in the very essence of the poet's nature ; and Mr. 
 Tennyson gives magnificent proofs that he is endowed 
 with it." 
 
 I instanced Tennyson's rich association of musical 
 words in his "Morte d'Arthur," " Godiva," " Ulysses," 
 and other pieces — as proofs of his possessing as fine 
 a sense of music in syllables as Keats, and even 
 Milton ; and the patriarchal poet, with an approving 
 smile, assented to it. 
 
 I assured him how much I had been interested with 
 Mrs. Wordsworth's conversation respecting Southey, 
 and told him that James Montgomery of Sheffield, in 
 an interview I had with him many years before, had 
 spoken very highly of Southey. 
 
 " Well, that is pleasing to hear," he observed ; " for 
 Mr. Montgomery's political opinions have never re- 
 sembled Southey 's." 
 
 " That was Mr. Montgomery's own observation," I 
 rejoined, "while he was assuring me that he lived 
 near to Mr. Southey for a considerable time, at one 
 period of his life, and he never knew a more estimable 
 man. He affirmed, too, that when people attributed 
 
WORDSWORTH ON LOUIS PHILIPPE. 293 
 
 Mr. Southey's change of political opinions to corrupt 
 motives, they greatly wronged him." 
 
 "And, depend upon it, they did," Wordsworth 
 answered, with great dignity: "it was the foulest 
 libel to attribute bad motives to Mr. Southey. No 
 man's change was ever more sincere. He would have 
 hated himself had he been a hypocrite ; and could 
 never afterwards have produced anything noble." 
 
 He repeated Mrs. Wordsworth remarks on Southey's 
 purity of morals, and immense industry in reading 
 almost always with the pen in his hand ; and his zeal 
 in laying up materials for future works. With a sigh 
 he recurred to his friend's mental decline and imbecility 
 in his latter days — and, again, I led him to other 
 topics. 
 
 " There will be great changes on the Continent," he 
 said, "when the present King of the French dies. 
 But not while he lives. The different governments 
 will have to give constitutions to their people, for 
 knowledge is spreading, and constitutional liberty is 
 sure to follow." 
 
 I thought him perfectly right about Louis Philippe ; 
 and which of us would not have thought him right in 
 1846.? But yet I had mistaken his estimate of the 
 " King of the Barricades." 
 
 " Ay, he is too crafty and powerful," said I, " to be 
 easily overthrown ; there will be no extension of French 
 liberty in his days." 
 
 " Oh, but you are mistaken in the character of Louis 
 
294 THE PEOPLE SURE OF THE FRANCHISE. 
 
 Philippe," he observed, very pointedly; "you should 
 not call him crafty : he is a very wise and politic prince. 
 The French needed such a man. He will consolidate 
 French character, and render it fit for the peaceable 
 acquirement of rational liberty at his decease." 
 
 I remembered the venerable age and high mental 
 rank of him with whom I was conversing, and simply 
 said — " Do you think so, sir .'' " — without telling him 
 that I thought he scarcely comprehended his subject. 
 But how the events of 1848 must have made him 
 wonder ! 
 
 He had the same views of the spread of freedom in 
 England in proportion to the increase of knowledge ; 
 and descanted with animation on the growth of Me- 
 chanics' and similar institutions. 
 
 " The people are sure to have the franchise," he 
 said, with emphasis, " as knowledge increases ; but 
 you will not get all you seek at once — and you must 
 never seek it again by physical force," he added, turn-, 
 ing to me with a smile : " it will only make you 
 longer about it." 
 
 A great part of the time he was thus kindly and 
 paternally impressing his thoughts upon me, we were 
 walking on the terrace outside his house, — whither he 
 had conducted me to note the beautiful view it com- 
 manded It was indeed a glorious spot for a poet's 
 home. Rydal Lake was in view from one window in 
 the cottage, and Windermere from another — with all 
 the grand assemblage of mountain and rock that in- 
 
THE POET S SISTER ; AND FAREWELL. 295 
 
 tervened. From the terrace the view of Windermere 
 was magnificent. 
 
 The poet's aged and infirm sister was being drawn 
 about the courtyard in a wheeled chair, as we walked 
 on the terrace. He descended with me, and intro- 
 duced me to her — as a poet ! — and hung over her 
 infirmity with the kindest affection, while she talked 
 to me. 
 
 When I hastened to depart — fearing that I had al- 
 ready wearied him — he walked with me to the gate, 
 pressing my hand repeatedly, smiling upon me so 
 benevolently, and uttering so many good wishes for 
 my happiness and usefulness, that I felt almost un- 
 able to thank him. I left him with a more intense 
 feeling of having been in the presence of a good and 
 great intelligence, than I had ever felt in any other 
 moments of my life. 
 
 *--ef 
 
296 WAITING FOR OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE, IN LONDON: 
 
 1847— 1848. 
 
 When I returned from the journey on which I had 
 been sent to collect matter for the articles on the 
 " Condition of the People," furnished to Douglas 
 Jerrold's paper, I was told by Jerrold himself that he 
 was very sorry to inform me they had not room for 
 me on the paper : it was sinking in circulation, and 
 they must reduce their staff. 
 
 My publisher, Mr. How, had now removed to 209, 
 Piccadilly, and from what he had said to me before I 
 set out on my journey, I had hoped, by the time of 
 my return, he would have been able to publish a 
 second edition of my Prison Rhyme. He requested 
 me not to offer my book to any other publisher, 
 assuring me he should be in a better position soon. I 
 waited long : my poem remained out of print a full 
 year — which was a real loss to myself. 
 
 My good friend W. J. Fox, falling ill at the begin- 
 ning of 1847, he requested me to take his place at 
 South Place, Finsbury Square, till his recovery. I 
 took it without hesitation ; and it caused a few severe 
 
"supplying" for w. J. FOX. 297 
 
 remarks from some Cockney critics. But I saw no 
 inconsistency in what I did. It was not because I 
 thought I was my peerless friend's equal in eloquence, 
 that I ventured to stand in his place — for he had no 
 equal in England. But I thought I could say some- 
 thing worth hearing, even by Cockneys ; and I had not 
 learned to pretend that I feared to supply the place 
 of another speaker, whoever he might be. 
 
 My friend was soon well again, and returned to 
 South Place, but intimated to me that he should 
 retire from his post as Sunday evening lecturer at the 
 National Hall ; and that he had told the committee 
 he wished me to succeed him. And so I commenced 
 lecturing on Sunday evenings in the Hall, so well 
 known at that time in Holborn. 
 
 I had on several occasions seen it right to speak 
 strongly against the old Chartist error of physical 
 force. For the more I reflected on the past, the more 
 clearly I saw that the popular desire for freedom had 
 failed through those errors. One night, the elder Mr. 
 Ashurst, a leading attorney of the city of London, had 
 been among my hearers; and he desired Lovett to 
 ask me if I would deliver two lectures in the National 
 Hall on "Moral Force," as a special theme. I con- 
 sented ; and the " Two Orations against the taking 
 away of Human Life " were first spoken, and then 
 published, in a pamphlet, by the Brothers Chapman, 
 who were then publishers in Newgate Street. 
 
 Calling on my old friend and playmate, Thomas 
 
298 "THE TRIUMPHS OF PERSEVERANCE." 
 
 Miller, one day, he told me that a series of boys' 
 books was being brought out by Chapman and Hall, 
 and he had written two or three of the books — but 
 other writers were wanted ; that, as the books were 
 highly illustrated, Mr. Henry Vizetelly, the engraver, 
 was entrusted with arrangements, and I might apply 
 to him. I called on Mr. Vizetelly, and engaged to 
 write "The Triumphs of Perseverance" for £2^. It 
 was but poor pay. But I was waiting still for Mr- 
 How; and the lectures at the National Hall were 
 always suspended in summer : so I was glad to get 
 any employ, Mr. Vizetelly afterwards gave me £\Q 
 to alter the " History of Enterprise " which had been 
 written by another person. Eventually, the two 
 volumes were made into one by some other writer, 
 and so published by Messrs. Darton. 
 
 During the summer of 1847, I was invited to lec- 
 ture at the John Street Institution, Tottenham Court 
 Road. It was still held, in lease, by Socialists ; and 
 I could not help wondering at the strange changes of 
 my life which had brought me to stand, as a teacher, 
 in the pulpit at South Place, and on the platform at 
 John Street, where I had heard Robert Owen and 
 W. J. Fox, on those two Sundays in 1839. 
 
 The last administration of Sir Robert Peel was now 
 broken up, and the general election came on in Au- 
 gust. So now, again, I had to take the place of my 
 eloquent friend, W. J. Fox, on Sunday mornings, at 
 South Place, that he might be free to contest the 
 
"THE people's international LEAGUE." 299 
 
 borough of Oldham — for which he was speedily 
 returned M.P. 
 
 The political atmosphere, almost everywhere, be- 
 gan now to show disturbance. In Ireland, the 
 writing and speeches of John Mitchell caused con- 
 siderable alarm. Continental affairs also began to 
 be very unsettled. The really popular course taken by 
 Pope Pio Nono, in the autumn of 1847, created great 
 hope. There was also signs of a struggle for increased 
 liberty in Switzerland. I had no personal acquaintance, 
 up to this time, with the great and good Mazzini; but, 
 at the request of my friend W. J. Fox, I joined a new 
 society which Mazzini had projected. It was called 
 "The People's International League;" and we held our 
 meetings, usually weekly, in the parlour of our secretary, 
 Mr. W. J. Linton, the engraver, in Hatton Garden, — 
 who has, it is feared, settled in America. 
 
 Mazzini himself was our great source of inspiration. 
 He assured us — months before it came to pass — that 
 a European Revolution was at hand — a revolution 
 that would hurl Louis Phillippe from his throne, and 
 endanger the thrones of others. He afhrmed this as 
 early as in September 1847, when it seemed so un- 
 likely to some of us. But his eloquence and enthu- 
 siasm had a marvellous effect upon us. He wished, 
 he said, to rouse intelligent Englishmen to a right 
 feeling and understanding of foreign questions, that 
 we might show our sympathy with the right — when 
 we really understood where it lay. 
 
300 MAZZINI, AND THE OTHER MEMBERS. 
 
 There were three or four Poles and Hungarians who 
 were members with us, of whom Capt. Stolzman was 
 the chief. In addition to my friend W. J, Fox, and 
 Mr. W. J. Linton and myself, the English members 
 were — the elder and younger Mr. Ashurst, the elder 
 and younger Mr. P. A. Taylor, Mr. James Stansfeld, 
 Mr. Sidney Hawkes, Mr. Shaen, Mr. Richard Moore, 
 Mr. James Watson, Mr. Henry Hetherington, and Mr. 
 Goodwyn Barmby. Dr. (now Sir John) Bowring and 
 my friend William Howitt, were reckoned members — 
 but neither of them ever attended our meetings. The 
 younger P. A. Taylor is now the incorruptible and un- 
 subduable M.P. for my native town of Leicester ; Mr. 
 James Stansfeld is the " Right Honourable President 
 of the Local Government Board ; " and Goodwyn 
 Barmby is a Unitarian Minister at Wakefield. 
 
 The wondrous events of the next year put an end 
 to our meetings ; but while they lasted they were 
 deeply interesting. I remember, one evening, Maz- 
 zini had been describing to us the strong hope he had 
 that an effective, but secret, movement for the over- 
 throw of Austrian tyranny, was being organized in 
 his beloved Italy. He then made a strong appeal to 
 us, whether English lovers of liberty should not show 
 their sympathy with his patriotic countrymen by 
 subscribing to furnish them with arms. 
 
 I ventured to say that I felt doubtful whether it 
 was consistent for some of us who were lamenting the 
 physical force folly of some in our own country, and 
 
POWER OF MAZZINl'S MIND. 30I 
 
 were often and openly protesting against it, to con- 
 spire for aiding another people with arms. Young 
 Peter Taylor followed me on the same side. But 
 before any other could speak, Mazzini sprang up. 
 
 " Mr. Cooper, you are right about your own coun- 
 try," he said — and those wondrous eyes of his were 
 lit up with a power that was almost overwhelming ; 
 " you are right about your own country. You have 
 had your grand decisive struggle against Tyrannous 
 Power, Your fathers brought it to the block ; and 
 you have now a Representation, and you have Charters 
 and Written Rights to appeal to. You need no physical 
 force. Your countrymen only need a will and union 
 to express it, and you can have all you need. But 
 what are my countrymen to do, who are trodden down 
 under the iron heel of a foreign tyranny i* — who are 
 watched, seized, and imprisoned before any one knows 
 what has become of them ? What are my countrymen 
 to do, I ask you } They have no Representation — they 
 have no Charters — they have no Written Rights. What 
 must my countrymen do .■• T/iey must fight ! " 
 
 We were all subdued — for he was unanswerable. 
 And when February brought the French Revolution, 
 it seemed to me as if I had listened to one who 
 possessed a degree of prophetic foresight which is given 
 to few among men. And the wonders that followed, 
 in the year 1848, rendered it the most remarkable 
 year of the nineteenth century, — unless the last year, 
 1870, be deemed still more remarkabla 
 
302 MY HOUSE AT KNIGHTSBRIDGE. 
 
 ,1 resumed my Sunday evening lectures at the 
 National Hall, in September, 1847, and continued 
 them till February, 1848 — when I gave offence to 
 Lovett and his fellow-committeemen, by changing 
 the subject of my lecture that I might describe the 
 struggle in France, as the majority of my hearers 
 wished me to do. I was soon solicited to transfer my 
 work to the John Street Institution ; and there I con- 
 tinued to lecture for a long time. 
 
 We lodged in Blackfriars Road when my Prison 
 Rhyme was published ; afterwards in Islington ; and 
 then in Devonshire Street, Red Lion Square, But 
 on the lOth of February, 1848, I ventured once more 
 to become a householder ; and from that time, for 
 seven years following, I lived at 5, Park Row, Knights- 
 bridge. It was the pleasantest house I had ever had 
 in my life. The access to it was through " Mill's 
 Buildings," a " long square " tenanted chiefly by work- 
 people and washerwomen, and, therefore, not likely 
 to attract fashionables. But the houses forming 
 "Park Row," though somewhat old, were large and 
 roomy, and must have been tenanted by " consider- 
 able " sort of people, formerly. We had no access to 
 Hyde Park, but we looked into it from our really 
 beautiful parlour ; and had daily views of the Guards, 
 and Royalty, and great people, passing by, in the 
 
 Park. 
 
 Finding at length that poor How was sinking into 
 greater difficulties, and that I could not hope to see 
 
NEW EDITION OF THE "PURGATORY." 303 
 
 his name again on any book of mine, as the publisher, 
 I yielded to a request which was pressed upon me 
 greatly by working men, that I would let my Prison 
 Rhyme be issued in numbers at twopence each, that 
 they might have it within their power to purchase it. 
 I made arrangements with James Watson to bring 
 it out in numbers ; and we were to have shared the 
 profits. But some time after, when I was greatly in 
 want of money, I sold the copyright to Watson for 
 i^50- I^ the year i860, however, a young intellectual 
 friend (Mr. Thomas Chambers, of H.M. Customs, 
 who possesses the original MS. of my Prison Rhyme) 
 bought back the copyright from him, and presented it 
 to me, so that the copyright of my poetry remains my 
 own. I ought also to say that Watson gave leave to 
 Chapman and Hall, for a fixed sum, to publish a given 
 number of copies, of a superior appearance to his own, 
 or "The People's Edition." So Chapman and Hall's 
 edition was called the "Third Edition." 
 
 Being so thoroughly separated from O'Connor and 
 his party, I was entirely kept out of the " Tenth of 
 April " trouble, and all the other troubles of the year 
 1 848. I was visited, however, by all sorts of schemers, 
 who wished to draw me into their plots and plans ; for 
 plotters and planners were as plentiful as blackberries 
 in 1848. The changes on the Continent seemed to 
 have unhinged the minds of thousands. It was not 
 only among O'Connor Chartists, or Ernest Jones 
 Chartists, and the Irish Repealers, that there were 
 plots, open and secret. I got into the secret of one 
 
304 VISIT OF A POLITICAL SPY. 
 
 plot of which a grave old politician of great intelli- 
 gence had become a member. I was amazed at the 
 infatuation displayed by himself and a fine young 
 fellow who lodged with him. I saved them both ; 
 but had some difficulty in doing it. I will describe 
 the affair — but must not mention names. 
 
 A tall, dark-looking man came to visit me one day, 
 addressing me with an air of amazing frankness : 
 assuring me that he had been in the Detective Police 
 Force, and knew all about their system ; but that he 
 hated the government, and wanted to overthrow it and 
 all other tyrannies upon the earth. He was proceeding 
 to tell me what were his plans for a revolution ; but I 
 would not hear them. He seemed determined to pro- 
 ceed ; but I assured him he had come to the wrong 
 man, and refused to listen. He was evidently mali- 
 ciously disappointed ; and I was glad when he was gone. 
 
 I had not mentioned his visit to any one. But, four 
 days after, meeting the grave, matured politician I 
 have already referred to, in Fleet Street, — he drew 
 me into one of the courts, and began to tell me that 
 he had entered into a solemn promise to assist in 
 " ending the present state of things " by one bold 
 stroke. I asked what he really meant ; and he began 
 to inform me that one was at the head of the plot 
 who had formerly been in the Detective Force, and 
 knew all the secrets of the police. I scented the 
 personality he referred to — but let him go on. A 
 young friend of his, he said, had undertaken to be 
 one of five who should fire London, in different places, 
 
AN OLD POLITICIAN "TAKEN IN." 305 
 
 with a chemical composition which would burn stone 
 itself: nothing could resist it. In the confusion that 
 must arise, the head of the plot that he had referred 
 to would mount a horse and gallop through the town, 
 proclaiming himself the Dictator. 
 
 The Irish Confederates, he said, had promised to 
 bring out all their force ; and when resistance had 
 been overcome — if any were offered — a Republican 
 government would be formed. 
 
 I never felt more astonished in my life than I did at 
 the complete infatuation of the man. I walked home 
 with him ; and asked what time his young lodger 
 would be in. " In about another hour," he said, " he 
 would come to his dinner." So I determined to stay 
 and see him, and talked on till he came. The young 
 man seemed more completely infatuated than the 
 older one. The plot was to be executed on the next 
 night but one — and so I knew there was no time to 
 lose. I asked the young man if he knew what the 
 composition was that would burn stone. He in- 
 stantly mentioned some chemical — the name of which 
 I have forgot, — and said if it were placed on a 
 stone, and sugar of lead were put to it, it would burn 
 up the stone. I asked if he had tried it — for I saw 
 I must proceed quietly. He confessed he had not. 
 I said I should like to see it tried : would he go out 
 and purchase the chemicals at two or three different 
 shops ? He consented — went out — and soon returned. 
 
 We went downstairs, and then into what Lon- 
 
 20 
 
3C6 MADNESS OF THE PLOTTERS. 
 
 doners call a " back place," which had a brick floor — 
 but there was one large stone in the floor. The 
 young man eagerly put a portion of the chemical 
 on the stone. Then, tying a spoon to a stick, he 
 filled the spoon with sugar of lead ; and, standing 
 at a distance from the stone, he stretched out the 
 stick and poured the sugar of lead on the chemical. 
 There was a sudden pink-coloured blaze, and all was 
 over. The stone was scarcely tinged with black. I 
 urged him to try it again ; and then to try it on wood, 
 — but it would not fire either ! 
 
