The Battle of The Press Part 15

With the writer, as far as life has yet lasted, have lingered some precious memories. The memories of her birthplace made sweet and hallowed by the remembrance of one who was all tenderness and gentleness, and who spent much time with her, working and walking in the pretty garden, and occasionally in the orchard beyond the garden.

Sometimes as we walked by the house the old-fashioned latticed window would be thrown open, and a beautiful face, adorned with long ringlets, would smile down upon us; and she remembers what a pretty frame for this beautiful picture the vines, the jessamine and honeysuckles made.

There was, too, a pretty lawn, in the centre of which grew a tree with wide-spreading branches, where seats and a table were always ready to receive gathered flowers and weary little girls, who here loved to climb upon father's knee and fall happily asleep. But oh, the mystery of it. How strange it was that wherever she might fall asleep she always awakened in the same place. This took her a long time to understand. She was quite a bit old before she understood how she always awoke in her own bed. But the garden, what a subject of wonder it was with its old-fashioned flowers, chief among which were its wonderful moss roses which grew to such perfection there, and the mignonette so fragrantly sweet; nor can the writer see these roses or inhale the fragrance of mignonette to this day without being instantly transported back to dear old Enfield Highway of half a century and more ago. This little girl was fortunate--or was it unfortunate?--in having so much of the time of this tender and loving father. She learned long afterwards that it was because of his failing health he had to live in the garden in summer and in his room in the winter, because he could breathe nowhere else; and thus the two least competent ones were relegated to the garden and inactivity, the last baby in the family and its failing head. A few yards down the old highway was an inn with a large s.p.a.ce in front where coaches stopped and from whence they started. To this place came travelling shows of all kinds, acrobats, and lovely ladies who rode the most beautiful horses, and who wore most gorgeous gold and silver gowns, and once there came a big van, which bore a learned pig, and a lady who dressed herself in snakes--that is, she wore them in lieu of necklace, bracelets, girdles, sashes, etc. But that awful pig was the cause of much suffering both mentally and physically to this little girl, though it proved to be a very small addition to the small stock of memories that alone were all that were left to her for many years of a beloved parent. But this pig, a pig indeed who could tell all our secrets and one that could answer questions, as this little girl found out to her great consternation, for on this wonderful pig being asked by his master which was the little girl in that company who stole the sugar out of her mother's sugar-pot? this dreadfully wise pig went round the whole company and finally stopped right in front of this little girl, who in the terror of a guilty conscience rushed out of the covered van, tumbled down the steps, and flew home to tell her mother and confess all. But, alas! in her great hurry to reach the house, she fell on the gravelled walk and grazed both hands and knees. She remembers, too, with what tender pity her father hastened towards her, and picking her up, carried her crying to the house, and how gently and patiently he bathed the wounds, and smoothed the grazed skin and bound up the limbs, and nursed her in his arms, while she told the dreadful tale of that pig, and bade her be comforted, and actually laughed about that stolen sugar and kissed her more than ever. She remembered, too, one Sunday when company was expected to dinner, she, with her sister, had been prettily dressed in white Swiss muslin and pretty blue sashes, and the brother in complete Scotch kilt suit, and they being sent out to walk in the garden while their mother also made her toilet. The brother, fired with a love of martial glory, and desiring to improve their dresses with a more warlike appearance, secured from some unknown source a sooty pot, and dipping his fingers first in water, and then rubbing them on the sooty bottom of the saucepan, artistically covered those pure white dresses with innumerable black spots, having done which he hung the pot around his neck for a drum, with a string, and having found two sticks, he beat a tattoo on this unique musical instrument, and we sisters fell in line and marched round the garden, till nearing the house, our father saw us, whereupon he laughed immoderately, and calling up to our mother to look out of the back chamber window, awaited results. They came quickly; with a scream and an exclamation she flew down the stairs, and would have inflicted condign punishment had not father met her at the door, and folding her in his arms, he carried her back to her room and kissed her into good humor again, nor would he allow her to change our clothes until she had promised him neither to scold or whip us, and she kept her word. But the story was too good to keep, and we heard both the guests and our parents laughing heartily at the performance. At another time, when some gentlemen came to dinner to discuss theology and various subjects, it was on Sunday, and as usual in English families the children were brought in with the fruit and nuts at dessert. While the conversation was going on we children were munching nuts, when our father made use of a quotation from the New Testament in which the words "sounding bra.s.s and tinkling cymbals" occur. It seems our father got the spirit but not the exact wording of the verse, and the little daughter of gravel-walk notoriety ventured to correct the father's rendering of the verse, when he asked her to give the whole verse, which she did; he then asked her "if she knew any more?" She answered she knew the whole chapter, and repeated it in full, at which peal after peal of laughter rang out at the father's surprise; one of the gentlemen saying something about "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings cometh wisdom, etc." The little girl had been attending an infant school, and had been learning a verse a day, as it happened, of this very chapter. To this school, one day, came a most lovely vision (in this little girl's eyes), a tall beautiful woman in a green silk dress, with lovely curls hanging down her lovely face. Her entrance in the school created a great sensation, and the little girl remembered how the old lady who kept the school curtsied to the beautiful visitor, who, after speaking a few moments with the old dame, left the school leading the little girl by the hand; and how proud the child was to be brought home by this beautiful woman rather than by the maid who usually came for her. In the memory of this little girl too there was a wonderful orchard at the end of the back garden, which seemed to her small feet endless. There were big clappers of wood which were used to frighten the birds away from the fruit. The orchard was literally the place of forbidden fruit to the little folks, who were not allowed there save in company of older people. One afternoon we were all taken to the inn to see the London coach come in on which a large dining-table was which had been sent down from London by our father, and lo and behold, when the table was cleared of its wrappings, what should be with it but a large plum-cake for us children, which father had intended for a surprise. And it was a surprise, indeed.

