THE LIFE OF THOMAS COOPER. <1WRITTEN BY HIMSELF>1. Third Thousand LONDON HODDER AND STOUGHTON 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. --- MDCCCLXXII TO HIS DEAREST FRIEND THE REV. FREDERICK JAMES JOBSON, D.D., EX-PRESIDENT OF THE WESLEYAN METHODIST CONFERENCE THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY IS INSCRIBED, WITH AFFECTIONATE REGARD AND HEARTFELT GRATITUDE, BY THE AUTHOR CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD: LEICESTER, EXETER, GAINSBOROUGH: I805-- I8II - - - - - - - - - - I II. BOYHOOD: THOMAS MILLER: I8II--I8I4 - - - 12 III. BOYHOOD : GAINSBOROUGH MEMORIES : I8I4--I8I6- - 22 IV. BOYHOOD : SCHOOL-DAYS ENDED : I8I6--I82O - - - 32 V. SHOEMAKER LIFE : EARLY FRIENDSHIPS : I82G--I824 - 42 VI. STUDENT LIFE : ITS ENJOYMENTS : I824--I828- - - 53 VII. ILLNESS : SCHOOLMASTER LIFE : IN EARNEST : I828, I829 67 VIII. WESLEYAN METHODIST LIFE : STRUGGLE FOR HOLINESS : I829-I834 - - - - - - - - - 77 IX. LOCAL PREACHER LIFE : SPIRITUAL FALL : I829--I835 - 89 X. LINCOLN : MECHANICS' INSTITUTE : MUSIC : I834--I837 - I03 XI. LINCOLN: BUSY LIFE AS A NEWSPAPER WRITER : I836-- I838 - - - - - - - - - - II2 XII. FIRST LONDON LIFE : VICISSITUDES : I839, I84O - - I23 XIII. LEICESTER: WRETCHEDNESS OF STOCKINGERS : I84O, I84I I33 XIV. LEICESTER : MY CHARTIST LIFE BEGUN : I84I - - - I43 XV. ELECTIONS : CHARTIST LIFE : I84I - - - - - I54 XVI. CHARTIST POETS : CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : I842 - I64 XVII. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : CORN LAW REPEALERS : I842 - - - - - - - - - - I77 XVIII. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : THE RIOT IN THE STAFFORD- SHIRE POTTERIES : I842 - - - - - - I86 XIX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : REMARKABLE NIGHT- JOURNEY: I842 - - - - - - - - 197 viii CONTENTS. CHAPTER XX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : MY FIRST TRIAL AND ACQUITTAL : I842 - - - - - - - 2O7 XXI. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : STURGE CONFERENCE : SECOND TRIAL : I842, I843 - - - - - - 2I9 XXII. PLEADING IN THE COURT OF QUEENS BENCH : CHARTIST PRISON LIFE: I843 - - - - - - 232 XXIII. CHARTIST PRISON LIFE CONTINUED: I843--I845 - - 246 XXIV. SCEPTICISM IN THE GAOL : LONDON : DISAPPOINTMENTS : I845 - - - - - - - - - - 259 XXV. DIFFICULTIES AND SUCCESS : " THE PURGATORY OF SUICIDES' IS PUBLISHED : I845 - - - - - 27I XXVI. JOURNEY FOR JERROLD'S PAPER : INTERVIEW WITH WORDSWORTH : I846 - - - - - - - 285 XXVII. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE IN LONDON : I847, I848 296 XXVIII. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : I848-- I85O - - - - - - - - - - 3II XXIX. LECTURING IN IRELAND AND SCOTLAND: FUNERAL OF THE GREAT DUKE - - - - - - - 323 XXX. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : W. J. FOX AND TALFOURD : I852--I854 - - - - - 334 XXXI. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : RELIGIOUS CHANGE : I852--I856 - - - - - - - 344 XXXII. LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE " REASONER " : I848-I853- - - - - - 356 XXXIII. ENTRANCE ON THE RIGHT LIFE : THE LIFE OF DUTY: I856--I858 - - - - - - - - - 36S XXXIV. RENEWED PREACHER LIFE ; AND LIFE AS A LECTURER ON RELIGIOUS EVIDENCE : I858--I866 - - - - 382 XXXV. MY LIFE AND WORK FOR THE LAST FEW YEARS : CON- CLUSION : I867- I872 - - - - - - - 39I CALL ON THE LITERARY BARONET. 123 CHAPTER XII. FIRST LONDON LIFE : VICISSITUDES: 1839-1840. 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. 5o 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. 5aunders 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 literary 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 publisher ; 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. 125 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 Bedwell Park, Herts. He thought I could assist the <1Herts Reformer,>1 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 <1Patriot>1 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 publisher in the Strand, who issued the <1Sunbeam>1 and the <1Probe>1 ; and I earned of him pcrhaps 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. to recite them; and the recital would only be an old story which has been often told already, by poor literary adventurers. The very little 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 prices, 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, when 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 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 low 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. I had 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- notabilities 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-- Joh 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 <1Times>1 the next day, that W. J. Fox would lecture, the following Sun- day, at South Place, Finsbury Square, on the 5ystem 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 listen to the lecture---little 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. 129 "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. 5pare 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 13O NEWSPAPER EDITORSHIP. of <1The Kentish Mercury, Gravesend Journal, and>1 <1Greenwich Gazette,>1--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 <1Kentish Mercury->1--Mr. Wm. Dougal Christie, then a young barrister in chambers, in the Temple---but who has since been distinguished as an M.P., <1Charge$>1 <1d'affaires>1 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 <1Stamford Mercury ?>1" I dropped the letter from my hands; and my wife remembers well my excited look, as I exclaimed, " The message has come at last!---<1the message of>1 <1Destiny>1 ! 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 ? " 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---"5uperstition!" than I used to be. I find there are <1mysteries>1 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 1mportant 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 do 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 <1Sun>1 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. RENEWED FRIENDSHIP WITH WINKS. 133 CHAPTER XIII. LEICESTER : WRETCHEDNESS OF STOCKINGERS: 1840-1841. 