 The young man looked mortified and ashamed ; 
 and I took him upstairs to the elder man and com- 
 municated the result of our trial ; and the elder man 
 looked vexed and ashamed. But I saw now that I 
 had some advantage in talking to them. 
 
 " How came you to believe such a wild tale with- 
 out trying it ? " I said. " I can venture my head on 
 the assertion that no man in the world knows of a 
 chemical composition which you can place on the 
 stones of the street and set them on fire — or burn 
 stone houses, or brick houses, either. This scoundrel 
 who has drawn you into this mad plot came to me, 
 before he came to you " 
 
 " Came to yoti ? " 
 
 " Came to me, and told me the same tale of his 
 having been in the Detective Force ; but I stopped 
 Jiim — although I had to use threatening in order to do 
 it He seeks to ruin you both." 
 
STUBBORNNESS OF THE PLOTTERS. 307 
 
 " I'll shoot him if he plays me false," exclaimed the 
 younger man. 
 
 • " You had better have no more to do with him ; 
 but tell him, when he calls to-night, to walk off." 
 
 " Oh no ! I shall not do that," said the younger 
 man ; " the job will be done to-morrow night, and 
 I mean to go through with it." 
 
 The elder man now joined the younger in denounc- 
 ing my attempt to put them off their foolish scheme. 
 It was time the bad state of things was altered, he 
 said. He had been struggling all his life against bad 
 governments ; and now a determined stroke was to be 
 played, he would not draw back. 
 
 I left them ; but returned at night, and renewed 
 my entreaties. I reminded the elder man that he knew 
 the names of Castles, and Oliver, and Edwards, the 
 old spies and bargainers for "blood-money " in Castle- 
 reagh and Sidmouth's time, as well as I did ; and he 
 might be sure the brood of such vermin was not 
 extinct yet. As the fellow did not come at nine 
 o'clock, according to promise, the younger man said 
 he would go out, and try to find him. 
 
 " Nay," I said ; " you had better stay. Let him 
 come, and let me confront him." 
 
 Ten o'clock struck ; but he did not come. No 
 doubt he had seen me enter the house ; and so felt 
 it would destroy his scheme to meet me, if I had not 
 destroyed his scheme already. I told the two deluded 
 men that the fellow most likely knew that I was in 
 
308 THE PLOT IS GIVEN UP. 
 
 the house, and would not come in. The younger man 
 jumped up, and said he should like to know if it were 
 so, and would go to the house of a friend who lived 
 near, and ask if he had called there. 
 
 The young man returned, but not with any news of 
 the whereabouts of the mysterious would-be Dictator. 
 Yet he had learned that the Irish Confederates had 
 signified they could not " come out " the next night : 
 so, most likely, the thing would be put off for the 
 present. 
 
 I went again the next day, and found that a night's 
 reflection had produced a change. Neither the young 
 man nor the elder one talked so confidently as before. 
 They seemed greatly to wonder that their chief had 
 failed to call. 
 
 " If he has been laying a lying information against 
 us, and means to visit us to-day and bring some of 
 the Force with him," said the elder man, "he can 
 prove nothing against us." 
 
 " He could only assert that he had visited you in 
 your houses," I said ; " and it would be strange 
 evidence to give against you — though you were 
 unwise to listen to him. I feel sure you are in 
 no danger from him, if you refuse to let him enter 
 your house when he calls again ; and tell him you 
 will have nothing more to do with him." 
 
 They did not promise — but I saw they would take 
 my advice. So long as the old politician lived, he 
 never met me without a blush. 
 
MEETING SADLY WITH MY OLD TEACHER. 309 
 
 Let me add another reminiscence — but of a very 
 different character — before I conclude this chapter. 
 I mentioned the fact that I met my old Italian 
 instructor Signor D'Albrione on the day of the riot in 
 the Potteries ; and in the latter part of 1845 I found 
 him again, in London. We agreed that he should 
 resume his old office as my French and Italian 
 teacher ; and we kept the agreement till I went out 
 into the North of England for Jerrold's paper in 1846. 
 When I returned, as we went into a new lodging, he 
 failed to find me ; and as I had no knowledge of 
 where he lived — for he was always reticent about it — 
 I could not find him. 
 
 One forenoon in the close of 1847, I was passing 
 over Blackfriars Bridge when I caught sight of a tall 
 figure, almost in rags, bending over the parapet, with 
 such a look of misery that, at first, I did not recognize 
 in it the noble face of the brave old Carbonaro and 
 soldier of Napoleon. Believing it to be the face of 
 D'Albrione, I called him by his name. He did not 
 speak, but turned upon me a glance of despair that I 
 can scarcely describe — while he sobbed, and the tears 
 rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 "My good friend," I said, "what are you doing 
 here ? " He pointed significantly to the river beneath. 
 
 " Oh, nay, come away," I said, " come away, and tell 
 me about yourself — don't think of that ! " 
 
 He told me his dark tale of distress, and it was 
 dark indeed. His teaching had fallen off, till, at last, 
 
310 THE WANDERER RETURNS HOME TO DIE. 
 
 he could not get food, and his strength sank ; and 
 when he had pawned everything but the rags he wore, 
 he did not feel strength or courage to apply for employ- 
 ment in his profession as a teacher of languages. I 
 helped to keep him on his legs — though his constitu- 
 tion was gone — until the political earthquake came in 
 1848 ; and then he asked me to raise him a little 
 money, and give him an introduction to Mazzini, who, 
 he felt sure, would complete the means of getting him 
 home to his native Turin. The noble heart of 
 Mazzini was touched with the misfortunes of his 
 countryman, and he effectually opened the exile's 
 path back to his birthplace. Doubtless the poor 
 wanderer has long since been borne to his rest on his 
 native soil. 
 
NO SHARE IN LATER CHARTISM. 3II 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : ' 
 1848 — 1850. 
 
 In the year 1848, I think, Chartists were wilder than 
 we were in 1842, or than the members of the First 
 Convention were in 1838. Experience had rendered 
 me a Httle wiser than to suffer myself to be mixed 
 up again with any plot, however plausible : so I kept 
 out of them all. If the reader would know the wild 
 Chartist history of 1848, and learn how imprisonment, 
 and death in prison, were the lot that fell to some of 
 its victims, he can consult Dr. Gammage, as I told 
 him before. As I had nothing to do with the mon- 
 strous " National Petition," or the meeting on Ken- 
 nington Common, or the "glorious loth of April," or 
 any of the " monster meetings " of the year, I am cut 
 off, happily, from the later Chartist history of violence 
 and failure. 
 
 Mention of that memorable " lOth of April" calls 
 up one agreeable reminiscence. On the evening be- 
 fore the day, I was kindly invited by my highly intel- 
 ligent friend Dr. Garth Wilkinson to join a party, in 
 his house at Hampstead, to meet Emerson, the illus- 
 
312 EMERSON AND MARGARET FULLER. 
 
 trious American. He was the only American in whose 
 company I ever felt any enjoyment. The dictatorial 
 manner and assumption of all Americans I have ever 
 met, except Emerson, rendered them most undesirable 
 companions. I met Margaret Fuller twice, during 
 the time she was in London — once at W. J. Fox's, 
 and the other time at Hugh Doherty's — but felt dis- 
 gust rather than pleasure in her company. She talked 
 through her nose, and lifted up her head to shout, 
 so as to be heard by all in the room : behaviour so 
 utterly foreign to an Englishman's notions of woman- 
 liness ! Emerson did not talk in his nose ; and why 
 any Yankee should, I cannot see, if they were not in 
 love with coarseness. Emerson's talk was gentle and 
 good ; and his manners were those of a quiet English 
 gentleman. I walked into London with him — as he 
 had intimated a wish to walk. It was Sunday even- 
 ing ; and he made observations on a host of subjects, 
 as we gently walked on — for he would not hurry. 
 Religion, Politics, Literature — ours, and America's : 
 he seemed eager to learn all he could, and willing to 
 communicate all he could. He seemed to think and 
 talk without pride or conceit, and with remarkable 
 good common-sense, so far as my humble judgment 
 went. 
 
 I could say anything to him — but I could not talk 
 to Margaret Fuller. I remember that my friend Mr. 
 Fox left his arm-chair to come to the opposite side 
 of his drawing-room, and remind me that I had not 
 
 1 
 
WILLIE THOM OF INVERURY. 313 
 
 yet spoken to his American guest. And if he had 
 not done so, I do not think I should have exchanged 
 words with her — though my friend WiUie Thorn stood 
 and conversed with her a long time. 
 
 Poor Willie Thorn ! how melancholy it seems to 
 look back upon the close of the history of the weaver- 
 poet of Inverury ! especially when one calls to mind 
 what his natural endowments were, despite his lowly 
 condition. Mr. Fox used to say that Willie Thom 
 had the richest powers of conversation of any man he 
 had ever known ; and Mr. Fox had been intimate 
 with Leigh Hunt, and Macready, and Pemberton, 
 and Talfourd. And, indeed, it required an effort to 
 free yourself from the conviction that you were 
 conversing with a thoroughly educated man when 
 you talked with Willie Thom. The thought in every 
 word he used was wondrous, even on the commonest 
 subjects. 
 
 And then he sang so sweetly ! We got up a 
 weekly meeting, at one time, at the Crown Tavern, 
 close to the church of St. Dunstan's-in-the-West, 
 Fleet Street ; and it was chiefly that we might enjoy 
 the society of Willie Thom. Julian Harney, and John 
 Skelton (now Dr. Skelton), and old Dr. Macdonald, 
 and James Delvin, who wrote " The Shoemaker," and 
 Walter Cooper, and Thomas Shorter, and a few others 
 were members of our weekly meeting. Willie Thom 
 usually sang us his "Wandering WiUie," or "My ain 
 wee thing : " and sometimes I sang them my prison 
 
314 HIS UNFORTUNATE LIFE. 
 
 songs, " O choose thou the maid with the gentle blue 
 eye," and " I would not be a crowned king," 
 
 The poor poet's singings soon came to an end. 
 After the publication of his first and only volume, 
 he was induced (as he always said, by Gordon of 
 Knockespock) to come and settle in London, under 
 false promises. Money had been subscribed for him 
 by Scottish merchants in India and others — I think to 
 the amount of ^^400. But he made no proper use of 
 it. He yielded to people who urged him to sit up 
 singing and drinking whisky the whole night through. 
 And although he had some constitution left when I 
 first knew hirti, it soon faded. Again and again, I 
 carried invitations to him, from Douglas Jerrold, to 
 contribute to the Shilling Magazine, and also from 
 William Howitt, to contribute to his periodical; but 
 it was in vain. 
 
 " Nay — nay ! " he used to say, with an air of 
 wretchedness ; ** I can do nae such thing as they ask, 
 although they promise me siller for it. I threw off 
 my lilts o' the heart in auld time, when I had a heart; 
 but I think I've none left noo !" 
 
 At last, he was reduced to absolute starvation, in 
 London. He had married his servant after the death 
 of his first wife ; and when she was in a condition that 
 needed some amendment of life, they were at the 
 lowest. She actually brought forth her child without 
 any help from a medical man, her own husband in the 
 room, — and they were without food ! George Jacob 
 
THE MUSIC AT JOHN STREET. 315 
 
 Holyoake, living near them, was the first to learn the 
 fact ; threw them his last sovereign, and ran out to 
 seek the proper help the poor woman needed. 
 
 I went to Mr. P. A. Taylor (the present M.P. for 
 Leicester) so soon as I heard the sorrowful facts ; and 
 he promised to renew the help he and his friends had 
 formerly rendered the poor poet. It was perceived, 
 however, that there was no hope for him in London. 
 So, by the interest of Sir Wm. Forbes, ^40 was ob- 
 tained from the Literary Fund, and he was sent down 
 to Dundee, under a promise that he would return to 
 the loom. He lived but a few months, and his wife 
 but a few months after him ; and they lie buried to- 
 gether in Dundee Cemetery, not far from the grand 
 river Tay. 
 
 During the stirring year of 1848, I kept on at my 
 lecturing work, on Sunday evenings, at the John 
 Street Institution. I had large audiences, to listen to 
 history and foreign and home politics, mingled with 
 moral instruction. One great charm of these even- 
 ings, for myself, was the music. There was a good 
 organ, and I strove to direct the taste of the choir 
 to Handel and Mozart and Haydn and Beethoven ; 
 and the result was that we soon had some thorough 
 good chorus-singing. 
 
 I had crowds to listen to me in the winter of 1848-9. 
 And I might have done great good if I had con- 
 tinued simply to teach history, and to deal with 
 the stirring politics of the time. But I had now be- 
 
3l6 LECTURES ON STRAUSS'S SYSTEM. 
 
 come a thorough adherent of Strauss. I believed his 
 " Mythical System " to be the true interpretation of 
 what was called Gospel History. So, in my evil zeal 
 for what I conceived to be Truth, I delivered eight 
 lectures, on successive Sunday evenings, on the teach- 
 ings of the " Leben Jesu." I soon repeated them in 
 the " Hall of Science," City Road — for I began in 
 October, 1848, to lecture, alternately, at that place 
 and at John Street. There is no part of my teaching 
 as a public lecturer that I regret so deeply as this. 
 It would rejoice my heart indeed if I could obliterate 
 those lectures from the Realm of Fact. But it can- 
 not be. We must bear the guilt and take the conse- 
 quences of all our acts which are contrary to the 
 will of Him Who made us, and Who has a right to 
 our service. 
 
 In December, 1848, Mr. Benjamin Steill, of 20, 
 Paternoster Row, asked me if I were willing to con- 
 duct a weekly penny periodical, to be devoted to 
 Radical politics and general instruction. I answered 
 " Yes ; " for J could have no doubt that the original 
 publisher of Wooler's Black Dwarf and I would well 
 agree in our political views. Mr. Steill allowed me 
 to choose a name for the new serial ; and, without 
 knowing that Hazlitt had formerly conducted a 
 periodical, or rather published a series of papers 
 under that title, I determined to call it " THE PLAIN 
 Speaker." 
 
 Mr. Steill gave me but two pounds per week, and 
 
LETTERS IN "THE PLAIN SPEAKER." 317 
 
 expected me to write the greater part of the contents. 
 But with the third number he introduced Wooler, the 
 aged editor of the famous old Black Dwarf, of the 
 times of Hunt and Cobbett. Yet Wooler did not 
 help me effectually. 
 
 " He was, at one time, the finest epistolary writer 
 in England," said Mr. Steill in his commendation. 
 But the stilted style of the Black Dwarf, however it 
 had been relished by the men of a former generation, 
 was not in favour with the men of my generation, 
 and they could see no resemblance to "Junius" in 
 him. Nor was Wooler's conversation more animated 
 than his style : it was " flat, stale, and unprofitable." 
 
 The best papers I wrote in the Plain Speaker 
 were my "Eight Letters to the Young Men of the 
 Working Classes." They were afterwards published 
 as a sixpenny pamphlet, and sold in thousands. I do 
 not think I ever wrote anything that was instru- 
 mental of so much real good as those Letters. 
 
 Letters to Richard Cobden, the Duke of Grafton, 
 the Bishop of London, Joseph Hume, Lord Ashley, 
 the Duke of Beaufort, Lord John Russell, the Earl of 
 Carlisle, the Earl of Winchilsea, Sir Robert Inglis, 
 Sir Robert Peel, the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 James Garth Marshall of Leeds, Sir E. N. Buxton, 
 John Bright, Benjamin Disraeli, the Marquis of 
 Granby, R. Bernal Osborne, Sir Joshua Walmsley, 
 Lord Stanley, the Duke of Rutland, Lord Brougham, 
 and others, all more or less political, form the staple 
 
3l8 TAKEN BY A FRIEND TO PARIS. 
 
 of my writing for the Plain Speaker. But the letters 
 to the " Right Reverend the Lord Harry of Exeter " 
 were considered to be the most amusing part of the 
 series. 
 
 In the spring of 1849, ^ lectured in Birmingham, 
 Sheffield, Manchester, Liverpool, Bolton, Newcastle- 
 on-Tyne, Shields, Sunderland, Carlisle, Leeds, and 
 York ; and still kept up my writing for the Plain 
 Speaker. In the month of May, the kind and true 
 friend to whom Thomas Carlyle showed my Prison 
 Rhyme, asked me to go over with him to Paris. I 
 hesitated ; but my dear wife said I should, perhaps, 
 never have such another offer in my life ; and when I 
 consulted Mr. Steill, he said I could write from Paris. 
 So I consented. Under the titles " Five Days in 
 Paris " and " A Sunday in Calais," I gave a sketch of 
 my experiences, in the current numbers of the Plain 
 Speaker. That was the only time I was ever on the 
 Continent ; and I feel myself under lasting obliga- 
 tions to my friend for affording me the opportunity 
 of seeing Paris, and Versailles, and St. Denis, and 
 Calais with my own eyes. 
 
 I went over to Leicester in 1849, and addressed 
 meetings, at the request of several old friends, who 
 wished me to present myself again as a candidate for 
 the representation of my native town in Parliament. 
 I speedily gave up the project, clearly discerning that 
 no poor man, unconnected with aristocracy, or power- 
 ful local influences, can succeed in such a purpose. 
 
LETTER OF EBENEZER ELLIOTT. 319 
 
 During this year I also lectured at Cheltenham and 
 Northampton, and other towns. 
 
 In August, 1849, I ceased to write for the Plain 
 Speaker. The paper was not got out at the proper 
 time of the week (the proprietor not being able to 
 buy the materials), and so the circulation sank. To 
 enable Mr. Steill to cope a little better with diffi- 
 culties, I gave up half of my salary as editor ; but 
 he still was too late in the week with the publish- 
 ing ; and, seeing no hope of amendment, I withdrew. 
 Wooler and he struggled on with the paper to the 
 end of the year. 
 
 I cannot close my account of the year 1849 without 
 recording a slight incident connected with the memory 
 of a man of real genius. My friend George Searle 
 Phillips (or "January Searle") was on a visit to 
 Ebenezer Elliott, and, in my name, presented him 
 with a copy of my " Purgatory of Suicides," and also 
 intimated my wish to see him. The poet (who died 
 very soon after) sent me his mind in a note which is, 
 at once, so characteristic of the man, that 1 present it 
 to the reader : — 
 
 " Hargate Hill, near Barnsley, 
 
 " (jth September, 1849. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Cooper, 
 
 " Stone deaf, as I am at present, and agonized with unin- 
 termitting pain, I could not welcome a visit from Dante him- 
 self, even if he brought with him a sample of the best brim- 
 stone pudding which may be prepared for me in the low country. 
 But if I should recover, and you then happen to be in my neigh- 
 
320 PUBLICATION OF "COOPER'S JOURNAL." 
 
 bourhood, you will need no introduction but your name ; and I 
 will promise you a hearty welcome, bacon and eggs, and a bed. 
 
 " I am, dear sir, 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 " Ebenezer Elliott." 
 
 Before the end of the year, I was strongly urged by 
 all my friends to commence a weekly penny periodi- 
 cal on my own account ; and so on Saturday, January 
 5th, 1850, the first number of Cooper's Journal was 
 published by James Watson, who lived then at " 3, 
 Queen's Head Passage," one of the passages be- 
 tween Paternoster Row and Newgate Street. I re- 
 gret deeply that I was persuaded by my freethinking 
 friends to publish my Lectures on Strauss's " Leben 
 Jesu," in the new periodical. I had many misgivings 
 about it ; but some of them urged it so strongly, that 
 I committed myself to a promise, and then felt bound 
 to fulfil it. 
 