Mother's e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of "Dear, dear, what a man!" brought tears of joy to all our eyes. This little girl never could understand some things, and one was that when we were all out with our nurse that strangers would stop us and ask whose children we were, and after expressing their admiration of the beauty of her sister and brother, would pat her head and only say "She is a nice little thing ". But one memorable day we moved, and all our belongings were in the front garden; the little girl was much surprised to find herself cheek by jowl with a nice old man in marble, who had always lived away up above her reach; but now she could pat him and smooth him over with her hand, and make out some of the letters on the pedestal, which was engraved on all sides. The name she knew, for it was the name of her half-brother, and read Thomas Paine.

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

* The home of Mrs. Chichester, Park Place, Ham, near Richmond-on-Thames.

CHAPTER IX. SOME WHO HELPED IN THE GOOD WORK

Francis Place.

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

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

Place kept up a correspondence with Carlile, and may be said to have been his tutor in many things during the long years of his imprisonment.

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

"Excuse me suggesting to you how necessary it is to keep by you an emetic; get about four ounces of antimony wine, and should you be attacked by sickness or pain in the region of the stomach or any uncommon symptoms after eating, be sure to take a tablespoonful of the wine frequently, until the vomiting clears the stomach of its contents.

State prisoners frequently expire of anomalous disorders. You should very carefully examine everything before you eat. Be sure to take nothing that has a harsh or astringent taste or that edges your teeth.

You ought to have such tests by you as would enable you to a.n.a.lyse your water, milk, or other fluids. Although you and I discard anything but natural agency, yet some supernatural power for all that might drop something into your food. What was the death of Napoleon? What become of Peter Annett, can you tell me? What was the disease of Queen Caroline?

Act with suspicion and you will act with caution. The Christians become daily more exasperated against you as you foil one after another.

"The efficiency of your view affords a beautiful reflection.

It is far more mighty than the sceptre or the crozier. The pen is levelling both with the dust. Really you have gained a proud triumph!

The Christian ruffians, by resorting to force, have acknowledged their defeat, they have in fact confessed that they can no longer fight you with the pen, they have resorted to brute force--the horse and the steam engine. In the empire of reason you reign; you may be said now to have conquered 20,000 regular t.i.the eaters, all the ultra-quacks, and all the silly people they have succeeded in poisoning with their prejudice and superst.i.tion, which may be rated at some millions. Congratulate yourself upon your efforts, and be proud of your individual and single-handed success. Millions of unborn men will repeat your name, and as the age of ignorance is dispelled, you will be still more applauded. From your correspondent,

"Regulator" (Francis Place.)