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 <1Leicestershire Mercury>1 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 <1Leicestershire>1 <1Mercury,>1 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-bailiff 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 astler and Stephens. And I had seen mention of the Bull Ring meetings at Birmingham ; and of the seizure and imprisonment of many of the Chartist leaders ; and then of the release of some of them I HEAR A CHARTIST SPEAKER. 135 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, dG 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. 137 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 " 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. 139 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 14O 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. 141 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 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 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 public 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 Com Laws would benefit them---and these supported the manu- facturers at the public 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 145 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 public meetings. Of course, I might have taken neither side---the custom which is most usual with reporters ; but I was made of mettle that <1must>1 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 <1Leicestershire Mercury>1 ; and I speedily added to the offence. The Chartists had started a penny weekly paper to which they gave the high-sounding title of <1The Midland Counties Illumi->1 <1nator.>1 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 <1Leicestershire Mercury>1 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 <1Mercury>1 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." 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. 147 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 suffering 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, 1841, 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 <1Midland Counties Il->1 <1luminator>1 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 <1Northern Star>1 of me. So I sold not only the Chartist <1Northern Star,>1 but papers and pamphlets of various kinds, and my little shop became the daily <1rendezvous>1 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 <1one>1 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 NOTT1NGHAM ELECT1ON. 149 Colonel Perronet Thompson, the veteran advocate for Corn Law Repeal, kindly wrote me Letters" for my paper. But <1he>1 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 <1Times,>1 so long a determined foe of the New Poor Law, offered himself for Nottingham. The dot- 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 150 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 very 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." 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 " CHART1ST RUSHLIGH ' 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 parliamentary 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 liberty 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 som e kind---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, <1The Midland>1 <1Counties Illuminator>1---we kindled a smaller reful- gence, <1The Chartist Rushlight>1, at one halfpenny. 152 ISSUE OF THE TORY INTRIGUE; The fun of the thing pleased everybody but the Whigs; and the Tories bought our <1Rushlights>1 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 <1before>1 <1the hustings.>1 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, <1that>1 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 standing 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 : 1841- 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. 155 eandidate 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 <1happened,>1 inten- tionally, to droop his flag on one side, till it touched the heads of some of the Whigs who were 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 cost 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 Rushlight ! " The election for the borough was over; but then 156 CHARTISTS AND JOSEPH STURGE. came the elections for the north and south of the borough, for the Northern Division of the county ; 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. 157 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 <1Northern>1 <1Star,>1 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. 159 Nottinngham. O'Conner 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 160 COMMON FOLLIES AT ELECTIONS. the first votes may be for Mr. Sturge I <1that>1 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 away ! 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 5turge 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. 161 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. 162 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 <1Rushlight,>1 I started the penny <1Extinguisher->1--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. 163 by Ducrow's " horse-riders," as a dressing-room, and which 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 Room," 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 1st of August (her birthday) in this year, being seventy-one years or 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 Dear 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." 164 CHARTIST ADULT SCHOOL FORMED. CHAPTER XVI. CHARTIST POETS I 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 Marwel 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. 165 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. 