 Of course, I had to furnish the greater portion of 
 writing for each number ; but I was kindly assisted 
 by friends in filling up the weekly pages of Cooper's 
 Journal. My best contributors of poetry were Gerald 
 Massey (some of whose earliest pieces first appeared 
 in my periodical), J. A. Langford (now Dr. Langford) 
 of Birmingham, and poor William Jones of Leices- 
 ter. There were scattered pieces of rhyme by W. 
 Moy Thomas (now editor of CasselVs Magazine), 
 William Whitmore of Leicester, and others. My best 
 and most productive prose contributor was Frank 
 
NAMES OF WRITERS IN IT. 32 1 
 
 Grant — a young man of very considerable powers of 
 mind, but an invalid for years, by paralysis of hij 
 lower limbs. He was the son of an excellent clergy- 
 man in the Staffordshire Potteries, but was a free- 
 thinker — and that most conscientiously. Other con- 
 tributors were my beloved friend Samuel M. Kydd 
 (now a barrister-at-law), George Hooper (author of 
 " The Battle of Waterloo," and an active member of 
 the London newspaper press), my very old intellec- 
 tual friends, J. Yeats of Hull, and Richard Otley of 
 Sheffield, Thomas Shorter (secretary of the Working 
 Men's College), and a few more. 
 
 There were sold, altogether, of the first number, 
 9,000 ; but the sale soon began to decline. At the 
 end of June I suspended the publication, by announce- 
 ment, for three months. But the recommencement, in 
 October, was so unsuccessful, as to lead me to close 
 the publication entirely at the end of that month. 
 
 During the months of January, February, March' 
 April, and May, 1850, I lectured, on Sunday nights> 
 alternately, at the John Street Institution, Tottenham 
 Court Road, and the Hall of Science, City Road. 
 And during these months I also lectured, on oth& 
 nig-hts of the week, in several of the smaller Institutes 
 of London. The months of June, July, and August 
 were devoted to travelling — when I lectured at Co- 
 ventry, Hull, Newcastle-on-Tyne, Sunderland, North 
 Shields, Alnwick, Carlisle, Stockton-on-Tees, Mid- 
 dlesborough, York, Leeds, Keighley, Wakefield 
 
 21 
 
322 JOURNEYING AND LECTURING. 
 
 Huddersfield, Bradford, Sheffield, Rotherham, and 
 Doncaster, together with Pudsey, Heckmondwike, 
 Cullingworth, and other smaller towns in Yorkshire ; 
 and afterwards at Cheltenham, Norwich, and South- 
 ampton. The subjects on which I lectured in these 
 journeyings were — the Lives and Genius of Milton, 
 Burns, Byron, and Shelley ; the Genius of Shakspeare ; 
 the Commonwealth and Cromwell ; the Wrongs of 
 Ireland ; and sometimes I lectured on the political 
 changes at home and on the Continent. 
 
THE GREAT EXHIBITION YEAR. 323 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 LECTURING IN IRELAND AND SCOTLAND : 
 FUNERAL OF "THE GREAT DUKE." 
 
 The opening of the "Great Exhibition Year," 1851, 
 found me at what had now become my settled employ 
 on Sunday evenings — the lectures at John Street and 
 City Road. During the year, I delivered ten lectures 
 on the History of Greece, and seventeen lectures on 
 the History of Rome. But my London lecturing, be 
 it observed, was interrupted for six months of this 
 year. Living so close to Hyde Park, I saw them dig 
 the fountains and mark the ground for the " Great 
 Exhibition," and I saw the Queen go, in procession, 
 to open it. Our house, we soon found, had lost all its 
 pleasantness. On Sundays, especially, we seemed to 
 live in the midst of a fair. They were crying " Oranges, 
 fine oranges " in our ears, all the daylight hours after 
 ten in the morning ; and the grass of the beautiful 
 park disappeared beneath the feet of the thousands 
 that frequented it. The hurly-burly and noise were 
 insufferable. .S-^ we began to wish to get away. I 
 had often received invitations to lecture in Scotland, 
 and now came one to lecture in Ireland. So I let 
 
3;?4 VISIT TO BELFAST. 
 
 the house for the summer — my dear wife went to 
 her sister's, at Lincoln — and I went down into the 
 Staffordshire Potteries to commence my six months' 
 lecturing tour. 
 
 After a stay of nearly three weeks in the Potteries, 
 I spent a fortnight in Manchester ; then took the 
 packet at Fleetwood, and went over to Belfast. I 
 delivered eight lectures (Shakspeare, Milton, Burns, 
 Byron, Shelley, French Revolution, Civilisation, Crom- 
 well) and remained fourteen days in Belfast. I liked 
 the town, and I liked the neighbourhood ; and I 
 experienced the most perfect kindness from the 
 friends who invited me. But I did not feel " at 
 home " in Ireland. I felt as I lectured that I never 
 got hold of the Irish mind or heart. It is true, I 
 went over to the Green Isle at an unfavourable time. 
 The names of "John Mitchell " and " Smith O'Brien " 
 were in the ascendant then in the affections of Irish 
 working men ; and I was no friend of either of those 
 great professors of patriotism. 
 
 The last lecture I gave at Belfast was on the Poet 
 Shelley ; and such commendation as I gave his beau- 
 tiful poetry seemed to excite ten times the applause 
 I received when I had eulogized our glorious Shak- 
 speare, or Milton. I took the opportunity to tell 
 them that I was glad to awaken their sense of ap- 
 proval, for I had really been disappointed with my 
 reception in Ireland. It had ever been the lesson 
 taught in England, I assured them, that Irish nature 
 
RAGE FOR "NATIONALITY." 325 
 
 was warm, generous, and easily excited to sympathy ; 
 but I had felt my audience cold, critical, and unsym- 
 pathising, compared with an English audience. I 
 said I could not account for this. There seemed to 
 be no natural separation between English and Irish, 
 to my humble perception. Our features were pretty 
 much alike — their country seemed like ours, for I had 
 found the daisies and buttercups of my childhood in 
 their fields — and I hoped we were very much alike in 
 our love of freedom. 
 
 "We don't want to be like the English," shouted a 
 young Mitchellite, with all his power of lungs. 
 
 " Then, what do you want } " I asked. 
 
 " Nationality ! " was the thundering reply, followed 
 by clapping of hands and thundering of feet on the 
 floor, from nearly all the younger members of the 
 audience. 
 
 "Nationality!" I resumed, so soon as silence was 
 restored ; " and if you had what you call ' Nation- 
 ality ' — that is„ entire separation from England — to- 
 day, what would you have to-morrow .'' I will tell 
 you. Intestine war and bloodshed — fierce war be- 
 tween Protestant and Catholic — and finally, domi- 
 nation by some foreign power, whether French or 
 American ; and while the new conquerors used you 
 to mortify Old England, you would be no happier 
 yourselves, and would soon desire to unite with us 
 again." 
 
 The elder part of my audience cried " Hear, hear," 
 
326 LECTURING IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 vociferously; but the younger cried "No, no!" and 
 I speedily brought the meeting to an end. I may 
 briefly say that I have never felt any uncontrollable 
 desire to re-visit Ireland. 
 
 From Belfast I sailed, by steamer, to Ardrossan, 
 and thus first set foot on the shore of Scotland. I 
 lectured six times in Glasgow, four times at Paisley, 
 twice at Hamilton, once at Kilbarchan, once at Barr- 
 head, four times at Aberdeen, thrice at Dundee, twice 
 at Dunfermline, six times at Edinburgh, twice at 
 Dalkeith, once at Lasswade, twice at Galashiels, 
 and twice at Hawick ; and re-entered England, as I 
 always do, gladly — but with a very different feeling 
 from that with which I left Ireland. I was "at home" 
 from the first moment while addressing a Scottish 
 audience ; and I freely declare that I would choose to 
 address some such audiences as I have addressed in 
 Scotland, sooner than any English audience I could 
 name. I know no people so keenly appreciative of 
 the value of thought as the people of Edinburgh ; and 
 I would sooner lecture to an Edinburgh audience than 
 any other audience in the world. 
 
 While I was at Edinburgh, two of its literary 
 people — (Dr. Black, and Mrs. Crowe, the authoress of 
 " Susan Hopley ") attended one of my lectures, and 
 kindly stayed to speak to me at the close. They 
 learned that I had to lecture at Lasswade, and urged 
 me to go and see Thomas De Quincey, who, they said, 
 lived by the river Esk, about a mile beyond Lasswade. 
 
VISIT TO THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 327 
 
 And I did go to see him, presented him with a copy 
 of my Prison Rhyme, and was very kindly received 
 by him. 
 
 One of the daughters of the man of genius — (there 
 were two of them at the table) — manifested bad be- 
 haviour, as I thought. Her father showed true cour- 
 tesy in speaking to me on pohtical subjects — although 
 we were on different sides. This did not suit the 
 elder daughter — a really fine-looking young woman ; 
 and so she proudly chid De Quincey for not " main- 
 taining his sentiments with dignity." 
 
 He remonstrated with her, very gently; but the 
 proud girl only denounced my Chartism the more. 
 
 " My dear," said her father, whose small slender 
 frame shook with feeling, " do not talk so, I beseech 
 you — you will insult Mr. Cooper." 
 
 " But I am not insulted," said I. 
 
 The daughter caught my glance, bit her lip, and was 
 silent. Her father kindly walked along the Esk with 
 me, back to Lasswade, and conversed most delight- 
 fully. I left him with regret, and found my audience 
 had been waiting for me full half an hour, to hear my 
 lecture on Robert Burns. It was the only time in my 
 life I ever neglected to meet an audience at the right 
 time ; and I found my Scottish hearers forgave me 
 when they learned I had been with Thomas De 
 Quincey. 
 
 Before returning to London for the winter, I lec- 
 tured in Alnwick, North Shields, Newcastle-on-Tyne, 
 
328 HEALTH RESTORED AT BEN RHYDDING. 
 
 Hexham, Carlisle, Blackburn, Padiham, Oldham, St. 
 Helen's, Staleybridge, Wigan, Colne, Wakefield, 
 Huddersfield, Halifax, Bradford, Leeds, York, Hull, 
 Sheffield, Keighley, Batley, Birstal, and some smaller 
 towns in Yorkshire. I was so disabled, bodily, by 
 the time I got into Yorkshire, that my good and 
 kind friend — my right honourable friend, as I will 
 call him, henceforth — when I reached his house at 
 Rawdon, insisted on putting me under the care of 
 Dr. Macleod, of the Hydropathic Establishment, 
 Ben Rhydding, and paying all the expenses. I re- 
 mained at that most delightful place three weeks, 
 and gratefully left it with a degree of health and 
 strength that I had not felt for some years. 
 
 I lectured at Leamington, on my way to London, 
 and went over, with a few friends, to see sweet Strat- 
 ford-on-Avon, and to worship, intellectually, at Shak- 
 speare's shrine. Before the close of 185 1, I also 
 lectured at Norwich, Leicester, Hastings, Portsmouth, 
 Southampton, Winchester, and' Salisbury, and had 
 the indescribable pleasure of seeing mysterious Stone- 
 henge — a sight I had longed to see for many years. 
 
 After giving but four lectures on Sunday evening:^ 
 at John Street, at the beginning of 1852, I thought it 
 better to leave that Institution for a time. So I 
 lectured at the Hall of Science only, on Sunday even- 
 ings, for the rest of that year, I went out of town, 
 however, sometimes, on the other days of the week, 
 to lecture ; and thus visited Devonport, Bristol, 
 
DEATH OF THE GREAT DUKE. 329 
 
 Cambridge, Peterborough, Coventry, Lincoln, Louth, 
 Keighley, Barnsley, and Todmorden ; my subjeets 
 being " Shakspeare," "Milton," "Burns," "Byron," 
 " Cromwell," " Civilisation," " Washington," etc., etc. 
 At the Hall of Science, during the year 1852, I de- 
 livered a series of eleven lectures on the French Re- 
 volution, five on the British Poets, six on the life of 
 Wellington, besides miscellaneous lectures. 
 
 This was the death-year of the Great Duke — the 
 " Iron Duke," as we so often called him. Living in 
 Knightsbridge, about a quarter of a mile beyond 
 Apsley House, I had to pass by his dwelling every 
 time that I went into the heart of London ; and saw 
 him, sometimes, every day for weeks together. What 
 a fascination, what an irresistible attraction there was 
 about that grand old man ! How all the memorable 
 doings of our century seemed to gather around him, as 
 you looked at his rigid, stern figure ! I often walked 
 close by his horse, for half a mile out of my way, 
 marking his bearing, and noting the uniform " military 
 tip," of his forefinger towards his forehead, that he 
 gave to all those, great or little, who took off their 
 hats to him ; and there were usually scores who did 
 this. 
 
 I remembered how Radicals employed the rough 
 side of their tongue — to quote an old Lincolnshire 
 phrase — when they described " the man who helped 
 Castlereagh to carry up the Green Bag to the House 
 of Lords," for the prosecution of poor Queen Caroline 
 
330 CHANGE OF PUBLIC FEELING. 
 
 — I remembered the laughter of old Rads when they 
 described the fierce, exultant hurrah that they gave 
 at the door of Westminster Abbey when the body of 
 " carotid-artery-cutting Castlereagh " was taken out of 
 the hearse, and the Duke held up his hand, and said, 
 " Hush !" — I remembered his opposition to Reform, in 
 the later time, and the caricatures of him as a hook- 
 nosed coachman on the box, and King William the 
 Fourth inside, with the inscription beneath : " The 
 Man wot drives the Sovereign " — I could not forget 
 the barricades to his house put up during the Reform 
 struggle, for I saw them every day ; they were never 
 taken down till after his death. But all this had 
 passed away ; and Wellington had become not only 
 the great pillar of State and most valued counsellor of 
 his Queen ; but, next to her, the most deeply respected 
 and most heartily honoured person in the realm. 
 
 Everybody liked to see "the Duke"; and no one 
 would hear a word against him. 
 
 Soldiers — old soldiers — they idoHzed him. They 
 regarded him as the very personification of English 
 valour and English sagacity. Politicians — they all 
 had a glance towards him when they contemplated 
 new measures. He was an institution in himself. 
 We all felt as if we lived, now he was dead, in a dif- 
 ferent England. The very elements were held to 
 sympathize with the national loss. It began to rain 
 on the day that the Duke died, and it continued to 
 rain — rain — rain ! 
 
THE OLD SOLDIER AND THE RAIN ! 33 1 
 
 Some may be still in the habit of crossing Hyde 
 Park from the Marble Arch to the Albert Gate, and 
 may remember a tall old man who kept the spring at 
 the head of the Serpentine, and who used to hand 
 a glass of water, as a morning draught before break- 
 fast, to his customers, who remembered him with a 
 sixpence now and then. I often tarried to talk 
 with him, and learned that he had undergone the 
 Peninsular campaign with Wellington ; and that he 
 had at the time been both soldier and servant to 
 General Lygon, who had secured him the little post 
 at the spring in Hyde Park, in addition to his small 
 pension. 
 
 " Still very rainy, my friend," I said to him one 
 morning, about three weeks after the Duke's death. 
 
 " Yes, sir : — there will be no more fair weather till 
 the Duke is buried," said he, very solemnly. 
 
 I stared at the old man — who kept solemn silence. 
 
 " Not till the Duke is buried ! " I said. " What 
 makes you think so, my friend } It will be three 
 more weeks before the Duke is buried." 
 
 " I don't care for that, sir," said the old man ; " I 
 tell you there will be no more fair weather till he is 
 buried." 
 
 And he drew himself up very statelily, and turned 
 to wait on the next comer to the spring. I walked on 
 — thinking about the word " superstition," which any 
 fool can employ as readily as the wisest man ; and 
 thinking also of history's multitudinous records, of 
 
332 FUNERAL OF THE GREAT DUKE. 
 
 the storm all round the English coast on the night 
 of Cromwell's death — of the storm that seemed to 
 threaten to tear St. Helena from its foundations in 
 the Atlantic, on the night of Napoleon's death — on 
 the natural convulsions at the death of Julius Caesar, 
 and others — and saying to myself, " "What do I know 
 about it ? If there be a Future State, what strange 
 discoveries it may unfold to us ! What do we know 
 about the sympathies of nature ? How largely they 
 may exist without our knowing it in our present 
 state ! " 
 
 The funeral of the Great Duke was the most im- 
 pressively grand spectacle I ever beheld. The morn- 
 ing was fair — the first fair morning for six weeks! 
 The bright sun seemed something new : the luminary 
 seemed to have come out to grace the splendid show ; 
 and to do honour to him in death whom the nation 
 had honoured in life. I witnessed the passing of the 
 entire funeral procession, and the greater part of it 
 twice. First, I got a place on the south side of the 
 Green Park, near the Duke of Sutherland's, and saw 
 the procession come up the Mall, from the Horse 
 Guards. Then I crossed the Park, and got a standing- 
 place opposite the Duke of Cambridge's — the house 
 in which Lord Palmerston afterwards lived — and saw 
 the slow march along Piccadilly. The pomp of the 
 "Dead March in Saul" was varied by some of the 
 regimental bands playing " Sicilian Mariners," and 
 others Handel's "Old Hundred- and-Fourth." The 
 
COUPLING-CHAIN OF THE AGE BROKEN. 333 
 
 varied costume of the English regiments mingled with 
 the kilted Highlanders, and Lancers and Life Guards 
 with the Scotch Greys, rendered the vision picturesque 
 as well as stately. 
 
 But it was upon the huge funeral car, and the led 
 charger in front of it, that all eyes gazed most wist- 
 fully : — above all, it was upon the crimson-velvet 
 covered coffin, iipoji the vast pall — not covered by it, 
 borne aloft, on the car, with the white-plumed cocked 
 hat, and the sword and marshal's baton lying upon 
 the coffin, that all gazed most intently. I watched 
 it — I stretched my neck to get the last sight of the 
 car as it passed along Piccadilly, till it was out of 
 sight ; and then I thought the great connecting link 
 of our national life was broken : the great actor in 
 the scenes of the Peninsula and Waterloo — the con- 
 queror of Napoleon — and the chief name in our home 
 political life for many years, — had disappeared. I 
 seemed to myself to belong now to another generation 
 of men ; for my very childhood was passed amid the 
 noise of Wellington's battles, and his name and exist- 
 ence seemed stamped on every year of our time. 
 
334 ASKED TO WRITE A CHARTIST NOVEL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : 
 W. J. FOX AND TALFOURD : 1852 — 1854. 
 
 I SAT up the whole night preceding the day of the 
 Great Duke's funeral to finish the writing of what was 
 intended to be a three-volume novel. I remember 
 well tying it up, getting my coffee, and then hurrying 
 off to the Green Park to see the funeral spectacle, 
 with the intent to take the manuscript to a publisher 
 when the sight was over. I had been trying my hand 
 at novel-writing, by intervals, for more than a year. 
 After the appearance and popular reception of Charles 
 Kingsley's "Alton Locke," I had a conversation with 
 Mr. Edward Chapman, of the firm of Chapman and 
 Hall, when he said to me, — 
 
 " Why, I should think you could write a Chartist 
 novel, and a successful one. You see Kingsley has 
 succeeded ; and you ought to know a deal more about 
 Chartism than he can possibly know."' 
 