Julian Hibbert. "_Now bow the head and betid the knee._" This most remarkable man, so good, so generous, and so n.o.ble, was so universally beloved and appreciated by those who knew him, that it became customary among his friends when about to mention him in their letters to each other, to use the above words in reverential recognition of his great goodness and manifold virtues. Yet he was a man of the most retiring disposition and disliked notoriety of any description. His lovely character and sweet disposition were clearly displayed in his beautiful features. His remarkable intellect, combined with his great benevolence and modest sweet demeanor, lent to his presence that quality which might be imagined of Deity itself. Fortunately for himself and others he was possessed of an ample fortune, which enabled him to live in a way that sheltered him from the storms as well as the battles of life. Thus he was able to devote his life to study, to writing, and to acts of benevolence. His health was of the frailest, it could not endure the least strain. The ordinary friction and annoyances of everyday life were torture to him. In his immediate circle all must be peace and goodwill.

He separated himself from his family at an early age, and never spoke of them or of his birth to anyone as far as known. His family affairs were a secret to his most intimate friends. There was no doubt that he came of some fine family, but of that or of any other part of his past, or youth, he never spoke. At his death he laid the embargo of silence on all his friends as to himself, and begged them as they loved him to burn all his letters and to cease to speak of him. This was done, unfortunately for posterity, too faithfully by his friends, yet much against their own feelings. It prevents the biographer from giving as full a record of his beautiful life as would make it as perfect an example for all succeeding generations as could be desired.

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

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

Both were bold to recklessness in the defiance, publicly, of wrong.

Julian Hibbert delivered many lectures at the Rotunda while Richard Carlile and Robert Taylor were in prison, and wrote much during his short life.

He compiled a chronological table of the princ.i.p.al freethinkers of the last three centuries, a galaxy of names that adds l.u.s.tre to the pages of literature, science, poetry and reformed religion. These tables show considerable research. He was also a poet of no mean order, and Carlile published many pieces of his.

The following short specimen does equal credit to his heart as to his talent.

"TO RICHARD CARLILE.

"Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.

When honest virtue sinks beneath the arm Of tyrant power, when terror and alarm Stalk o'er the country with gigantic stride, And hungry, dismal want spreads far and wide; When Liberty, long hara.s.sed and oppressed, Prepares to leave the land she once caressed; When patient labor, too, may yield its toil That fools may live, or quit its native soil; Shall I be silent and my voice refuse, And smother in my breast the sacred muse?

Oh! no, I own I feel her power inspire And fill my soul with Freedom's sacred fire.

Oh! that my pen could pierce the coward's heart, Who dar'd confine thy limbs, Carlile. I smart-- My soul does smart--whene'er I think of thee, Thou dear devoted Son of Liberty!

But droop not thou; in Britain still are men Will wake to Liberty, thy mighty pen Has rent the mask away and thousands see Corruption in its own deformity.

Then droop not thou! we yet shall sweep away The juggling fiends who bar the light of day.

"Julian Hibbert."

To which the following was added by Carlile:--

"I will not droop! but sweep away The juggling fiends who tax and pray, And though in jail with limbs confin'd, I still am free in soul and mind!"

"Julian Hibbert to ye Invincible Richard Carlile.

"Health and tranquillity!

"Thanks for your kind note. I am surprised to hear that you are already free. I thought that the Whigs would have detained you another half year for your rejection of a mere formality. However, as it is, you (and Admiral Napier) have dared more than you ought, and have been gloriously successful--though rashly.

"I hope that now you will turn over a new leaf, i.e., that you will cease to insult the Unions, and to applaud the Duke of Wellington. Leave to the _Times_ newspaper the inglorious task of trampling on the low and exalting the powerful. You are at present the most unpopular man in existence. But you are in the prime of life and full of vigor. You may, therefore, if you choose, as easily write yourself up, as during the last few years you have been writing yourself down. If you want any more of this disagreeable advice, you will call on me whenever you may happen to pa.s.s this way. I am most generally here between four and five p.m., but sometimes I am so ill that I do not come to London for a week at a time. Farewell, and try to be more a friend to committees which are the essence of republicanism.

"30 West Norton Street,

"Friday, 9th August, 4 p.m."