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 Bra1nwich and Jones to our 166 BRAMWICH'S CHARTIST HYMN. hymnology, were published in my weekly <1Extin->1 <1guisher,>1 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 life 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 moom 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 created ; 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 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 paun 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 brabe, 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. I venture to add one of the only two hymns that I contributed to our Hymn Book : we sang it in the noble 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? Robbers from us our share have torn. The ancients of our wretched race Told of Thy sovreign 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, drive Thy goodness known, And we Thy lofty name will own. Father, our frames are sinking fast : Hast Thou our names bhind Thee cast? Our sinless babes with hunger die : Our hearts are hardening !--Hear our cry ! 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 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 <1Northern Star,>1 but of my own <1Extinguisher,>1 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. 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 <1Extinguisher>1 for a few weeks. But several of the most neces- sitous men declared they must perish if I did nor 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 <1Commonwealthsman,>1 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, Stafford, 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 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 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 bread, 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 <1was>1 one, He wouldn't let us suffer as we do." 5uch was the feeling and language of the stronger 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 Socialists 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 I842, 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 <1Gwennap->1--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 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, gain and again : We'll crown him with laurel, our champion to be : O'Connor the patriot : for Sweet Liberty ! Thee 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 again. Who Strove for the patriots--was up night and day-- To save them from faling to tyrants a prey ? 'Twas fearless O'Connor was diligent 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. CHAPTER XVII. CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : CORN-LAW REPEATERS : 1842. OuR singing through the streets, in the fine evenings, often accompanied with shouts for the Charter, had no harm in it, although 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 <1Quarterly Review>1 , published Dec. 1842. 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 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 Smart, was sent as our delegate from Leicester ; and young Bairstow to the second. Duncombe 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 <1Northern>1 <1Star,>1 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 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 Sufferage 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 Sufferage ;" 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 meetings in the New Hall, 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 <1said we did>1 But it was a falsehood. We were called disturbers as soon as we entered a meeting, and before we had spoken ! 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 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 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 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 16th of August As I had some small accounts owing to me for my <1Commonwealthman,>1 in Birmingham, Bilston, Wol- verhampton, Stafford, and the 5taffordshire 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. CHAPTER XVIII. CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : THE RIOT IN THE STAFFORDSHIRE POTTERIES : 1842. 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 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 5aturday. 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 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, 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 ail 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 l 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- 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 <1that>1 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 I842, 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 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 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 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 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. 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!" 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 <1cordon>1 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 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. CHAPTER XIX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : REMARKABLE NIGHT JOURNEY : 1842. 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. 5cenes 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 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 colliers 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 <1fatal>1 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 ?" "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 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 ?" "I 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?" " 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 in 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 <1against>1 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 back with them, I feel certain ; and <1then>1 I might have back with them, I as the leader of the outbreak ; 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. 2O5 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 2O6 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 <1real>1 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, and something serious too !" EVIDENT ALARM IN MANCHESTER CHAPTER XX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : MY FIRST TRIAL AND ACQUITTAL : 1842. 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 2O8 MANCHESTER CHARTIST CONFERENCE next morning, Wednesday, the I7th of August, when James Arthur of Carlisle 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 workiing 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. 