 " Would you publish a Chartist novel if I were to 
 write one ? " I asked ; for I remembered well how my 
 poor Prison Rhyme had been rejected by this very 
 house, because they were advised "to have nothing 
 to do with the Chartism in it." 
 
THE EXTINGUISHER OF MY HOPES. 335 
 
 " If the novel suits us, we will publish it," replied 
 Mr. Chapman. " Of course we never publish anything 
 unless we think it worth publishing. But I should 
 think you could hardly fail to write a good Chartist 
 novel." 
 
 " You mean, then, that you will take such a novel 
 of me, if I can write one ? " 
 
 " Yes," was the reply ; and I said, " Then I'll try." 
 
 And try I did ; and took my manuscript to Mr. 
 Edward Chapman, and left it in his hands. This was 
 in the latter part of 185 1, or in the very early part of 
 1852. I very soon had a reply. The house could 
 not publish my novel, because their literary adviser — 
 who was, of course, Mr. John Forster of the Examiner 
 — advised them not, declaring that " evidently, prose 
 fiction was not Mr. Cooper's forte!' The reader will 
 be sure that I was not surprised at this — coming from 
 the eternal extinguisher of all my literary hopes, Mr. 
 John Forster of the Examiner. 
 
 But neither was I discouraged. I had made up 
 my mind to write a novel, or more, that some pub- 
 lisher would take. So I threw aside the rejected 
 manuscript, and commenced an entirely new story, 
 which I finished on the morning of the Great Duke's 
 funeral, and entitled " Alderman Ralph." I took this 
 manuscript to Mr. Edward Chapman, and asked him 
 whether he would look it over and tell me whether he 
 would publish it. He consented to receive it for 
 c-o-n-s-i-d-e-r-a-t-i-o-n. It was rejected, of course. I 
 
336 MY TWO NOVELS PUBLISHED. 
 
 quite expected that; but was determined that Mr. 
 John Forster should exercise all the power he could 
 to extinguish me. I regarded him as a bitter personi- 
 fication of Whiggery that was natively instinct with 
 hatred of everything like Chartism, living or dead. 
 
 My novel was put into the hands of Messrs. Rout- 
 ledge, and they received it, and published it, in 1853. 
 Their reception of " Alderman Ralph " made me re- 
 solve to compose another novel ; and in this new 
 novel I embodied some part of the story of my former 
 Chartist novel, but burnt the Chartist part of it. I 
 suppose about a third of the new novel was composed 
 of my older one. I gave my new novel into the hands 
 of Messrs. Routledge, having first entitled it " Cain 
 Colton ; or, the History of the Great Family Feud 
 of the Uphams and the Downhams." But when they 
 made up their minds to publish it,, they determined to 
 style it simply " The Family Feud." They brought 
 out this novel at the beginning of 1855 ; and gave 
 me ;^iOO for "Alderman Ralph," and the like sum 
 for " The Family Feud." 
 
 Not long after the publication of "The Family 
 Feud," I commenced another novel, which I purposed 
 calling " The Wharfedale Beauty." But events put a 
 stop to my novel-writing ; and I have never resumed 
 it, and never shall. 
 
 I forgot to chronicle one notable event at the 
 beginning of 1852. A person who called himself 
 "Edward Youl" obtained introduction as a literary 
 
A LITERARY IMPOSTOR. 33/ 
 
 contributor to William Howitt's Journal, and other 
 periodicals, and wound himself into the position of a 
 visitor at Mr. Howitt's, and also at my humble home. 
 At the close of the year 185 1, he intimated that he 
 was leaving London; and we saw him no more. But 
 within a few days, first came a letter from Lord 
 Brougham to William Howitt, expressing a hope that 
 himself and Mary Howitt were better, and regretting 
 that he was only able to send them so small a sum 
 on their late application for money ! Mr. Howitt 
 wrote to Lord Brougham to learn the meaning of the 
 strange letter ; and soon discovered that Youl had 
 pried into the affairs of his family that he might write 
 a counterfeit letter in William Howitt's name, and so 
 obtain money from Lord Brougham. 
 
 My friend W. J. Fox having called on his friend 
 Serjeant Talfourd about this very time, was informed 
 by the Serjeant that his (W. J. Fox's) friend Thomas 
 Cooper had applied for help in his affliction, and he 
 (the Serjeant) was happy in having been able to send 
 Mr. Cooper twenty pounds ! 
 
 " Affliction ! " exclaimed Fox — " what affliction ? 
 The man is in jolly good health, I assure you. He 
 called on me only yesterday ; and I never saw him 
 look better. There must be some mistake." 
 
 " Well : here is his letter, however," said Talfourd ; 
 " read it for yourself." 
 
 " 1 don't think this is his writing," said Fox, "though 
 it looks like an imitation. But the tone of the letter 
 
 22 
 
338 HIS LETTER TO TALFOURD. 
 
 is SO unlike him. Will you lend me this letter for a 
 day or two ? I suppose you have heard of the villain- 
 ous trick played by a man called Youl " — and he 
 then related what he knew of the counterfeit letter 
 to Lord Brougham. 
 
 Serjeant Talfourd consented that Mr. Fox should 
 take the letter, and Mr. Fox soon summoned me to 
 his house in Charlotte Street, Bedford Square. He 
 acted cautiously. 
 
 "You were ill when you called on me the other 
 day," said he ; "why did you not tell me .-'" 
 
 " No," said I, " I was not ill. What makes you 
 think I was ill .?" 
 
 " But you have been very ill of late ?" 
 
 " Nonsense !" said I, and I burst into laughter. 
 
 " Have you not been ill, and written to Serjeant 
 Talfourd for money, and received twenty pounds 
 from him ?" , 
 
 "Good God!" I exclaimed, "what do you mean.''" 
 — for my laughter had changed to alarm, seeing my 
 good friend's serious look. 
 
 " Look at that letter ! Is it not your own hand- 
 writing ?" 
 
 " My handwriting ? No," I cried, after I had run 
 over a part of the letter with a sense of choking ; 
 " why this is another trick of that insidious fiend Youl, 
 that you were talking about the other day !" 
 
 " Then you must inform Talfourd instantly ; and 
 then see Howitt, and try if you cannot find out where 
 
TALFOURDS KINDNESS TO ME. 339 
 
 the foul thief has hidden himself, and have him 
 brought to justice." 
 
 By the assistance of the police we found that the 
 fellow had quitted London for Liverpool, the police 
 having had their eye upon him for some time, — we 
 little suspecting that we were harbouring a well- 
 known and practised thief, who wore different 
 dresses, could put on a wig, wear false eyebrows, 
 and even change his voice, so as to pass for several 
 different persons, Mr. Howitt went off to Liverpool ; 
 but the police had there lost sight of him. Lord 
 Brougham thought it would be a waste of money to 
 employ a skilful search for him ; and so pursuit was 
 given up. 
 
 I went to Serjeant Talfourd's house in Russell 
 Square, to assure him that I had never written a line 
 to him ; and to inform him that several expressions 
 in the letter to which my name was appended by a 
 false signature, made me feel sure the letter ad- 
 dressed to him was written by the villain who had 
 made himself known to Mr. Howitt and myself as 
 "Edward Youl." Serjeant Talfourd received me with 
 the most solicitous kindness. He cared nothing about 
 the loss of the ;^20, he said, if I would only accept 
 ;^20 from him. He feared I was not getting rich by 
 authorship : and he pressed me so hard to take the 
 money, that I consented ; and he immediately wrote 
 out a cheque on Coutts' bank, which I found was for 
 ^25. 
 
340 SCENE IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 
 
 I called again at Mr. Fox's, and showed him the 
 cheque. He threw himself back in his chair and 
 burst into laughter all over — for every part of his 
 body seemed always to partake in his laughter — and 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 " Ho — ho — ho ! He has done it to ease his con- 
 science ! He wanted to ease his conscience in the 
 same substantial way, I have no doubt, when I asked 
 you to call upon him, and you wouldn't." 
 
 My friend Mr. Fox was alluding to a confession he 
 had drawn from Serjeant Talfourd. During the dis- 
 cussion in the House of Commons, on the 20th of 
 June, 1848, upon Mr. Hume's motion for the enlarge- 
 ment of the franchise, Mr. Fox pleaded, in behalf of 
 the working classes, that there were men of intelli- 
 gence among those who had suffered imprisonment 
 for their Chartism — witness, William Lovett, who had 
 written his book on " Chartism " in the gaol, and 
 Thomas Cooper, whose noble poem, " The Purgatory 
 of Suicides," was brought before the reading public 
 chiefly through the recommendation of the honourable 
 gentleman opposite (Mr. Disraeli). This drew Tal- 
 fourd to his feet to plead against Mr. Hume's motion, 
 in order to support the Whig ministry. His friend 
 Mr. Fox had spoken of Thomas Cooper, the Serjeant 
 said ; and he did not yield to his friend or to the 
 honourable gentleman opposite in their intelligent 
 admiration of that magnificent poem " The Purgatory 
 of Suicides ; " but who was Thomas Cooper t He 
 
• A CONFESSION ON THE SOFA. . 34I 
 
 (the Serjeant) had been one of the counsel for the 
 prosecution of Thomas Cooper, and he felt compelled 
 to state the truth, that Thomas Cooper had delivered 
 harangue upon harangue to the people in the Potteries, 
 and the speeches of Thomas Cooper were followed by- 
 deeds of violence. 
 
 My friend Fox was indignant at this ; and, as he 
 could not speak a second time in the debate, he re- 
 quested Richard Cobden to get up and reply to 
 Talfourd in my behalf And illustrious Richard Cob- 
 den did reply. He felt surprised, he said, that the 
 learned Serjeant should have spoken of Mr. Cooper 
 in the way that he did ; for every one who knew Mr- 
 Cooper believed he had never advised or counselled 
 violence, and no one regretted the occurrence of the 
 violence alluded to more than did Mr. Cooper himself 
 
 A few days after this scene in the House of Com- 
 mons, Fox was present at a soiree in Serjeant Tal- 
 fourd's house in Russell Square. The Serjeant, he 
 thought, seemed to lack the hilarity with which he 
 usually received guests ; and during a part of the 
 evening when everybody seemed to be busily en- 
 gaged in conversation, he observed the Serjeant slily 
 beckon him to a vacant sofa. Fox took his seat by 
 Talfourd's side. 
 
 " My friend," said Talfourd, in a low tone, and, as 
 Fox declared, with a most lugubrious face, " I feel so 
 uneasy about the words I uttered in the House of 
 Commons about your friend Cooper. I don't believe 
 
342 NOBLE GENEROSITY OF TALFOURD. * 
 
 he advised the violence committed ; I have told you so 
 before, and I wonder that I uttered the words I did. 
 It was a moral obliquity I cannot account for." 
 
 " Moral obliquity ! " said Fox, bursting into laugh- 
 ter — " I say moral obliquity too. You spoke not for 
 conscience, but for the Ministers. You meant a judg- 
 ship ! " ended Fox, sticking his elbow into Talfourd's 
 chest. 
 
 " Don't — my friend — don't ! " cried Talfourd ; " but 
 I deserve it all. Only, now I want you, if you please, 
 to give my best and heartiest regards to Mr. Cooper, 
 and tell him that I wish to see him here, as soon as 
 ever he can make it convenient to come. I want to 
 see him particularly." 
 
 " I'll tell him," said Fox ; and indeed he told me 
 all about it from first to last, and urged me to comply 
 with Talfourd's request. But I refused, and did not 
 enter his house till I had to defend myself against 
 Youl's mischief. Talfourd always shook hands with 
 me if he met me in the street, and at different times 
 gave me other sums, which amounted altogether to 
 nearly one hundred pounds. This was very noble 
 conduct on the part of one who had been the leading- 
 barrister against me at my long second trial. But 
 Talfourd's unlimited kindness to poor Pemberton 
 (" Pel Verjuice ") and others, is so well known, that 
 those who are acquainted with his life will not be sur- 
 prised at what I have related. 
 
 My good friend Charles Kingsley also assures me 
 
• THE VALUE OF GOOD FRIENDS. 343 
 
 that my last judge, the Hon. Thomas Ersklne, always 
 spoke of me with the utmost kindness, and imme- 
 diately sent out to buy a book of mine, when he 
 learned that I had written another. I said, a good 
 many chapters ago, that I could never make money. 
 Well, but, thank God ! I can make friends. And 
 when sometimes I fall into the vein of musing on 
 the rough usage I have met with now and then, in 
 the course of my pilgrimage, — turning to the better 
 side, I think of the many noble hearts who have 
 shown me sympathy and friendship, and feel that I 
 am as rich as Rothschild. 
 
344 LECTURES GIVEN IN LONDON. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : 
 RELIGIOUS CHANGE: 1852— 1856. 
 
 In November, 1852, I commenced a series of Sunday 
 evening lectures on the " History of England," and 
 continued them till the end of May, 1853 ; then re- 
 sumed them in October, 1853, ^^^ continued them to 
 the beginning of May, 1854 ; I recommenced them 
 in October, 1854, and concluded them in the middle 
 of April, 1855 — making fifty-one lectures ; the longest 
 series of lectures I ever ventured on in my life. I had 
 crowds at my audiences, almost to the end of the 
 time. In the intervals of the series I delivered other 
 lectures at the Hall of Science, and, among them, 
 seven on Schools of Painters — Italian, Dutch, Flemish, 
 Spanish, French, and English — pointing out to work- 
 ing men, who listened, the chief features of excellence 
 in our National Gallery, the Bridgewater Gallery, the 
 Dulwich Gallery, the Galleries at Hampton Court, etc. 
 — for I had spent unnumbered hours in each of these 
 Galleries, and my passion for pictures, at one time, 
 was almost as great as my passion for music. 
 
 At the John Street Institution I began again to 
 
LECTURES GIVEN IN LONDON. 345 
 
 lecture on Sunday evenings at the beginning of May, 
 1853 ; and, thenceforward, lectured alternately at that 
 Institution, and at the Hall of Science, to the end of 
 1853, through the whole year 1854, and to the middle 
 of April, 1855. The lectures on the Schools of Painters 
 were also given at John Street, together with eight 
 lectures on the Life of Napoleon, four on the Life of 
 Wellington, two on the Life of Nelson, and six on 
 Russian History. 
 
 Besides the lectures I have mentioned in different 
 chapters, I delivered also, during these years of Sun- 
 day evening lecturing at the John Street Institution, 
 the Hall of Science, and the National Hall, Holborn, 
 discourses on the following subjects: — the Lives of 
 Luther, Mahommed, Cobbett, Paine, Kosciusko, 
 Raleigh, William Tell, Rienzi, Howard, Oberlin, Neff, 
 Bernard Gilpin, Latimer, Washington, Sir Wilham 
 Jones, Dr. Johnson, Major Cartwright, William God- 
 win, Louis Philippe, George Fox, Rousseau, Voltaire, 
 John Knox, Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Mendelssohn, 
 Beethoven, Defoe, William Pitt, Columbus, Sir Isaac 
 Newton, Cortez, Pizarro, Thomas a-Becket, Sir Robert 
 Peel, Sir Charles J. Napier, Wicklifife, Calvin, Sir 
 Thomas More, Wesley, Swedenborg, Pythagoras, 
 and Beau Brummell, — Negro Slavery, Church Esta- 
 blishmei;its, Taxation and the National Debt, Mental 
 Cultivation, the Age of Chivalry, the Middle Ages, 
 Wrongs of Poland, the Gypsies, Athens under Pericles, 
 Conquests of Alexander the Great, Ancient Egypt, 
 
346 ANOTHER CHANGE OF HABITATION. 
 
 Histories of Italy, Switzerland, Hungary, etc., Pio 
 None and the Italians, Genius of Pope, Dryden, Scott, 
 Cowper, etc., the Peterloo Massacre and Henry Hunt, 
 Monarchy, Aristocracy, Democracy, Early English 
 Freethinkers, Philosophy of Lord Bacon, Philosophy 
 of Locke, Gulliver's Travels, Astronomy, Geology, 
 Natural History, the Vegetable Kingdom, the Baltic 
 Nations, — and many other subjects. The reading 
 which was necessary in order to enable me to deal 
 with such a variety of themes, and to render my 
 lectures attractive to crowds of intelligent hearers, 
 was, of course, very great. At John Street, especially, 
 I was surrounded by scores of the really elite of the 
 working classes : the pianoforte makers of Maryle- 
 bone, and others. The Library of the British Museum 
 was my great resort for solid reading ; while in Wes- 
 terton's Circulating Library, which was near me, I 
 had ready access to the periodicals and new publica- 
 tions of the day. Except in those devoted days of 
 my youth, I never read so many books as I read in 
 the few years I lived at Knightsbridge. 
 
 In September, 1854, I left my beautiful house in 
 Park Row, Knightsbridge, and went to live in the 
 Green Lanes, Stoke Newington. I had not above half 
 the money to pay for rent at my new house, and I 
 had a garden. But I had no longer the grand out- 
 look (jn Hyde Park ; and there were so many associa- 
 tions connected with my seven years' residence in 
 Knightsbridge that I left it with regret. It had been 
 
THOMAS CARLYLE AND JOHN FORSTER. 347 
 
 the scene of frequent visits by my kind friends John 
 ElHotson and John Ashburner — twovery noble medical 
 men who honoured me with their friendship, often 
 stayed a long hour with me for converse, and insisted 
 on the gratuitous performance of medical attendance 
 either on myself or my dear wife. And there I often 
 gathered round me, in evening hours, young eager 
 aspirants for literary distinction, W. Moy Thomas, 
 and George Hooper, and Neville Burnard the sculp- 
 tor — who is a true poet as well, — and some who have 
 passed away. 
 
 One night — and only one night — I persuaded my 
 old playmate Thomas Miller to come ; and then se- 
 cured Willie Thorn to meet him. We had a merry 
 meeting, for there were a round dozen of us ; and as 
 Willie Thom mellowed he began to pour out his won- 
 drous words of thought till Miller grew silent, kept 
 the pipe in his mouth (we were all smoking that 
 could smoke) — and fixed his eyes on Thom in amaze- 
 ment, till he broke out with, — 
 
 " Why, the d don't you write such talk "i It 
 
 would bring you gold ! " 
 
 " I dinna think it's e'en worth siller," said Willie, 
 very innocently. 
 
 Before I pass on to a new step in my changeful 
 life, let me say that my novel of " The Family Feud "' 
 drew a handsome critique in the Examiner from Mr. 
 John Forster — for a wonder ! I may as well tell how 
 it came about. I went to 5, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, 
 
348 THE PRESENT FROM SAVAGE LANDOR. 
 
 one evening, with the intent of spending a couple of 
 hours with my illustrious friend Thomas Carlyle. 
 But I had not been with him more than half an hour 
 when Mr. John Forster was announced. I met him, 
 as the reader may suppose, without any high degree 
 of pleasure. And although there was no treat on 
 earth I could have desired more than to listen to the 
 interchange of thought between two such intellects as 
 those of Carlyle and John Forster, — I felt inclined, 
 with the remembrance of the past, to "cut my stick!" 
 