The munificence of Julian Hibbert to Carlile as the advocate of Freethought, etc., excelled that of anyone else, though there were many instances of bountiful generosity which might be related. In the ten years or so of their personal acquaintance, Mr. Hibbert gave to Carlile for the cause sums amounting to 7,000 (nearly $35,000). On visiting Carlile in prison one day, the conversation turned upon the fact (which had just been published) of a political leader having been presented with a cheque for 1,000 by his supporters, Mr. Hibbert, saying that it ought not to be said that the advocates of Freethought were less generous to their exponent, sat down and wrote a cheque for the same amount, which he handed to Carlile. This most generous man and most dearly beloved friend died at the age of thirty-four, after a very short illness. His death was supposed to have been caused by a ruffianly verbal attack made upon him by Charles Phillips, a magistrate, who was presiding at a trial to which Mr. Hibbert had been subpoenaed, and was in consequence of Mr. Hibbert's avowal of being an Atheist, when called on to swear upon the Bible. Phillips was known as one of the most ruffianly and ungentlemanly of presiding magistrates, and many stories are extant of his abusive manners. Julian Hibbert, though a giant mentally, was of a peculiarly delicate const.i.tution, and the attack really killed him. He lived but a very few days afterwards. Carlile grieved long and deeply for this dear and sympathetic friend who had stood by him through all his sufferings and weary imprisonments, and in a burst of grief and sorrow at the news of his sudden death, bewailed him as the great, the G.o.d-like Julian Hibbert.

Lines written on the death of Julian Hibbert.

"There was praise of the good from the lips of the just, And Julian it taught us to know thee; To prize what we held and to feel what we've lost, And to scan the huge debt that we owe thee.

"There are none could have heard with an unmoistened eye, That most simple and eloquent story, Which told us of virtues, so rare and so high, That we paused to admire and deplore thee.

"Oh thine was the spirit and thine were the deeds, Which told us of hope, light, and promise, We talked not of dogmas, we thought not of creeds, We but felt what a heart had gone from us."

Joseph Harris.

The Joseph Harris mentioned in several of the letters of Isis and of Carlile was one of the volunteer shopmen who received a sentence of six months' imprisonment; he again served them when prosecution had well-nigh ceased, but was fined and locked up for one night during the Church t.i.thes trouble. Harris was, like all the other young men who volunteered, an exceedingly intelligent, upright and moral man, and he endeared himself to Carlile and Isis by his upright conduct and exemplary manners. He was of a studious habit, and Isis took great pleasure in a.s.sisting him with his studies; he became to her as a brother in the confidence she reposed in him, and he in turn gave to her and all of the name of Carlile his best friendship and a.s.sistance in time of need. It was to Joseph Harris Isis turned in her widowhood for advice and sympathy, and received such as a loving brother might give to a sister.

Some time after Carlile's death Harris entered into the London Post Office service as a letter-carrier, and by dint of pure merit rose step by step till he came to-occupy the position of paymaster--a most responsible post--which he held for several years.

Later on he went to America and was elected to-the State Senate of Wisconsin in 1863; he had been a newspaper man before that time, publishing a paper called the _Advocate_. The life work of Mr. Harris was the promoting and carrying through of the Sturgeon Bay Ca.n.a.l, and is best known in this connection. To-this work he devoted many years of his life, and almost every dollar he had. He was librarian to the United States Senate for eight years, and was special agent for the Impeachment Committee that was organised against Andrew Johnson, President of the United States. Later in his life he was private secretary to Senator Sawyer of Wisconsin. In all these offices he conducted himself as a strictly moral and upright citizen. In every sense a worthy specimen of the sort of young men who earned the name of being pupils and followers of Carlile. This testimony to his n.o.ble and superior qualities is given by one who has his history almost from birth.

Grat.i.tude and respect for Joseph Harris is compulsory, for he was indeed the widow and orphan's friend. As he helped Isis and her fatherless children, so he helped the widow and nine orphans of Carlile's eldest son Richard, when he died on shipboard, or rather in hospital, on his return to America after visiting London in 1855.

Mrs. Sarah C. Chichester and Mrs. Welch.

The "West Country friends" to whom Carlile so frequently alluded to in his letters to Turton, sometimes calling them "My Gloucestershire friends", the "Ebworth ladies", and "My lady friends", were two very highly connected ladies, sisters, and both widowed. They were Mrs. Sarah C. Chichester and Mrs. Welch, grandnieces of the Archbishop of York.