2O9 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 <1Northern Star.>1 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 21O DISCUSS1ON 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 difficulty ; 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. 213 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 <1how>1 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 <1inuendo.">1 "Is there any particular statute against <1inuendo>1 ? " I asked the magistrate ; "would it not be strange, if I Were convicted of the crime of <1inuendo>1 ? Do you think it right, sir, to put answers into men's mouths in this way ?" 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 I845. I also 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 11th of October, before Sir Nicholas Conyngham Tindal, Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas : Sir William Follett, 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. 215 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 216 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 <1were>1 the words : wrong or right, I shall not deny them." Moore, Green, Worthington, Sylvester, and others of my own witnesses, not only proved my <1alibi,>1 but the later witnesses <1against>1 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 <1alibi>1 on the night of the riots ; and thirdly, I sketched my own life, and SIR NICHOLAS TINDAL IN MY FAVOUR. 217 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. Jury retired ; and, after twenty minutes of agonizing suspense for myself, gave in their verdict of " 1 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 year's 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, 218 MY RELEASE ON BA1L. hard-working, highly intelligent man was <1dying>1 ; 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 <1not>1 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 <1that,>1 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. CHAPTER XXI. CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : STURGE CONFERENCE : SECOND TRIAL: 1842---1843. 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 Duncombe, M.P., a public entry into Nottingham,---as the poli- tical patron or advocate under whose persuasion Mr. Gisbome was to be accepted by the Nottingham electors. O'Connor wished me to meet him at Not- 22o THOMAS SLINGSBY DUNCOMBE. tingham, to do honour to Duncombe ; and so I went over. Our Chartists joined the procession with their flags, mingling friendlily 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 Heyworth 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 <1their>1 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 which 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 W1LLIAM 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 ele- 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 Suffrage 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 !" THE SPEECH OF PARSON WADE. 225 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 ?---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 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. 227 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 <1Northern Star,>1 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 <1Northern Star>1 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 2Oth, 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 23O MY DEFENCE FOR TEN HOURS character, and would have swom away any man's life 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. 231 <1Mistake>1 on all the pages, instead. The Jury conferred together a few moments, and desired him to write <1Mistake.>1I 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 <1Certiorari>1 " 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. CHAPTER XXII. PLEADING 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, H arney, Doyle, Leach, Bairstow, Hill, Parkes, Arran, Railton, Brooks, James Arthur, and several other members of the Manchester Convention, and I with them, were first arraigned, and bound in $100 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 " <1Mistake">1 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 intermpted 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!" 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 he has done ? " " If you like !" said the Lord Chief Justice, in the 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 three 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 cmel 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 Gaol. 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 <1convicted>1 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 qenyon 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 stuffed 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 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, " Areyou going, to-day ? " 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. 241 "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 ? " 242 THREATENED WITH THE BLACK-HOLE. " Ruin you ! you old goose," I said ; " you <1are>1 ruined,--are you not ? " The old man ran off, laughing, into the day-yard, wondering What I was about to do. There was no 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 or 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 qewper ! 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' ll 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 Duncombe, and told him that I had written out a petition to the House of Commons, and should address it to himself for 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. Duncombe 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. Duncombe. 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. Duncombe, -- 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. Duncombe, 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 the 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. Duncombe," I shouted after him 246 THE MAGISTRATES BECOME KINDLY. CHAPTER XXIII. CHARTIST PRISONER'S LIFE, CONTINUED: 1843---1845. 