 And I certainly should have decamped hastily, had 
 it not been for an incident worth mentioning. A 
 loaded truck stopped at the street-door — there was 
 a loud knock — and the maid-servant ran upstairs, 
 breathless, to say that a huge parcel had been 
 brought. Mr. Carlyle seemed all wonder, and mut- 
 tered, " A huge parcel ! what huge parcel } — but I'll 
 come down and see." And, somehow or other, we 
 all went down to see — for there was a large wooden 
 case, evidently containing a picture. A hammer and 
 a chisel were soon brought, and I offered to take 
 them, and open the case — but, no ! my illustrious 
 friend would open it himself. 
 
 " It's doubtless the picture from that old Landor," 
 said he ; and he worked away vigorously with his im- 
 plements till there was revealed a very noble picture 
 indeed, with its fine gilded frame. It was a portrait 
 of David Hume, in full dress — the dress he is said 
 always to have worn when he sat down to write : so 
 
THE FAVOURABLE REVlJtW, AT LAST! 349 
 
 strangely were his polished style and his full-dress 
 associated ! 
 
 " Only think of that old Landor sending me this ! " 
 broke out Carlyle again and again, as we all stood 
 gazing on the portrait with admiration. 
 
 This incident served to " break the ice " so far that 
 I joined a little in the conversation that followed ; and 
 when Mr. Carlyle quitted the room to fetch a book 
 he wanted to show his friend, Mr. John Forster said 
 to me, in a marked tone, — 
 
 " You have just had a novel published by Routledge 
 — do you happen to know whether a copy has been 
 sent to the Examiner T^ 
 
 I replied that I did not know ; but I would inquire. 
 
 " Take care that it is addressed to me, will you .'' " 
 said Mr. Forster ; " you understand what I mean ? 
 Take care that it is addressed to me, personally" — 
 and he nodded, and smiled. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said I ; "I will address a copy to 
 you, myself" — for I thought I did understand what 
 he meant. 
 
 I rose to go soon after, and my illustrious friend, 
 with the perfect kindness he has always shown me, 
 would go with me to the street door to say " good 
 night." So I whispered to him, in the passage, and 
 requested him to strengthen the good intent there 
 seemed to lie in John Forster's mind towards me. 
 Carlyle gave me one of his humorous smiles, and 
 squeezed my hand, as an assurance that I might 
 
350 wyld's model of sebastopol. 
 
 depend upon him. And so the favourable critique 
 on my " Family Feud " appeared in the Examiner. 
 
 The reader will observe that, in the beginning of 
 this chapter, I said that my lecturing on Sunday 
 evenings was continued both at the Hall of Science 
 and John Street to the middle ot April, 1855. But 
 there it terminated. I had remained in London two 
 whole years — taking no summer lecturing tour, as 
 usual — on purpose to write novels ; but I was so little 
 satisfied with my success, although it was not despi- 
 cable, that I determined on getting into the country 
 once more. There was another stimulant to my wish 
 for change. I felt myself to be in the wrong place at 
 the John Street Institution ; the managers of it 
 seemed to have lost their approval of my teaching ; 
 and I wished to break off my connection with them. 
 I dare say the wish was mutual ; and so no offence 
 was taken when I told them I should leave them. 
 
 Before I could make any arrangements for revisit- 
 ing old friends in the country, my course was utterly 
 changed by an unexpected occurrence. My friend 
 W. J. Fox said to me one day, when I called to borrow 
 a book, — 
 
 " I had a conversation with Mr. Wyld, of the ' Great 
 Globe,' in the House of Commons the other day about 
 yourself ; and he wishes you to call upon him." 
 
 I found that the proprietor of the " Great Globe," 
 who was at that time advertising his " Model of the 
 Crimea and Sebastopol," for exhibition, was getting 
 
I GO OUT TO LECTURE ON IT. 35 1 
 
 casts of it made, with the purpose of sending them 
 into some of the great towns. The reader will re- 
 member that 1855 was the most exciting year of 
 the Crimean War. Mr. Fox said that Mr. Wyld was 
 disposed to remunerate me well, if I would take charge 
 of one of the models and lecture upon it. 
 
 I called on Mr. Wyld, and agreed to take charge of 
 a model, to be exhibited first at Birmingham. We 
 did not stay many weeks, however, there. Mr. Wyld 
 next directed me to remove to Manchester ; and there 
 I remained many weeks, lecturing thrice and some- 
 times four times in the day, with the model be- 
 fore me, on the Crimean War. I threw my whole 
 nature into my work, as usual — fought the dashing 
 Light Cavalry charge and the Battle of Inkerman, 
 till the crowds who listened to me almost thought 
 they were in the fight themselves ; and, as the war 
 progressed, described the attack on the Redan and 
 the winning of the Malakhoff, with fiery reality — often 
 feeling myself so completely exhausted, after the last 
 evening effort, that I could scarcely crawl to the 
 Clarendon to get my mutton-chop. 
 
 In consequence of an offer of £yo being made by 
 a party in Burnley for the exhibition of the model in 
 that toA^n for a fortnight, we left Manchester too soon. 
 The fall of . Sebastopol occurred when we reached 
 Burnley ; and thus the crowning success we should have 
 had in Manchester was lost. I was wearied with the 
 model, and so gave up my engagement with Mr. V/yld, 
 and he had it taken back to London. 
 
352 BEGINNING OF A HEART-CHANGE. 
 
 I was invited, however, to lecture on the Crimean 
 War, in several towns, with the aid of pictures on 
 large canvas, sketched by my talented young assist- 
 ant, Mr. Charles Dyall, who is now Secretary to the 
 Liverpool Lyceum. After visiting Preston, Has- 
 lingden, Wigan, Duckinfield, Staleybridge, Leigh, 
 Bury, Rochdale, Blackburn, Manchester, Tamworth, 
 Congleton, and Burton-on-Trent, I returned to London. 
 
 I had left it in the beginning of May, and I returned 
 to it in November, 1855. But the six months' absence 
 had wrought a signal change in me. I felt as if all my 
 old work were done, and yet I knew not how to begin 
 a new work. My heart and mind were deeply uneasy, 
 and I could hardly define the uneasiness. I felt sure 
 my life for years had been wrong. I had taught 
 morals, and taught them strictly ; but the questioning 
 within, that would arise, day by day, and hour by 
 hour, made my heart ache. "Why should man be 
 moral ? Why cannot he quench the sense of account- 
 ability ? and why have you not taught your fellow- 
 men that they are answerable to the Divine Moral 
 Governor, and must appear before Him in a future 
 state, and receive their reward or punishment .'' " 
 
 It was not a conviction of the truth of Christianity, 
 of the reality of the Miracles and Resurrection, or of 
 the Divinity of Christ, that had worked the change in 
 me. I was overwhelmed with a sense of guilt in hav- 
 ing omitted to teach the right foundation of morals. 
 I had taught morals as a means of securing and in- 
 
INTOLERANCE OF SCEPTICS. 353 
 
 creasing men's happiness here — but had left them 
 "without God and without hope in the world." I had 
 ignored religion in my teaching. 
 
 I commenced the year 1856 at the Hall of Science, 
 with the aid of a large map of Europe, and signified 
 that I should occupy the Sunday evenings by lectur- 
 ing on the various countries, their productions, people, 
 habits and customs. I delivered the first lecture on 
 the 6th of January, " Russia and the Russians ;" 
 but on the 13th, when I should have descanted, ac- 
 cording to the printed programme, on " Sweden and 
 the Swedes," I could not utter one word. The people 
 told me afterwards that I looked as pale as a ghost, 
 and they wondered what was the matter with me. I 
 could hardly tell myself; but, at length, the heart 
 got vent by words, and I told them I could not lec- 
 ture on Sweden, but must relieve conscience — for I 
 could suppress conviction no longer. I told them my 
 great feeling of error was that while I had perpetually 
 been insisting on the observance of a moral Hfe, in all 
 my public teachings for some years, I had neglected 
 to teach the right foundation of morals — the existence 
 of the Divine Moral Governor, and the fact that we 
 should have to give up our account to Him, and re- 
 ceive His sentence, in a future state. 
 
 I used many more words in telling the people this 
 and they sat, at first, in breathless silence, listening to 
 me with all their eyes and ears. A few reckless 
 spirits, by degrees, began to whisper to each other, 
 
 2^ 
 
354 ROBERT COOPER, THE ATHEIST. 
 
 and then to laugh and sneer ; and one got up and 
 declared I was insane. A storm follov/ed, — some 
 defending me, and insisting that I should be heard ; 
 and others insisting on speaking themselves, and de- 
 nouncing me as a " renegade," a " turncoat," an " apos- 
 tate," a " traitor," and I know not what. But as I 
 happened to have fought and won more battles than 
 any or all of these tiny combatants put together, I 
 stood till I won perfect silence and order once more ; 
 and then I told them, as some of them deemed me 
 insane, we would try that issue. I then gave them 
 one month for preparation, and challenged them to 
 meet me in that hall on the loth and 17th of Feb- 
 ruary — with all the sceptics they could muster in the 
 metropolis — to discuss, first, the Argument for the 
 Being of God ; secondly, the Argument for a Future 
 State. 
 
 The time came, and they had got Robert Cooper, 
 the Atheist, and a band of eager sceptics to do battle 
 with me. Amidst the dense croAvd and the almost 
 frantic excitement of some, I maintained my ground. 
 And when it was demanded that I should maintain 
 my challenge also for two Sunday evenings at the 
 John Street Institution, I assured them I was very 
 willing so to do. So on the 2nd and 9th of March 
 the combat came off again, with Mr. Robert Cooper 
 as chief champion on the Atheist side. He challenged 
 me, in conclusion, to a separate discussion with him- 
 self. I intimated that I had no confidence in his 
 
SILENCE AND REFLECTION. 355 
 
 ability, and declined to meet him. So he announced 
 that he should expose my errors in two or three 
 lectures at John Street. He published these " ex- 
 posures ; " and it will be a sufficient proof of his 
 super-eminent ignorance to record that they contain 
 this idiotic declaration : " Mr. Cooper says that Man 
 has a Moral Nature, and that proves the existence of 
 God as the Moral Governor; and I say that Man 
 has also an Immoral Nature, and that proves the 
 existence of God as an Immoral Governor !" 
 
 They had no wish to hear any more from me at 
 John Street ; and Mr. Bendall, who rented the Hall 
 of Science, City Road, wished to cl(3se the place en- 
 tirely, until the next autumn, for thorough repair and 
 re-decoration. So I had an enforced silence of six 
 months before me, unless I chose to travel, as I had 
 been wont to do, in the finer part of the year. 
 
 But I could not travel. I felt it was the silence 
 that I wanted. Yet how to get bread was the ques- 
 tion. Before I went out of London with Mr. Wyld's 
 model, I had asked the publishers of my " Family 
 Feud "and "Alderman Ralph " if they would advance 
 me a little money while I set on to write my purposec 
 " Wharfedale Beauty." But they declared they nevei 
 did anything of the kind. So if I had tried to go on 
 with the novels, I had no prospect of help. But 
 neither could I have written the novel if I had tried. 
 My mind and heart were too ill at ease. 
 
3S6 WRONG DESCRIPTIONS OF ME. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : CONTRIBUTIONS 
 TO THE "REASONER." 1 848 — 1 85 3. 
 
 I AM often, I must confess, extremely mortified by 
 some descriptions of myself given by religious friends. 
 They tell the people, in words spoken, or in print, that 
 I am the "Converted Infidel Lecturer;" that, "after 
 having once done all in my power to oppose and over- 
 throw the faith of Christ, I am now," etc. etc. Now 
 I have no' taste for being exhibited as a recovered 
 reprobate. It affords me no pleasure, but much 
 sorrow, to remember my scepticism ; and there is 
 really a deal of untruth in these announcements. I 
 was never an " Infidel Lecturer," in the common sense 
 of the term. The eight lectures on the "Leben Jesu" 
 of Strauss, delivered at the John Street Institution, 
 and repeated at the Hall of Science, City road, formed 
 the only deliberate and systematic attack I ever made 
 on orthodox Christianity. And even in those lectures 
 I again and again insisted on the perfect and worship- 
 ful moral beauty of Christ. 
 
 My unbelief, even when I was most completely 
 fascinated with the " Mythical Theory " of Strauss, 
 
RIGHT TO HAVE THE TRUTH TOLD. 357 
 
 never made me happy; and so I felt no peculiar 
 pleasure in spreading it. And I never went about 
 the country as an " Infidel Lecturer." With the one 
 exception of Newcastle-on-Tyne, there was not a 
 place out of London where I openly broached sceptical 
 opinions. My subjects were the Poets, History, Poli- 
 tics, and Morals. I saw no good, nor should have 
 felt " at home," in peregrinating the country as an 
 "Infidel Lecturer." 
 
 I do not make this statement with the wish to 
 back out of really truthful charges that may be 
 brought against me for past errors. I think I have 
 displayed sufficient moral courage in life to warrant 
 me in saying that I have never shrunk from uttering 
 my conscientious convictions, nor from paying the 
 penalty for uttering them. But I see no reason why 
 a man should suffer real aspersions to be made upon 
 his character, and be silent, when his silence can do 
 no good. God knows, I have sins enough to answer 
 for ; but I do not feel covetous of suffering for sins I 
 have not committed. 
 
 I have strong reason for believing that charges of 
 " atheism " were made against me by some parties in 
 mistake. It was Robert Cooper these parties had 
 heard, and not my humble self. His teaching was 
 avowedly atheistic and materialistic, and unchange- 
 ably so. I was guilty, at times, of enunciating scep- 
 tical thoughts, incidentally, while lecturing on histori- 
 cal themes at John Street and in the Hall of Science, 
 
358 MY FRIEND GEO. J. HOLYOAPCE. 
 
 City Road. But often I did not utter any such thoughts 
 during a whole lecture ; and, I repeat, the lectures 
 on Strauss (which were delivered at John Street and 
 repeated at the Hall of Science, and — with the excep- 
 tion of the eighth lecture, which was on the character 
 of Christ — were printed in Cooper s Journal) formed 
 the only studied and determined attack I ever made 
 on orthodox Christianity. 
 
 I often wrote out from memory a sketch of part 
 or parts of the miscellaneous lectures I delivered in 
 London, and gave them to my friend George Jacob 
 Holyoake, as he|ps to increase the sale of the Reasoner. 
 I call him my friend, for he is my friend still. I never 
 break friendship with sincerity, uprightness, and real 
 nobleness ; and these qualities are personified in my 
 friend. If I were to do so in order to please even 
 the religious friends that I love most deeply, I should 
 feel myself to be a contemptible sneak. I gave the 
 sketches I have mentioned to my friend, and he in- 
 serted them in the well-known periodical with which 
 he was so long identified. The following passage from 
 one of these sketches has often been quoted against 
 me in a malicious way — although, in one of the lec- 
 tures I have been in the habit of delivering for these 
 last dozen years and more, I have shown that I was 
 mistaken in both my facts and inferences as to the 
 amount of pain and suffering endured by the 
 animals : — 
 *'The Universe is so beautiful, says the philosophic thinker: 
 
PASSAGE FROM A LECTURE. 359 
 
 it is, in a large degree, so wondrously adapted for happiness, and 
 its main provisions show so triumphantly that the Designer, if 
 there be one, could have filled it with happy beings only, — that 
 the very fact of there being adaptations in it for pain and misery, 
 makes me doubt that it had any Designer at all. . Wisdom raises 
 admiration, until the fruition of its supposed contrivances is per- 
 ceived to be, in great part, pain and destruction. Then, it is 
 that reason revolts, and exclaims, 'This is not worshipful, for good- 
 ness is not supremely united with it.' We are not here to-night to 
 solve these doubts : we only announce them, and proclaim that 
 the priests of no religion have ever yet solved them ; nor can they 
 so long as the hawk and the eagle and the vulture remain the 
 slaughterous sovereigns of the feathered tribes ; so long as the 
 lion remains the king of the forest, and makes the stag and ante- 
 lope quake by the thunder of his roar, even when miles distant ; 
 so long as the pike pursues the gliding eeL through the inland 
 waters, and the shark is the tyrant of the "ean ; so long as the 
 spider weaves its web, and drains the blood of the captive fly. 
 It is a universe — with all its glories of resplendent suns and 
 mighty systems of millions of stars — with all its grandeur of 
 mountains and verdure of vallies — with all its luxuries of fruits, 
 and hues and perfume of flowers — it is a universe of pain and 
 death, of murder and devastation. Man is in awful keeping 
 with the scenery of the picture in which he is the chief figure : 
 he becomes the hawk and the vulture, the lion and the wolf, to 
 his own species." {Reasoner, No. 117.) 
 
 I add a passage from another lecture — for I wish 
 it to be understood what I really did say, occasionally 
 and incidentally, in my historical and miscellaneous 
 lectures. 
 
 " Why is the term * First Cause' ever employed ? If no cause 
 could produce the universe from nothing, — if the universe has 
 ever been in this ' Cause,' or He in it,— then, to speak of the 
 Eternal cause' raay be consistent ; but the term 'First Cause' is 
 a misnomer, for there was no j^rs^ cause. Since matter in its 
 
360 PASSAGE FROM A LECTURE. 
 
 organized forms has consciousness, from the worm (for it shrinks 
 when touched) to Man, I may not take upon me to deny that the 
 infinite universe has One All-pervading Consciousness. I may not 
 deny that ; but I do not know it. I may not deny it, for I behold 
 adaptations — I use not the word 'contrivance,' because nothing in 
 nature really resembles Man's inventions, since Man never con- 
 trives anything that can produce its like — I behold adaptations, on 
 every side, wherever I look on nature ; and I am impressed with 
 the presence of Power and Wisdom while contemplating them, and 
 often with the presence of Beneficence. But, is it always thus } 
 Watch the beautiful spider which, just at this season, is so 
 common in your gardens, the Epeira diadema, a beautifully 
 marked and diademed insect, that weaves its wheel-formed 
 webs from bough to branch with wondrous nimbleness — for it 
 will renew its web ten times a day if you destroy its work — 
 and with consummate art. What manifest adaptation ! But, 
 for what ? That web will have a fly entangled in it soon. Hark 
 at its cry of pain, for the diademed fly-butcher runs to drain 
 its blood. 
 
 " Glance from an insect to a lion, with its massive bones and 
 powerful sinews, its formidable teeth, and prickles leaning 
 backwards on the tongue with which it can lick off the flesh from 
 a limb, and its gastric juice that will digest flesh and bruised 
 bone, but not grain or grass. Look through all nature, and see 
 murder, pain, destruction, in the midst of life, pleasure, renewal 
 of existence. 
 
 " What says the priest, while we take the survey ? That he 
 cannot explain why there is pain in the universe, except by the 
 fable of Man's fall from primeval innocence ; and that the con- 
 tinuance of pain is now a part of God's government, and we 
 must bow and adore where we cannot understand. Nay, priest, 
 but I will not. How can my heart worship Power, or even 
 Wisdom, if it be not conjoined with Goodness ? I tell him, as in 
 my humble prison-song, — 
 
 ' I cannot worship what I cannot love.' 
 
 Nay, more : if even thy Deity exists, I cannot conceive that He 
 
EVIDENT THAT THIS WAS ERROR. 361 
 
 would do otherwise than reject my worship, were I to tender it 
 to Him without love. He could not look for an acknowledg- 
 ment from any of His intelligent creatures that the production 
 of pain, by however wondrous a display of skill, was worshipful. 
 Pay Him worship for beneficence, if thou wilt, priest, and that 
 wherever it is found ; but do not expect me to offer it wherever 
 I discern adaptations in nature for the production of pain." 
 {Reasoner, vol. iii., page 523.) 
 