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 had said " Good morning, Mr. Cooper ;" and I thought <1that>1 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 <1open>1 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 so 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 an ad- dition to our number; and in the second spring a second companion sojourned with us for a short time. On the 12th 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. 251 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 10th 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 Aneid 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 10th 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 discipline." "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 qidderminster, 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 REMARRABLE 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. I 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---<1not>1 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," he 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." The 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, and 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 <1Horace de>1 <1Arte Poetica^,>1 before I left the gaol ; and, a few years ago, sent me a copy of his translation of <1Grotius de>1 <1Veritate.>1 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 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 writing 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 morning of the 4th of May, 1845 ; 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 little 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 260 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. 261 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 <1kneel to>1 pray again so long as I remained in prison. My angered and distempered mind 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. DUNCOMBE'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. Duncombe, who was then lodging in the Albany, Piccadilly. He received me with extreme kindness ; 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. DUNCOMBE." " 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 <1think>1 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. Disraeli'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 <1all>1 poetry is a perfect drug in the I TRY MR. COLBURN, PUBLISHER. 267 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, andhis 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. Colbum, 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 268 MR. AINSWORTH AND MR. JOHN FORSTER. a note to Ainsworth, and desire him to recommend you to Chapman and Hall." I took the note to Mr. Ainsworth's house, at qensal 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 <1Examiner.>1 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 <1not>1 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, <1perhaps,>1 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, <1disappointed,>1 in this instance ; for the eager interest with which Messrs. Chapman and Hall requested me to show them all the MSS. I had, had rendered me sanguine that they would really become my publishers, MY FRIEND MR MACGOWAN. 271 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 <1Northern Star>1 ; 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 <1Kentish Mer->1 <1cury,>1---whom I had not seen since I ceased to edit that paper, and left London, in November 1840. He was now printing the <1Northern Star,>1 for O'Connor ; for the paper was nearly ruined, like Chartism itself, about this time, and O'Connor had 272 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 his friendship with me. I told Mr. Macgowan that since O'Connor had not signified his recantation in the About a week after I met Mr. Macgowan, and he was very urgent with me to go and see O'Connor. 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 afford to despise any offer of help. I went and saw O'Connor, and he apologised with GENEROUS OFFER OF O CONNOR 273 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 hands 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 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 tumed 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. 275 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 <1you>1 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 276 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 $45, 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 literary 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 <1Britannia>1 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 <1not>1 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 aughtthat 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 <1Eclectic Review>1 ; 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 <1millionaire>1, 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 <1talked>1 of 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 and the country, and afterwards M.P. for Oldham. In addition to his Sunday moming 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, Holbom. He made my " Purgatory" the subject of one of these MUNIFICENCE OF MR. ELLIS 281 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 $100 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 <1without leave asked,>1 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 :--- " <1Chelsea, September>1 I, 1845. " DEAR SIB, " I have received your Poem; and wilI 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 <1Prose,>1 and as a thing turning altogether on <1Facts,>1 not Fictions. Certainly the <1music>1 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 <1Cosmos:>1 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 <1musical>1 <1talent>1 (which is the real intellect, the real vitality, or life of him) expended on making mere <1words>1 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 "---<1Life is a serious thing.>1 I owe many benefits to Mr. Carlyle. Not only richly directoral thoughts in conversation, but deeds of <1substantial>1 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 <1revise>1 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 sterling 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 : 1846. 