 The erroneous thinking in these extracts will be 
 discerned even by sceptics who are acquainted with 
 Combe's "Constitution of Man." There are no "adap- 
 tations in nature for the production of pa.m" for tht 
 sake of pain — to speak plain English. Beneficence 
 is traceable in all such adaptations .they are means 
 for preserving happy life, and often for preserving life 
 itself. Better acquaintance with the facts of zoology 
 convince me that there is a widely-prevailing mistake 
 in people's minds as to the amount of pain and 
 suffering experienced by the lower animals. Even 
 men of considerable reading do not come at the real 
 truth on these subjects ; but suffer their judgments to 
 be misled by their mere sensibilities, as I did for a 
 long time. 
 
 " But what did you call yourself during the twelve 
 years you were sceptical .'' " some may ask : " you 
 evidently object to being classed as an atheist." Yes'^T 
 because I never dared to say " There is no God," 
 nor could I ever reach such a conclusive thought. 
 Indeed, I never remained long in any one state of 
 belief or unbelief on the subject of the Divine existence 
 
362 WORSHIP OF CHRIST'S MORAL BEAUTY. 
 
 during my sceptical time. Perhaps I was near Pan- 
 theism, sometimes ; while at other times I was a 
 Theist. I feel now that I was indeed " without hope 
 and without God in the world," for I had ceased to 
 seek communion with Him, and to love Him ; but I 
 did not sink into blank atheism and glory in it, as 
 some did who taught at John Street and the Hall of 
 Science. The great error was in mixing myself up 
 with such teaching. I ought to have known better ; 
 but, like others, I feel, the older I grow, what a blun- 
 derer I have been. I never could learn to *' take care 
 of my reputation," like some people ; and I doubt if 
 I could learn tUdo so, even if I could enter on life 
 anew. 
 
 I have said that I never ceased to worship the 
 moral beauty of Christ ; and this was a frequent 
 theme with me, in my sceptical time — yet, as I be- 
 came more and more imbued with the spirit of Strauss, 
 the more I strove to make it out that there was no- 
 thing above humanity in Christ's excellence. The 
 following extract will make my meaning more plain : 
 
 "Do you ask me whether this elevated teaching does not 
 prove the supernatural mission of Christ ? I answer, No. It is 
 but the natural revelation of the human heart drawn from its 
 deepest fountains. Christ needed no inspiration, in the priestly 
 sense of that word. If he were inspired, so was Confucius, who 
 taught the great precept — ' Do unto others as ye would they 
 should do unto you,' 500 years before Christ. But neither was 
 that an inspired discovery of the Chinese sage. The heart had 
 uttered it, and, doubtless, thousands of tongues had proclaimed 
 
PASSAGE FROM A LECTURE. 363 
 
 it, ages before Confucius lived. If Christ were inspired, so was 
 Socrates ; so was Homer and Eschylus and Sophocles ; so was 
 Shakspeare and Milton ; and all who have astonished and 
 elevated the human mind by the great products of poetry. If 
 Christ were inspired, so was Phidias and Canova, so was 
 Raphael and Michael Angelo, so was Handel and Mozart, so 
 was Copernicus and Galileo and Newton, so was Bacon and 
 Locke, so was Davy and Watt, so were all who have revealed to 
 humankind the wonders of art and music, of philosophy and 
 science. Nature produces her own great children, in her own 
 time ; and she endows them for their mission, and impels them 
 to its fulfilment, whatever may be their apparent disadvantages 
 of circumstance. 
 
 " Was it more wonderful that that young man of Nazareth, 
 that despised carpenter's son, should be born with an organisa- 
 tion to discern moral beauty, and be girt ijp to proclaim love, 
 and pity, and mercy, and goodness, even to the death — than 
 that Shakspeare, with all his capacity for fathoming and depicting 
 the human heart, and for universal creation, should be born in 
 a woolstapler's shop.-* Perish the false, idolatrous, and enslaving 
 forms in which Priestcraft clothes that glorious GaUlean Peasant ! 
 Let him stand forth in his simple moral beauty ; and he is more 
 worshipful than in all his mythical and fabulous garniture ! 
 Stripped of the tinselled rags of miracle and imaginary godship, 
 the heart cleaves to him, loves him with intensity, as the noblest 
 of human brothers, as the One wl^o has shown most loftily what 
 it is that Man may become in moral perfectibility, and how he 
 may learn to love goodness, and triumph over the passions of 
 hatred and revenge, until he can expire breathing out forgiveness, 
 even for his murderers ! " {Reasoner, vol. iii., page 507.) 
 
 I give another extract from one of my John Street 
 lectures, of the same tendency : — 
 
 " The doctrine of Equal Rights was often enunciated by 
 
 Christ ; but he could not show that knowledge would lead to 
 
 .their acquirement. His 'Heavenly Father' had commissioned 
 
364 PASSAGE FROM A LECTURE. 
 
 him to introduce the ' Kingdom of Heaven.' He, the ' Son of 
 Man ' would ' come in the clouds of heaven,' clothed with glory 
 and surrounded with his holy angels, to bring it. His glorious 
 worship of goodness led him to wish that the 'kingdom of 
 heaven ' should be established on earth ; his highly religious 
 mind could not disrobe itself of the national belief entirely, and 
 he personified the goodness he worshipped as the 'Jehovah,' 
 though with widely different attributes to the ancient Jehovah ; 
 and taught that the Universal Father, as He became under 
 Christ's teaching, would institute the Universal Brotherhood. 
 
 " Christ taught no sciences. How, where, when, was he to 
 learn them ? Christ inculcated no education, in any such sense 
 of the word as we accept it. He never recommended the culti- 
 vation of the powers of the mind, either to his disciples, or to 
 the multitude. How was it possible? Education, in his country 
 and time, consisted in a knowledge of the Mosaic law, the pre- 
 cepts of the Rabbis, and the foolish traditions and silly cere- 
 monies of the Doctors. His grand nature soared above the 
 ridiculous teachings of the latter, it shrank from the fierceness 
 and cruelty of the first ; and it distinguished and selected what 
 was excellent in either the Rabbinical precepts, or those of the 
 older scriptures. 
 
 " Christ saw the world was wrong. He thought to right it at 
 once — believing his own glorious enthusiasm. But the experience 
 of eighteen hundred years has proved to us that his goodness 
 was more truthful than his enthusiasm. Dethrone Christ ? 
 Dost thou say, priest, that I am seeking to dethrone him .'' I 
 tell thee, my worship of him is as ardent as thine. I tell thee 
 that thou hast crucified him afresh — thou and thy dark tribe — 
 these seventeen hundred years ; but that science will prepare 
 his throne ; that his 'kingdom of heaven' was no dream, save 
 in the mode of its realisation ; but that universal knowledge 
 will bring it. Not as Millenarian fanatics tell : not as orthodox 
 teachers prophesy, I speak of no 'coming in the flesh,' or 
 coming in the clouds,' but of the universal recognition of the 
 great law of goodness and brotherhood — of the reverence and 
 love of the name of that lowly young man of Nazaretl'i. as the 
 
I DID NOT CONVINCE MYSELF. 365 
 
 highest of moral teachers— and, above all, as the grandest ex- 
 ample of the triumph of our moral nature, the common nature of 
 man." {Reasoner, vol. iii., pp. 547 — 549.) 
 
 While thus intent on convincing myself and others 
 that there was nothing above humanity in the moral 
 perfection of Christ, and that science and mental 
 progress would eventually bring in the reign of such 
 moral perfection, I did not perfectly succeed in con- 
 vincing myself. Every fresh glance at the pure 
 spirituality of the New Testament teaching threw me 
 back ; and so I had to fence with these difficulties 
 again and again, by endeavouring to show that the 
 Pauline teaching was superinduced on Christ's teach- 
 ing, and was impracticable. How hardly I battled to 
 establish this point will be seen in the following ex- 
 tract from another John Street Lecture — though I 
 believe the thoughts were first uttered in my friend 
 Fox's pulpit, during the time he was absent from 
 London securing his election for Oldham : — 
 
 " How the simple teaching of Jesus of Nazareth — this yearn- 
 ing of a large and grand and beautiful nature — became mixed 
 up, almost at the onset, with superstitious imaginings — the 
 natural consequence of its reception amidst ignorance, old creeds, 
 oriental tendencies — I need not repeat. The creed was most 
 simple, and but very few outward observances were inculcated 
 in the outset. The first Christians were chiefly remarkable for 
 their refusal to be soldiers, for their contempt of wealth and 
 show, and for the firmness with which they underwent martyr- 
 dom for their faith, whereby the admiration of the polytheists was 
 deeply excited, and, not seldom, their conversion was secured. 
 The idea which Pliny himself, in the letter to Trajan, gives us 
 
366 PASSAGE FROM A LECTURE. 
 
 of Christianity at the end of the first century, is borne out by 
 the language of the Epistles in the New Testament. Being not 
 conformed to this world — praying without ceasing — counting the 
 present life nothing, but the future, on which they might enter at 
 any unlooked-for moment, everything, — that is the true Apostolic 
 Christianity : the Christianity of the Epistles. In late times, 
 such deeply sincere, enthusiastic, and self-sacrificing men as 
 Wesley and Whitfield, Brainerd and Swartz and Eliot, Fletcher 
 and Bramwell, have been exemplars of this Apostolic Christianity. 
 
 " This religion of Paul, however, is more ascetic and mortifying, 
 and less rational, than the religion inculcated by Jesus himself, 
 so far as my humble investigation of the subject enables me to 
 form a conclusion. Christ frequently rebukes the narrow spirit 
 of asceticism ; and the ever-fertile burthen of his teaching is 
 goodness and mercy, love and brotherhood. Yet his own views 
 of a 'kingdom of heaven,' here, argue great unacquaintance with 
 the laws of nature. Had Jesus understood those laws, he would 
 not have looked for the immediate institution of that ' kingdom 
 of heaven ' upon earth (for such were his views in the beginning 
 of his ministry) • nor, had Paul and the Apostles understood 
 those laws, would they have inculcated the ascetic precepts which 
 abound in the Epistles. 
 
 "Where would civilisation have been, if all had become 
 Christians after the model of these precepts ? Where painting, 
 music, poetry, statuary, architecture ? Where the invention of 
 arts, where the discoveries of science and adventure ? Where 
 commerce, manufactures, machinery, and the convenience of 
 food and clothing .? What, if Shakspeare had ' prayed without 
 ceasing,' should we have had his Macbeth and Lear and Othello ? 
 What, if Michael Angelo and Wren had thought of nothing 
 but of being 'not conformed to this world,' and of being 'trans- 
 formed by the renewing of their minds,' would the magnificent 
 domes of St. Peter's and St. Paul's ever have attracted the 
 wonder-stricken gaze of men, in Rome or London ? 
 
 ' Nothing is worth a thought beneath. 
 But how I may escape the death 
 That never, neverdies." 
 
DEATH OF MY FRIEND W. J. FOX. 367 
 
 is a modern embodiment of Apostolic religious thought. 
 Where would have been the discoveries of Cook, or the inven- 
 tions of Watt and Arkwright, if they had been ascetics after this 
 model ? To what a state the world would have been reduced by 
 an entire devotion to such a religion, may be seen in the examples 
 of Simeon Stylites and many of the early Christian eremites, 
 while the melancholy diaries of Halyburton, and other modern 
 pietists, confirm the truth that ascetic religion would cover the 
 world with a funeral pall, and shut up the human mind in the 
 gloom of the sepulchre." {Reasoner, vol. v., pp. 262-3.) 
 
 Thus I thought and spoke and wrote ; but not all 
 the thinking and speaking and writing could destroy 
 the latent wish that rapt communion with God were 
 again mine. I might call it " asceticism," and give it 
 other hard names ; but the remembrance of it would 
 return, in spite of all the corruption of the heart and 
 the wandering of the mind to which I had yielded. 
 
 I have again mentioned the name of my friend 
 W. J. Fox, and will now say my last words about him. 
 He was as kind and tender to me as a father ; and 
 I loved him. I saw but little of him in his closing 
 years, being so much out of London after 1857. 
 He died in June, 1864, while I was lecturing in 
 Staffordshire. I should have left my work to attend 
 his funeral, if I had been able to do so ; but I was 
 not. The difference in our religious views had be- 
 come very great ; but I should have paid the tribute 
 of heartfelt regard to his memory, had it been in my 
 power. 
 
368 HELP FROM CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ENTRANCE ON THE RIGHT LIFE : THE LIFE 
 OF DUTY. 1856 — 1872. 
 
 Immediately after I had obeyed conscience, and 
 told the people I had been in the habit of teach- 
 ing that I had been wrong, I determined to open 
 my mind fully to my large-hearted friend Charles 
 Kingsley. He showed the fervent sympathy of a 
 brother. We began a correspondence which extended 
 over many months : in fact, over more than a year. 
 I told him every doubt and described every hope I 
 had ; and he counselled, instructed, and strengthened 
 me to the end. 
 
 But, as I said before, bread was to be earned, and 
 where was it to come from .■* I had many friends 
 ready to help, and they did help nobly ; but a man 
 cannot live honourably in idleness, and I asked on all 
 sides for some employment. So my friend the Rev. 
 F. D. Maurice, and three barrister friends, Mr. Hughes, 
 Mr. Ludlow, and Mr. Furnivall, after conferring with 
 my now Right Honourable friend W. E. Forster, 
 besought Mr. W. F. Cowper, M.P., President of the 
 Board of Health, to find me some employment under 
 that Governmental Department. 
 
COPYING AT BOARD OF HEALTH. 369 
 
 Mr. Cowper (now Cowper-Temple) appointed a 
 time for me to wait on him, and I went. He said he 
 wished much that he could offer me anything better, 
 but the only thing he could offer me was that I became 
 a copyist of letters, etc., at a low remuneration : he 
 thought it was seventy words for a penny. I told 
 him I would take the em.ploy, if it were seventy words 
 for a halfpenny. So I went down into the cellar of 
 the Board of Health — for that is the truest name for 
 the room ; and there I was almost a daily worker, 
 every week for ninety-seven weeks — not finally quit- 
 ting my post till the end of May, 1858. 
 - This humble post brought me the hearty and valu- 
 able friendship of another man of genius, — Mr. Tom 
 Taylor, who was Secretary of the Board — which is now 
 become the " Local Government Board." It brought 
 me, too, the kind and friendly attention of the Under- 
 Secretary, Mr. Campbell, cousin of the Duke of 
 Argyll, and son of Qampbell of Islay. 
 
 I am glad, too, that I served in that cellar of the 
 Board of Health, because I had there to copy out 
 the letters of several hundred eminent medical men, 
 and otherwise humbly assist Mr. Simon, the highly 
 intelligent Physician to the Privy Council, in the 
 completion of his masterly " Report on Vaccination." 
 The letters were from the most eminent foreign as 
 well as British physicians and surgeons. The reading 
 of them, as well as of all other papers I could reach 
 on the subject, left in my mind a most ineffaceable 
 
 24 
 
370 CONVICTION OF PERSONAL SIN. 
 
 conviction that Jenner's discovery was a real blessing 
 to mankind ; and that the scourge by which I suffered 
 so much when a child, and by which hundreds are now 
 suffering, might be swept out of existence, if all chil- 
 dren were duly and efficiently vaccinated. 
 
 My enforced silence of six months, and all its inner 
 experiences, found me a still more completely changed 
 man when September came, and I applied to Mr, 
 Bendall to know if he would let me recommence my 
 Sunday evening lectures at the Hall of Science, and 
 teach what I pleased. He granted me leave to occupy 
 his room as I chose. So I re-commenced, and simply 
 taught Theism — for I had not advanced farther yet 
 in positive conviction. 
 
 I confess I am very incredulous respecting sudden 
 conversions from the habitual scepticism of years. I 
 had been twelve years a sceptic ; and it was not until 
 fully two years had been devoted to hard reading and 
 thinking that I could conscientiously and truly say, 
 "I am again a Christian " — even nominally. The deep 
 conviction which first arose within me, that I had been 
 very guilty, as a public teacher, in not courageously 
 and faithfully presenting the great truth of God's ex- 
 istence as the Moral Governor before men, gradually 
 merged into the deeper and more distressful convic- 
 tion of my own personal life of sin : the remembrance 
 that I — I myself — had been living without God, and 
 without hope in the world ; without the God that I 
 had loved in my early manhood, and Who had then 
 
THE GREAT SPIRITUAL STRUGGLE. 37I 
 
 given me to feel His love, day by day, and hour by 
 hour. 
 
 My conviction of personal sin deepened to such a 
 degree, in the hours of reflection during the silent six 
 months, that I dared not pray; and my wife said I 
 never smiled for those six months. I told my dear 
 friend Dr. Jobson, who was ever trying to strengthen 
 and help me, that I believed God would shut me up in 
 judicial darkness ; that He would never suffer me to 
 live in the " light of His countenance " again, as a 
 penalty for my great sin in deserting Him because I 
 thought men ill-used me. 
 
 " No, no ! " said my dear friend ; " I don't believe it. 
 God will bring you to the light yet, and fill your soul 
 with it ! " 
 
 I told my friend Charles Kingsley, in our corre- 
 spondence, that while I diligently read " Bridgewater 
 Treatises," and all the other books with which he 
 furnished me, as a means of beginning to teach 
 sceptics the truth from the very foundation, that the 
 foundations themselves seemed to glide from under 
 my feet ; I had to struggle against my own new and 
 tormenting doubts about God's existence, and feared 
 I should be at last overwhelmed with darkness and 
 confusion of mind. 
 
 " No, no ! " said my faithful and intelligent friend, 
 "you will get out of all doubt in time. When you 
 feel you are in the deepest and gloomiest doubt, pray 
 the prayer of desperation ; cry out, — ' Lord, if Thou 
 
372 LECTURES ON THEISM TO SCEPTICS. 
 
 dost exist, let me know that Thou dost exist ! Guide 
 my mind, by a way that I know not, into Thy truth ! ' 
 and God will deliver you." ' 
 
 But I dared not pray,'as I said before. This bond- 
 age of dumbness of spirit was suddenly broken, one 
 morning, as I awoke, by the words running through 
 my mind that had been familiar to me when I was a 
 Bluecoat boy, and stood in the aisle of Gainsborough 
 church, — "Almighty and most merciful Father, I 
 have erred and strayed from Thy ways like a lost 
 sheep ; I have followed too much the devices and 
 desires of my own heart ; I have offended against 
 Thy holy laws,"' — and it went on to the end. 
 
 " The words running through my mind," did I say } 
 Oh, was it not the Holy Spirit Himself, in ineffable 
 condescension and love, leading my mind by a way 
 that I knew not .-' The words came again, as I awoke, 
 morning after morning, till at last I felt I could pray 
 in my own words. I had no more awful gloom of 
 mind ; but I was far yet from getting back to Christ, 
 and receiving Him as my Saviour. 
 