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 10th of March, 1846, noble Thomas Slingsby 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 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 <1Times>1 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 <1Cooper's Journal>1 than to write the sketch over again. The reader will please to re- ARRIVAL AT RYDAL MOUNT. 287 member that the article was written and published in May, 1850. I saw the patriarchal poet who has just departed, in 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 qeswick 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. <1I had no introduction,>1---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 <1that>1 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 7 dTT i ;j-Il 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- 290 THE TORY IS A CHARTIST! membrancethatthe <1Quarterly, Edinburgh, Westminster,>1 and <1Times,>1 have hitherto, and alike, 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. 291 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. 292 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 qeats, 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 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 declineand 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 qing of the French dies. But <1not>1 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 willbe 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 <1peaceable>1 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 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 able to thank him. I left him with a more intense great intelligence, than I had ever felt in any other moments of my life. 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 <1feared>1 to supply the place of another speaker, whoever he might be. My friend was soon well again, and retumed 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 $25. 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 $ 10 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 greatand 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, usuallyweekly, 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 affirmed 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 reeling 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 TOWER OF MAZZINI'S MIND. 301 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 what are my countrymen to do, who are trodden down under the iron heel of a foreign tyranny?---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 ? <1They must fight!">1 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 remarkable 302 MY HOUSE AT KNIGHTSBRIDGE. I 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 10th 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 $50. In the year 186O, 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 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 1848. 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- 306 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 <1you ?>1" " Came to <1me,>1 and told me the same tale of his having been in the Detective Force ; but I stopped him---although I had to use threatening in order to do it. He seeks to ruin you both." " 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 thathe kne 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 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 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. 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 I845 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 afternoon 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, 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 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 little 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 qen- nington Common, or the "glorious 10th 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 " 10th 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- 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 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 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 Willie Thom stood and conversed with her a long time. Poor Willie Thom ! 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 <1thought>1 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 Willie," or "My ain wee thing:" and sometimes I sang them my prison 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 him, it soon faded. Again and again, I carried invitations to him, from Douglas Jerrold, to contribute to the <1Shilling Magazine,>1 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 mylilts 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 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- 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 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 I could have no doubt that the original publisher of Wooler's <1Black Dwarf>1 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 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 <1Black>1 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 <1Black Dwarf,>1 however it had been relished by the men of a former generation, was not in favour with the men of my generation, and <1they>1 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 <1Plain Speaker>1 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 Osbome, Sir Joshua Walmsley, Lord Stanley, the Duke of Rutland, Lord Brougham, and others, all more or less political, form the staple were considered to be the most amusing part of the series. In the spring of 1849, I lectured in Birmingham, Sheffield, Manchester, Liverpool, Bolton, Newcastle- on-Tyne, Shields, Sunderland, Carlisle, Leeds, and York; and still kept up my writing for the <1Plain>1 <1Speaker.>1 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 <1Plain>1 <1Speaker.>1 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 <1Poor>1 man, unconnected with aristocracy, or power- ful local influences, can succeed in such a purpose. During this year I also lectured at Cheltenham and Northampton, and other towns. In August, 1849, I ceased to write for the <1Plain>1 <1Speaker.>1 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 I present it to the reader.