 I have said that, at the end of my six months' 
 silence, I began to teach Theism to sceptics in the 
 Hall of Science. My subjects were, — " The Design 
 Argument substantiated from the Sciences," and I 
 occupied an hour each Sunday night, for many weeks, 
 with this theme, illustrating it from Natural History, 
 (Man — the Mammalia, — the Birds, — the Fishes, etc.,) 
 from Chemistry, Geology, Light, etc. After my 
 
LECTURES ON CHRISTIAN EVIDENCE. 373 
 
 hour's lecture, the discussion began ; each speaker 
 being allowed ten minutes, and I ten minutes in 
 reply, if necessary. The absurd wrangling and igno- 
 rance of some disputants were very wearisom-e, and 
 the fierceness and intolerance of others were still more 
 distressing. I sometimes went home at eleven o'clock 
 at night from these discussions, so completely worn 
 down and enfevered that I thought I would give up 
 my task. But I no sooner got on my knees than I 
 felt I dared not. I was bound to go on, and atone for 
 my errors, if it were possible ; and I should be a guilty 
 coward to desert that championship for the truth I had, 
 taken upon myself from a sense of bounden duty. 
 
 I advanced to treat the Moral Government of God 
 more exhaustively, my subjects being " Man's Moral 
 Nature," " Pain, Prey, and Physical Suffering," "Moral 
 Evil," " The Soul and Future State," " Materialism 
 and the Spiritual Nature of Man," " Evidence and 
 Responsibility " — and, at last, I ventured on " Prayer 
 a Duty." In the very next lecture I announced a 
 series of discourses on the "Evidences of Christianity." 
 I felt much hesitation in doing this. My mind was 
 not fully clear — my reason and understanding were 
 not fully settled on the order of the "Evidences;" but 
 my heart wanted Christ, and I felt, if I did my work 
 imperfectly, still I was bound to do it. 
 
 For months I placed the Christian Evidences before 
 my audiences in every possible form — I mean the 
 external evidence from history, miracles, etc., — and 
 
374 REQUESTS FROM OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 then I advanced to doctrines, the Atonement, Faith, 
 Repentance, etc. The opposition became most bitter 
 when I had advanced so far ; and it seemed that a 
 considerable number of sceptics entered into a new 
 scheme : they made every effort to dissuade people 
 from coming to hear me, so that I often lectured to 
 a comparative few. But I persevered, and defeated 
 their scheme. At their demand I also took up Paine's 
 " Age of Reason," and in five lectures showed them 
 its errors, while they as stoutly defended it. Next 
 I took up Robert Taylor's " Diegesis," and dealt with 
 it in like manner. 
 
 At the beginning of September, 1857, I formed 
 another newspaper engagement. It was to furnish a 
 series of articles — similar to those I had written for 
 Douglas Jerrold's newspaper on the " Condition of 
 the People " — to a weekly paper called The People, 
 the property of a well-known Christian philanthropist, 
 John Henderson, Esq., of Park. M-y engagement 
 lasted only nine months ; and the paper itself did not 
 continue long, though it was said Mr. Henderson spent 
 several thousands in trying to establish it. 
 
 With the beginning of 1858, I began to receive very 
 urgent requests from old friends, in the country, that 
 I would come out of London and talk to them on my 
 new subjects. So I went and lectured at Shefifield, 
 and York, and Norwich ; and soon found I should 
 be compelled to go to other places — nay, the duty 
 of giving up my entire life and time to the work of 
 
MEMORABLE TENTH OF MAY. 375 
 
 lecturing on the "Evidences," and in every part of 
 the kingdom, began to dawn upon me. This con- 
 viction was deepened into a resolution by an act of 
 most gracious Providence that I must describe. 
 
 I had engaged to dehver six lectures on the Evi- 
 dences, in St. George's Hall, Bradford, Yorkshire ; and 
 was to be the guest, for the week, of my beloved 
 friend Dr. Jobson, who^was then stationed at Bradford, 
 but had come over to London on a preaching visit. 
 On Saturday, the 8th of May, my friend called on me 
 and said, — 
 
 " I have to be at Brixton to-morrow ; and I fear I 
 shall be in danger of being late on Monday morning. 
 So be sure to get to the Euston Square Station in 
 good time yourself, and take your place in a carriage, 
 and beckon me as I come up, that we may travel 
 together." 
 
 So on Monday morning, the loth May, 18^8, — a 
 day I trust I shall remember, and shall thank God 
 for His especial mercy as long as I live and the loth 
 of May returns, — I got early to the Euston Square 
 Station and took my ticket. I opened a door in the 
 second carriage behind the engine and tender ; and 
 was about to step into it, when a porter, who was an 
 utter stranger to me, took hold of my portmanteau, 
 and said, — 
 
 " Don't go in there, sir ! go a little lower down." 
 
 I yielded to the man, but felt a little surprised at 
 his motion. I had just put my portmanteau under 
 
376 THE cow ON THE RAILWAY LINE. 
 
 the seat of the carnage, lower down, and was looking 
 out for my friend Dr. Jobson, when I saw him about to 
 get into the very carriage I had left. I shouted to him 
 and beckoned him, and he came and got into the 
 same carriage with me, but expressed his surprise 
 when I told him how the porter had particularly led 
 me to enter it. 
 
 It was a first-class carriage, and soon four persons, 
 whom we easily discovered to be barristers going to 
 the Liverpool Assizes, joined us in it. But before 
 we started, a barrister (who was killed between two 
 and three hours after) came and called one of our 
 companions out — as it proved afterwards, to have his 
 leg broken. It was a short express train, and we 
 went on rapidly but steadily till we came within about 
 a mile of Nuneaton. There was now a bend in the 
 line, and a bridge over the bend, so that neither 
 engine-driver or guard could see any danger till they 
 passed from under the bridge. 
 
 A cow had had her calf taken from her, and, be- 
 coming unruly, got upon the line and was driven off 
 several times. But now .she could not be driven off. 
 A man, who had been trying to drive her off, stood 
 in a field close to the railway line and waved a red 
 flag. The guard put on the drag, which was after- 
 wards said to be an error, for that the express train 
 unchecked would have crushed the cow to death and 
 passed on without the human passengers suffering 
 any harm. And the cow was crushed to death ; but 
 
DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. 377 
 
 the shock and check put upon our motion broke the 
 coupling chain whereby the carriages were fastened 
 to the engine and tender. The engine and tender 
 went on — but the carriages rebounded back ; and first 
 one went off the line and rolled over the ten feet of 
 descent, then a second, a third, and a fourth. Next, 
 the coupling chain of ours, the fifth carriage, was 
 broken, and the whole carriage of three compartments 
 was removed from one line of rails to the other, as 
 if supernatural beings had lifted it up, and placed it 
 down again ! 
 
 Both the lines of rails were so much broken that for 
 some hours the trains that came up, either way, had to 
 disgorge their passengers, reload, and return the way 
 they came. Very soon there were hundreds of persons 
 on the spot ; they seemed to come across the country 
 almost flying, in gigs, on horseback, and on foot. 
 
 The glass was broken in our carriage, but not a 
 hair of the head of any person in it was injured. In 
 the other carriages there was not a passenger without 
 injury of some kind, and three were killed. The 
 whole action had been so sudden, and seemed so 
 stupefying, that I did not feel all the awful sense 
 of deliverance I ought to have felt, till I observed a 
 circle of persons gathered in a field, and was told the 
 dead were in their midst. I went to gaze, and as I 
 saw the three figures in their clothes and boots, lying 
 side by side, with a cloth covering their faces, I said 
 to myself, — 
 
3/8 DEDICATION TO A LIFE OF DUTY. 
 
 " I and my friend might have been two of these 
 three ; but Thou, X^ord God, hast preserved us ! Oh, 
 take my Hfe which Thou hast graciously kept, and let 
 it be devoted to Thee. I have again entered Thy 
 service ; let me never more leave it, but live only to 
 spread Thy truth ! " 
 
 It was, indeed, a vow to consecrate my future life 
 to God's service and God's work ; to have no more 
 fervours or passions diverting me from it ; but to per- 
 form His work only. I have kept my vow feebly ; 
 but, thank God, I have kept it ! I told my dear 
 friend, before I left Bradford, that I should leave 
 my employ at the Board of Health, should return to 
 the pulpit and preach every Sunday, and should pere- 
 grinate the whole land to lecture on the Evidences 
 of Natural and Revealed Religion. 
 
 At the end of May, resigning my situation at the 
 Board of Health, and bidding farewell to the Hall of 
 Science, I left London, my dear wife remaining be- 
 hind. I did not return home till the end of August, 
 and then only for one week ; I then went out again, 
 and did not return till January, 1859; ^^^ immediately 
 went out again, and did not return till November, 
 1859. My dear wife felt it like widowhood to be thiis 
 deserted ; but she did not begin to travel with me till 
 January, 1861. From that time to the present she 
 has been often my winter companion, and has always 
 been with me in summer. And through deep love of 
 the pursuit, as well as to preserve health, we have 
 
WHAT RELIGIOUS BODY TO JOIN. 379 
 
 taken advantage of our wide wanderings over England, 
 Scotland, and Wales, to gather the darling wild-flowers 
 everywhere. My dear wife has preserved a fine col- 
 lection of flowers ; and I have kept a register of our 
 gatherings that occupies several volumes. 
 
 I have said that I vowed to have no more fervours 
 or passions diverting me from what I considered to be 
 God's work. And if our study of Botany had tended 
 to divert me from my great life-duty I would not 
 have pursued it. I gave up the thought of advancing 
 in the knowledge of languages, when I entered on 
 my present work ; and except that I make my Greek 
 Testament, as much as possible, my daily companion, 
 I have seldom read a page in any other language 
 than my own since that lOth of May, 1858. And 
 my reading, even of English, has been very much re- 
 stricted. Of course I read every book I can get 
 hold of that proclaims the new tendencies of scepti- 
 cism — its Darwinism, and dream about " Evolution," 
 and other dreams — for I strive to show the error of 
 these new tendencies ; but I have now little time, 
 indeed, for general reading. 
 
 I was much beset by solicitations to join religious 
 societies when I began again to preach, which I did 
 on the first Sunday in June, 1858, at Sheffield. But 
 I could not easily make up my mind. I felt my old 
 love for Methodism return ; but I could not bring my 
 mind to return to the old body of Methodists. I 
 might have joined the United Free Methodists, for 
 
380 ^ GENEROUS OFFER OF DR. HOOK. 
 
 I had many good friends among them ; but I knew it 
 would lastingly grieve my dear and faithful friend Dr. 
 Jobson, and I could not be guilty of such ingratitude 
 towards him as to grieve him. 
 
 If I could conscientiously have connected myself 
 with the Established Church, I should at once have 
 accepted the kind and generous offer of a venerable 
 clergyman — Dr. Hook, now Dean of Chichester, but 
 at that time Vicar of Leeds. I had been describing to 
 him the real good which had been done in Sheffield by 
 my friend Dr. Sale, the vicar, through the agency of a 
 band of Scripture-readers — some of them Methodist 
 local preachers — which Dr. Sale had organised. 
 
 " Will you come and live at Leeds } " said Dr. 
 Hook to me ; "will you come and select me just such 
 a band of Scripture-readers, and be yourself their 
 captain .'' I will make it worth your acceptance if 
 you will fill such a post. And I also promise you 
 that you shall be free to go out, often, on the great 
 errand that you believe to be your duty. Do not say 
 * No,' — consider of it." 
 
 The nobleness of the work, and the noble way in 
 which the offer was made, moved me much ; but I 
 felt compelled to decide against it. 
 
 One day a few sensible questions were put to me, 
 at a tea-table in Barnsley, by the very intelligent wife 
 of a Baptist minister. I could not answer them ; and 
 reflection soon made me a Baptist in conviction, and 
 on Whit Sunday, 1859, ^Y o^^ ^^^ ^^^^ friend Joseph 
 
I BECOME A "GENERAL BAPTIST." 38 1 
 
 Foulkes Winks immersed me in baptism in Friar 
 Lane Chapel, Leicester. Dr. Price, the well-known 
 Baptist minister of Aberdare, was present at the 
 performance of the rite, and assisted in the celebra- 
 tion of the Lord's Supper in the evening. I forth- 
 with joined the General Baptists ; not with the intent 
 to confine myself to preaching and lecturing in the 
 chapels of any one particular body of Evangelical 
 Christians, or of being directed by any, as to how, 
 and when, and where I should do my work of duty ; 
 but to make the full, outward sign which I think 
 every true Christian man is bound to make, that he 
 belongs to Christ's Church. 
 
 One esteemed Christian friend thought a committee 
 had better be formed to direct my motions, and 
 secure me support, when I commenced my present 
 itinerant work in 1858 ; but I begged of him to give 
 up the thought. I felt it was far better for me to 
 have nothing to do with committees, but to go forth 
 with God only as my director, and with the belief that 
 I was simply performing the duty to which He had 
 summoned me. I could not doubt that He would 
 provide for me. 
 
382 RETURN TO THE PULPIT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 RENEWED PREACHER-LIFE; AND LIFE AS A 
 
 LECTURER ON RELIGIOUS EVIDENCE. 
 
 1858—1866. 
 
 From June, 1858, to the month of November, 1866, 
 I kept on, without stoppage, at my new work, preach- 
 ing usually thrice on Sundays, and lecturing on the 
 Evidences of Natural and Revealed Religion, usually 
 every night of the week. In addition to the lectures 
 I delivered in 1858 at Sheffield, Norwich, York, 
 Bradford, Leeds, Sunderland, North and South Shields, 
 Newcastle-on-Tyne, Hexham, Stockton-on-Tees, the 
 Hartlepools, Nottingham, the Staffordshire Potteries, 
 Barnsley, Halifax, Keighley, Darlington, Leicester, 
 Bilston, Cardiff, Devonport, and Exeter, I entered 
 Cornwall for the first time, and preached and lectured 
 at Falmouth, Penryn, Penzance, Redruth, and Truro. 
 During the year 1858, I also held public discussions 
 with George Jacob Holyoake : four nights at Norwich, 
 five nights at York, and one at Nottingham. My 
 friend was gentle and temperate, 'conscientious and 
 straightforward. I could not convince him, and he 
 could not convince me ; nor did the discussions 
 
 V 
 
HARM DONE BY DISCUSSIONS. ^83 
 
 disturb our friendship and mutual regard. I had 
 discussions in after-years with big and little cham- 
 pions of Atheism ; but their proceedings seemed to 
 me crooked and unprincipled, and I shall therefore 
 pass them by without recording even their names. 
 My clear conviction is, that public discussions on 
 the Evidences of Christianity never do any good, 
 but often do great harm. The sceptical champion, 
 and his friends too, generally come up to the encounter 
 to win, by fair means or foul : they are in too great a 
 heat to hear the truth ; it cannot get any fair entrance 
 into their minds. On the other hand, young fresh 
 minds, unused to these inquiries, are often caught by 
 the new and startling words they hear, and become 
 doubters ; perhaps, eventually, confirmed unbelievers. 
 
 For the first few years, I was also in the habit, at 
 the end of almost every lecture, of inviting sceptical 
 hearers, if any were present, to ask questions, or make 
 observations in the way of objection, if they had any. 
 But I gave up this habit, as well as the practice of 
 public discussion ; for I found that the persons who 
 rose to ask questions were often so much disposed to 
 turn the meeting into a scene of disturbance and bad 
 feeling, that they destroyed the good I had been en- 
 deavouring to effect. 
 
 One week of excitement, at the end of January, 
 1859, often comes to my memory. I spent it at 
 Northampton, where I had lectured in the old Chartist 
 times ; and where the swarms of shoemakers were 
 
384 LECTURING IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 known to be sceptical, and were eager for the fray. 
 I preached there on the Sunday, and they came in 
 crowds far too great for the chapel to hold them. I 
 lectured on the six nights following, and they rose up 
 and disputed ; but, with very slight exceptions, they 
 manifested so much good-humour and regard for their 
 old democratic champion, that I felt something like 
 regret because I could not stay longer among them. 
 In this year, 1859, 1 revisited Manchester, Birmingham, 
 and Coventry ; was largely employed in Yorkshire, 
 Lancashire, and Staffordshire ; and lectured and 
 preached in various town of Essex, Norfolk, Hunting- 
 don, Cambridge, Lincoln, Derby, Cheshire, Durham, 
 and Northumberland. 
 
 I ventured into Scotland in i860, as a preacher 
 and lecturer on the " Evidences ; " and was so well 
 received by ministers and people at Edinburgh, 
 Glasgow, Aberdeen, Dundee, Paisley, Stirling, and 
 many smaller towns, that I very heartily promised 
 to renew my visit. In this year, i860, I revisited 
 Bristol, Cheltenham, Leamington, Worcester, Chatham, 
 Sheerness, Macclesfield, and Carlisle, — preached and 
 lectured for the first time at Kendal, — was extensively 
 employed again in Lancashire, Yorkshire, and Devon- 
 shire, — and performed my work of duty in numerous 
 towns of Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire, 
 Lincolnshire, and Norfolk. 
 
 In the earlier part of the year 1861, I revisited 
 Northampton and Bristol, and had a week of lectur- 
 
HEARTY WELCOME IN SCOTLAND. 385 
 
 ing in Liverpool, and afterwards revisited towns, and 
 performed my work in towns I had not before visited, 
 in the counties of Warwick, Worcester, Bedford, 
 Stafford, Derby, Leicester, Nottingham, Lancaster,. 
 York, Durham, and Northumberland. In the middle 
 of August, 1 86 1, I again entered Scotland, and 
 remained in it till the 7th of January, 1863 — a period 
 of one year and nearly five months. During this 
 period, I preached and lectured in nearly every town 
 in Scotland which has a population of over two or three 
 thousand. I was twice through the whole length oi 
 the country, from the Border to Inverness; and re- 
 visited some of the principal towns several times 
 over. Almost everywhere, ministers of every deno- 
 mination received me with welcome, and many with* 
 great kindness, while the people came readily to hear, 
 and listened with eagerness. The hearty welcome I 
 received rendered me willing to prolong my stay 
 among the grandeur of its mountains, the music ot 
 its rivers, and the association of its great names ; and 
 I am glad that the time is near when, if spared by 
 the providence of God, I am to return to dear auld 
 Scotland. 
 
 Re-enterijig dear old England in January, 1863, I 
 lectured during that year at Lancaster, Preston, Man- 
 chester, and Shrewsbury ; revisited some towns in 
 Worcestershire and Staffordshire; and was afterwards 
 busily employed in Durham, Northumberland, York- 
 shire, Lincolnshire, Norfolk, Suffolk, Bedfordshire, 
 
 25 
 
386 LECTURING TO COLLEGE YOUTHS. 
 
 and Hertfordshire. The months of November and 
 December, 1863, together with January and parts of 
 February and March, 1864, I devoted to preaching 
 and lecturing in London. 
 
 In the year 1864, I lectured and preached in 
 several parts of Kent, Hertfordshire, Bedfordshire, 
 Northamptonshire, Warwickshire, Leicestershire, and 
 Staffordshire, and again devoted a week to the impor- 
 tant town of Birmingham. July and half of August 
 were devoted to the principal towns of South Wales. 
 I saw beautiful Tintern on leaving the principality, 
 and after lecturing at Gloucester and ancient Tewkes- 
 bury, made my way across the kingdom, and spent 
 September in Essex and Suffolk. The months of 
 October, November, and December, 1864, I devoted 
 entirely to London, with the exception of one week, 
 which I spent most delightfully in preaching, lectur- 
 ing, and seeing the sights in classic Oxford. 
 
 The months of January, February, and March, 
 1865, were devoted almost entirely to London; and 
 during these months I delivered a series of eight 
 Lectures on the Evidences of Christianity to the 
 students of Mr. Spurgeon's College. I never enjoyed 
 my work more in my life ; and I believe the enjoy- 
 ment of the students was as great as rny own. I 
 wish I could more often be employed in a similar 
 way. Telling the " Evidences " to a crowd of young 
 men who will have to preach Christ to thousands, 
 seems hke doing several years' work in an hour. 
 
TOUR IN THE SOUTH OF ENGLAND. 387 
 
 Quitting London in April, I went on to Brighton, 
 and preached and lectured in the chapel of my 
 beloved friend Paxton Hood. The remainder of this 
 year was spent, very delightfully, in itinerating 
 through all the beautiful south of England, and in 
 preaching and lecturing in nearly all the towns of 
 any importance in Kent, Sussex, Hampshire and 
 the Isle of Wight, Dorsetshire, Devonshire, and Corn- 
 wall. 
 
 I commenced the year 1866 in the charming 
 region of Devonshire ; and afterwards preached and 
 lectured in Salisbury and many of the Wiltshire 
 towns ; revisited Portsmouth, Southampton, and 
 the Isle of Wight, and had a week's work in ancient 
 Winchester ; spent many weeks in making a thorough 
 working tour through the pleasant county of Somerset, 
 seeing ancient Glastonbury, Wells, and the Cheddar 
 rocks ; went over to the Channel Islands, and had 
 eighteen days' preaching and lecturing in Jersey and 
 Guernsey ; spent one week at Bath, another at 
 Windsor, and ten days at Woolwich, and then went 
 on into Kent, with the intent to finish my year's work 
 in that county — though I had had symptoms of ill- 
 ness, now and then, for several weeks. 
 
 At last,- I broke down seriously. And, perhaps, 
 none will wonder that I broke down so soon, but 
 rather that I did not break down sooner, when it 
 is considered that, within these eight years and a 
 half, I had preached 1,169 times and lectured 2,204 
 
388 SERIOUS ILLNESS AND BREAK-DOWN. 
 
 times — in other words, I had delivered 3,373 dis- 
 courses ; had visited every county of England, and 
 many counties of Scotland and Wales, and also the 
 Channel Islands, for the fulfilment of what I felt to 
 be my work of duty ; had preached or lectured in 
 every considerable town in Great Britain, and in some 
 of them many times ; had travelled unreckonable 
 hundreds — I may say, thousands — of miles ; and 
 had kept up a voluminous correspondence with an 
 ever increasing number of friends and acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
 In November, 1866, my dear wife, who travelled 
 with me constantly for nearly six years, feeling that 
 she could no longer sustain exposure to the weather 
 in winter, left me to take refuge with her sister in 
 Sheffield — for we had entirely broken up our home 
 in 1 86 1, and have never had one since. So when I 
 fell seriously ill at Ramsgate, at the end of the month 
 just mentioned, I was alone. Nor could I remove 
 till Christmas, when I crept on to the house of an 
 old favourite scholar at Croydon ; but could not join 
 my wife at Sheffield till February, 1867. 
 
 I made several attempts to preach, but it was only 
 to expose myself to renewed suffering ; and it was 
 seven months from the time of my falling ill at Rams- 
 gate before I could get back to my work again. The 
 brain would not let me sleep, and the heart threatened 
 to stop; and frequently, for hours together, I expected 
 life would cease the next moment. Providentially, I 
 
NERVOUS HORRORS OF THE NIGHT. 389 
 
 had the kind and gratuitous help of an excellent phy- 
 sician, Mr. Walford of Ramsgate, when I had the first 
 seizure, or I might never have recovered at all. The 
 nervous horrors of my nights were more torturous 
 than any mere bodily pain I ever knew in my life. 
 The ever-recurring thought was, " I shall go mad — I 
 must go mad sooner or later — for I can get no sleep!" 
 How glad I was always to see the light of the morn- 
 ing, and how often I dreaded the act of lying down in 
 bed at night ! 
 
 The frightful nervous horrors of those months have 
 served to warn me against all attempts to work at 
 more than human speed. I have never dared to 
 preach more than twice on Sundays, — and have 
 limited myself to three or four lectures in each week, 
 since my recovery. And now I am on the way to 
 sixty-seven years of age, I must never think of trying 
 to return to the old passionate speed of working. But 
 I hope to keep in harness to the end ; and never give 
 up my Work of Duty save with my life. 
 
 Let me most gratefully record the fact, that, ail- 
 unexpectedly to myself, my friends made my illness 
 the occasion for raising me help for life, in the shape 
 of a little annuity. My Right Hon. friend first sug- 
 gested the proposition; my beloved friend Dr. Jobson 
 assented to it ; and he and Mr, James Harvey of 
 London, — so well known, among Baptists, for his 
 ready and munificent help in every scheme for good, 
 —forthwith met Samuel Morley, M.P., a name iden- 
 
390 PURCHASE OF AN ANNUITY. 
 
 tified with Christian philanthropy, and laid their 
 purpose before him, when he at once put down his 
 influential name for ;^ioo. My Right Hon. friend, 
 and my old friend Charles Seely, M.P., with Mr. 
 James Harvey, followed, each with ^^50, and my 
 dear friend. Dr. Jobson, with ;^20, and then the pro- 
 position was placed before the public. Among the 
 principal contributors were Mr. Bass, M.P. for Derby, 
 Mr. Colman, now M.P. for Norwich, Mr. Mitchell, 
 Provost of Montrose, my kind and good friends, Mr. 
 Crosby of Stockton-on-Tees, and Mr. Abram Bass of 
 Burton-on-Trent ; and, above all, let me not forget 
 my illustrious friend Thomas Carlyle, who sent 
 
 his ;^I0. 
 
 Mr. Harvey, with a kindness I know not how to 
 describe, took upon himself all the drudgery of receiv- 
 ing subscriptions ; and, eventually, ;^i,300 was raised, 
 and an annuity of ;:^ioo was purchased at the 
 National Debt Office, for myself and my dear wife, 
 and for the survivor, whichever it may be. Of course, 
 they deduct Income Tax half-yearly, when I receive 
 my payment ; but, even with that deduction, which 
 an old Radical does not relish very sweetly, I feel 
 erateful for what kind and numerous friends have thus 
 secured for me for the term of my own life, and also 
 for my dear wife, should she be the survivor. 
 
REPORTED TO BE DEAD. 391 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 MY LIFE AND WORK FOR THE LAST FEW YEARS: 
 CONCLUSION. 1867 — 1872. 
 
 I RECOMMENCED my work with June, 1867, and have 
 continued to perform it, — ahhough in May, 1868, I 
 was reported to be dead — dead and buried ! — and 
 columns of somewhat spurious biography were pub- 
 hshed in the Midland newspapers. The death, at 
 Manchester, of Robert Cooper, the Atheist lecturer, 
 gave rise to this imagination, no doubt. During the 
 year 1867, I lectured and preached in various towns 
 of Bucks, Beds, and Berks ; Hants, Surrey, Leicester- 
 shire, Derbyshire, Lincolnshire, Yorkshire, and Not- 
 tinghamshire. The pleasantest visit of the year was 
 to delightful Stratford-on-Avon — a town in which I 
 should certainly go to reside for life, if I were a man 
 of fortune, and had "nothing to do." In 1868, I 
 performed my work again in towns where I preached 
 and lectured in 1867, and also visited towns in 
 Cheshire, Staffordshire, Lancashire, Oxfordshire, 
 Herefordshire, Shropshire, and Worcester : I also 
 spoke in Newtown and Wrexham (North Wales) for 
 the first time. 
 
392 INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL DECLINE, 
 
 The first four months of 1869 I devoted entirely to 
 Lancashire — lecturing and preaching in Oldham, 
 Heywood, Staleybridge, Rochdale, Manchester, Bol- 
 ton, Liverpool, Wigan, Chorley, Lancaster, Preston, 
 Blackburn, Clitheroe, Over Darwen, Padiham, Ac- 
 crington, and Burnley. When I passed, very hastily, 
 through Lancashire in 1863, the "Cotton Famine" 
 was raging. I thought I would return now prosperity 
 had returned, and see what improvement the people 
 had made. I found the towns vieing with each other 
 in the erection of new town-halls, and in their superior 
 style of erecting houses of business ; and I also found 
 working men had bettered their physical condition 
 considerably. But I confess, with pain, that I saw 
 they had gone back, intellectually and morally. 
 
 After revisiting several Yorkshire towns, I made 
 my way, in July, to the north-western sea-coast 
 corner of England, and preached and lectured, for the 
 first time, in Whitehaven, Workington, Maryport, 
 and Ulverstone. I spent a few rapturous days at 
 sweet Keswick and in the neighbourhood, and then 
 went on to work again at Kendal ; and took my 
 way into other parts of Lancashire — determined to 
 re-examine my painful problem. So I preached and 
 lectured at Blackpool, HasHngden, Ramsbottom, 
 Bacup, Bury, Farnworth, Hindley, and Warrington ; 
 and, passing into Cheshire, talked at Crewe, Hyde, 
 and Stockport, and thus finished the year. 
 
 With 1S70 I returned to my inquiry, and devoted 
 
AND BETTING, IN LANCASHIRE. 393 
 
 January, February, March, and April again to Lan- 
 cashire — renewing my work chiefly in the towns I 
 had visited a year before, and entering a few new 
 places. My sorrowful impressions were confirmed. 
 In our old Chartist time, it is true, Lancashire work- 
 ing men were in rags by thousands ; and many of 
 them often lacked food. But their intelligence was 
 demonstrated wherever you went. You would see 
 them in groups discussing the great doctrine of political 
 justice — that every grown-up, sane man ought to 
 have a vote in the election of the men who were to 
 make the laws by which he was to be governed ; or 
 they were in earnest dispute respecting the teachings 
 of Socialism. Now^ you will see no such groups in, 
 Lancashire. But you will hear well-dressed working 
 men talking, as they walk with their hands in their 
 pockets, of" Co-ops" (Co-operative Stores), and their 
 shares in them, or in building societies. And you 
 will see others, like idiots, leading small greyhound 
 dogs, covered with cloth, in a string ! They are about 
 to race, and they are betting money as they go ! 
 And yonder comes another clamorous dozen of men, 
 cursing and swearing and betting upon a few pigeons 
 they are about to let fly ! As for their betting on 
 horses — like their masters ! — it is a perfect madness. 
 
 Except in Manchester and Liverpool — where, of 
 course, intelligence is to be found, if it be found any- 
 where in England, — I gathered no large audiences in 
 Lancashire. Working men had ceased to think, and 
 
394 TALKING TO POOR COLLIERS. 
 
 wanted to hear no thoughtful talk ; at least, it was so 
 with the greater number of them. To one who has 
 striven hard, the greater part of his life, to instruct 
 and elevate them, and who has suffered and borne 
 imprisonment for them, all this was more painful than 
 I care to tell. 
 
 From Lancashire I passed into Yorkshire, revisiting 
 some old scenes, and then into Westmoreland, and so 
 on to the new rising port of Barrow-in-Furness, where 
 they are shipping the hoematite iron. Again to White- 
 haven and the sea-coast towns of Cumberland, and 
 Carlisle ; and then crossed the country, and began to 
 lecture and preach among the Northumberland col- 
 liers. They heard me eagerly. I always like to talk 
 to the poor colliers ; and wish they were better cared 
 for. After renewing my work in Newcastle, Sunder- 
 land, and other large towns, I turned to the eastern 
 sea-coast, and lectured and preached at Whitby, 
 Pickering, Scarborough, Bridlington, Driffield, and 
 Beverley, and so ended the year. 
 
 The last year (1871) I commenced with the East 
 Riding of Yorkshire, and then passed into the West. 
 With the exception of one fortnight devoted to Man- 
 chester, I worked in the West Riding .to the end of 
 April, and then passed into the North Riding. The 
 whole month of June I passed in romantic Westmore- 
 land ; and commenced this autobiography. In July, 
 after revisiting Barrow-in-Furness, I re-entered York- 
 shire, and in August resumed my work in the busy 
 
"WHAT GOOD HAVE YOU DONE?" 395 
 
 counties of Durham and Northumberland, once more 
 among the poor colHers. In November I re-entered 
 the West Riding, and remained in it till near the close 
 of the year ; and I am looking over the last proofs 
 and revises from the printer of this autobiography, 
 at Leeds, the capital of the West Riding, in the month 
 of February, 1872. 
 
 " And now you have chronicled your labours so 
 fully," some reader may say, "tell us whether you 
 have reason to think that they have been of any 
 value to the audiences you have addressed." I am 
 not in the habit of publishing the results of my labour. 
 I have no taste for it. God knows best, and 
 most unerringly, what degree of good I may have 
 effected. I would rather tell into the ear of some 
 good Christian man how scores have come to me, or 
 written to me, during these last dozen years and more, 
 and told me how they have been recovered from 
 sceptical wandering, by hearing my lectures, and have 
 found their, way to Christ as their personal Saviour. 
 If I were to take upon me to pronounce in what di- 
 rection I judge that I have been the most instrumental 
 of good, I should say it has been in the checking of 
 incipient scepticism in the minds of young men, mem- 
 bers of religious families, and regular attendants on 
 public worship. I invite the hearing of such young 
 men wherever I go ; and direct my teaching most 
 earnestly to them. If such young men can be pre- 
 served from sceptical error, and be persuaded to 
 
396 "THE BRIDGE OF HISTORY." 
 
 become active members of Christian churches, it will 
 be productive of great blessings to the next genera- 
 tion, 
 
 I do not, however, as I have already said, labour as 
 intensely as I did at first. I cannot do it; and, finding 
 my force decay, I have yielded to the desire so often 
 expressed by hearers of my lectures, and have begun 
 to write them down, and pubHsh them. If the little 
 volume brought out for me, by the publishers of the 
 present volume, a short time ago — entitled " The 
 Bridge of History over the Gulf of Time," embodying 
 in a popular form the Historical Evidence for the 
 Truth of Christianity — be successful, I hope to have 
 life and strength remaining to issue my other dis- 
 (jourses on the Evidences in a printed form. 
 
 Ten years ago, I hoped to produce a large volume 
 instead of a small one, on the Historical Evidences. 
 I meant to have the picture of a bridge for the fron- 
 tispiece, and to fill the arches with inscriptions of 
 contemporary names ; and I purposed to have the 
 volume stored with engravings of every kind that 
 would illustrate the subject, — the chair of Venerable 
 Bede, and the coffin of St. Cuthbert, and the coins of 
 Constantine, and the arch of Titus, with the figure of 
 the golden candlestick, etc. etc. I imagined I might 
 get a month, now and then, to sit in the British 
 Museum Library, and work at such a book ; but I 
 must leave it now to be accomplished by some other 
 humble and earnest worker whom God may raise up. 
 
"the paradise of martyrs." 3'97 
 
 It is the very volume on the Historical Evidences 
 that is wanted ; but it could not be done in a hurry. 
 It should form a cyclopaedia of Christian literature 
 and history ; and would take one man's whole 
 strength — and a strong man's, too — to accomplish it 
 worthily. 
 
 One feat I hope to be able to accomplish, though 
 I cannot accomplish this. I promised myself, when 
 my " Purgatory of Suicides " was issued twenty-six 
 years ago, that I would write another poem, of about 
 the same length, and in the same stanza, to be entitled 
 ".The Paradise of Martyrs." I have written three 
 books of it, and hope, if I have health and strength, 
 to get it finished. 
 
 In the present year, 1872, I have, as I said, to revisit 
 Scotland, in which I spent the whole year 1862. But 
 I keep in mind that our purposes are not always 
 accordant with the purposes of our Maker, even when 
 they are founded on convictions of duty. So I do not 
 make myself sure that what I purpose will be fulfilled. 
 I only ask that if God should call me from earth ere 
 these purposes are fulfilled, I may be with Him in 
 heaven, for Christ's sake ! 
 
 I. have no doubt, while I write this, that I shall be 
 with my Saviour in heaven. I never harbour the 
 fear, for ^ moment, that I shall not be with Plim. I 
 love Christ. I never lost my love for His moral 
 beauty, and never ceased to worship that, even when 
 Straussian errors had the strongest possession of me. 
 
398 LIVING A HAPrY LIFE. 
 
 But my love for Christ now springs from other 
 grounds. I have accepted Him as my Saviour ; and 
 through faith in Him and His atonement for sin, and 
 in the everlasting love of the Father, I feel God has 
 accepted me. Living or dying, I am His ; and trust 
 to have this confidence until He shall call me home. 
 
 My work is, indeed, a happy work. Sunday is now 
 a day of heaven to me. I feel that to preach " the 
 unsearchable riches of Christ" is the most exalted 
 and ennobling work in which a human creature can 
 be engaged. And believing that I am performing 
 the work of duty, that I am right, my employment of 
 lecturing on the Evidences of Natural and Revealed 
 Religion, from week to week, fills me with the con- 
 soling reflection that my life is not being spent in 
 vain, much less spent in evil. I often regret that 
 scores of men, who might easily fit themselves for this 
 work, are not employing themselves in maintaining 
 and defending the evidences for the truth of Chris- 
 tianity. I cannot help thinking that the Christian 
 world will awake to the necessity of sending out 
 champions for the truth ere long. If the next gene- 
 ration are to be saved from the deluge of unbelief, 
 this championship should be entered upon. I wish 
 one hundred intelligent, studious, pious, and courage- 
 ous young Christian men would resolve to enter upon 
 it. May God, in His wisdom, select the instruments, 
 and call them to their work, for the glory of His 
 Holy Name ! 
 
A FEW WORDS OF COUNSEL. 399 
 
 If the summons to such work have already reached 
 the heart and conscience of some whose eyes may 
 light on these pages, one word in their ear. Do not 
 enter upon your work as a mere genteel profession. 
 Do not stipulate for so many guineas fee before you 
 open your choice lips, and pour out your precious 
 treasures of instruction. Let others live that kind of 
 sugar-candied life that choose it. Doubtless they will 
 have their reward. 
 
 But go you forth as the servant of your Divine 
 Master, asking nothing but alms in your poverty. 
 Places for the delivery of your discourses you will 
 find, after a time, without great difficulty, if people 
 feel you are in earnest. Let all come in to hear you, 
 free. Sell no tickets, take no monies for admission, 
 have no practices that may leave a hair-breadth's 
 room for Christ's enemies to charge you with selfish- 
 ness. Have a collection at the end of your discourse, 
 on the ground that you cannot live on the air, and 
 pay expenses of lodging, and travelling, and printing, 
 from an empty pocket. Make this simple appeal to 
 your countrymen, and they will not fail to respond 
 to it, generally. 
 
 You must not expect to " make money," and have 
 thousands in the bank. But you cannot starve, if 
 you have industry, and brains, and honesty of purpose. 
 As to saving, unless you have children to come after 
 you, you had better not be bothered with the thought 
 of it. Saving money seems to make many people 
 
400 THE REWARD TO COME. 
 
 miserable. Don't be troubled with it. You had 
 better, if you have any money to spare, give it away 
 to relieve the wretched ; they abound on every hand. 
 Give yourself up to your work, and live for that only. 
 Go and sell all you have and follow your Master, and 
 you shall have treasure in heaven. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Watson and Hazell, Printers, London and Aylesbury. 
 
mMmM^i^mMmMmmmmMMmm