--- "Hargate Hill, near Barnsley, "9th 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- bourhood, you will Deed 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 <1Cooper's Journal>1 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 <1Coopers>1 <1Journal.>1 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 <1Cassell's Magazine),>1 William Whitmore of Leicester, and others. My best and most productive prose contributor was Frank Grant--a young man of very considerable powers of mind, but an invalid for years, by paralysis of his 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. qydd (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 other nights 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 ' 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. TO HIS DEAREST FRIEND THE REV. FREDERICK JAMES JOBSON, D.D., EX-PRESIDENT OF THE WESLEYAN METHODIST CONFERENCE THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY IS INSCRIBED, WITH AFFECTIONATE REGARD AND HEARTFELT GRATITUDE, BY THE AUTHOR THE LIFE OF THOMAS COOPER. <1WRITTEN BY HIMSELF>1. Third Thousand. LONDON : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. MDCCCLVXII. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD: LEICESTER, EXETER, GAINSBOROUGH: I805-- I8II - - - - - - - - - - I II. BOYHOOD: THOMAS MILLER: I8II--I8I4 - - - 12 III. BOYHOOD : GAINSBOROUGH MEMORIES : I8I4--I8I6- - 22 IV. BOYHOOD : SCHOOL-DAYS ENDED : I8I6--I82O - - - 32 V. SHOEMAKER LIFE : EARLY FRIENDSHIPS : I82G--I824 - 42 VI. STUDENT LIFE : ITS ENJOYMENTS : I824--I828- - - 53 VII. ILLNESS : SCHOOLMASTER LIFE : IN EARNEST : I828, I829 67 VIII. WESLEYAN METHODIST LIFE : STRUGGLE FOR HOLINESS : I829-I834 - - - - - - - - - 77 IX. LOCAL PREACHER LIFE : SPIRITUAL FALL : I829--I835 - 89 X. LINCOLN : MECHANICS' INSTITUTE : MUSIC : I834--I837 - I03 XI. LINCOLN: BUSY LIFE AS A NEWSPAPER WRITER : I836-- I838 - - - - - - - - - - II2 XII. FIRST LONDON LIFE : VICISSITUDES : I839, I84O - - I23 XIII. LEICESTER: WRETCHEDNESS OF STOCKINGERS : I84O, I84I I33 XIV. LEICESTER : MY CHARTIST LIFE BEGUN : I84I - - - I43 XV. ELECTIONS : CHARTIST LIFE : I84I - - - - - I54 XVI. CHARTIST POETS : CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : I842 - I64 XVII. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : CORN LAW REPEALERS : I842 - - - - - - - - - - I77 XVIII. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : THE RIOT IN THE STAFFORD- SHIRE POTTERIES : I842 - - - - - - I86 XIX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : REMARKABLE NIGHT- JOURNEY: I842 - - - - - - - - 197 viii CONTENTS. CHAPTER XX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : MY FIRST TRIAL AND ACQUITTAL : I842 - - - - - - - 2O7 XXI. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : STURGE CONFERENCE : SECOND TRIAL : I842, I843 - - - - - - 2I9 XXII. PLEADING IN THE COURT OF QUEENS BENCH : CHARTIST PRISON LIFE: I843 - - - - - - 232 XXIII. CHARTIST PRISON LIFE CONTINUED: I843--I845 - - 246 XXIV. SCEPTICISM IN THE GAOL : LONDON : DISAPPOINTMENTS : I845 - - - - - - - - - - 259 XXV. DIFFICULTIES AND SUCCESS : " THE PURGATORY OF SUICIDES' IS PUBLISHED : I845 - - - - - 27I XXVI. JOURNEY FOR JERROLD'S PAPER : INTERVIEW WITH WORDSWORTH : I846 - - - - - - - 285 XXVII. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE IN LONDON : I847, I848 296 XXVIII. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : I848-- I85O - - - - - - - - - - 3II XXIX. LECTURING IN IRELAND AND SCOTLAND: FUNERAL OF THE GREAT DUKE - - - - - - - 323 XXX. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : W. J. FOX AND TALFOURD : I852--I854 - - - - - 334 XXXI. LITERARY AND LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : RELIGIOUS CHANGE : I852--I856 - - - - - - - 344 XXXII. LECTURING LIFE CONTINUED : CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE " REASONER " : I848-I853- - - - - - 356 XXXIII. ENTRANCE ON THE RIGHT LIFE : THE LIFE OF DUTY: I856--I858 - - - - - - - - - 36S XXXIV. RENEWED PREACHER LIFE ; AND LIFE AS A LECTURER ON RELIGIOUS EVIDENCE : I858--I866 - - - - 382 XXXV. MY LIFE AND WORK FOR THE LAST FEW YEARS : CON- CLUSION : I867- I872 - - - - - - - 39I CALL ON THE LITERARY BARONET. 123 CHAPTER XII. FIRST LONDON LIFE : VICISSITUDES: 1839-1840. 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. 5o 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. 5aunders 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 literary 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 publisher ; 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. 125 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 Bedwell Park, Herts. He thought I could assist the <1Herts Reformer,>1 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 <1Patriot>1 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 publisher in the Strand, who issued the <1Sunbeam>1 and the <1Probe>1 ; and I earned of him pcrhaps 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. to recite them; and the recital would only be an old story which has been often told already, by poor literary adventurers. The very little 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 prices, 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, when 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 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 low 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. I had 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- notabilities 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-- Joh 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 <1Times>1 the next day, that W. J. Fox would lecture, the following Sun- day, at South Place, Finsbury Square, on the 5ystem 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 listen to the lecture---little 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. 129 "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. 5pare 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 13O NEWSPAPER EDITORSHIP. of <1The Kentish Mercury, Gravesend Journal, and>1 <1Greenwich Gazette,>1--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 <1Kentish Mercury->1--Mr. Wm. Dougal Christie, then a young barrister in chambers, in the Temple---but who has since been distinguished as an M.P., <1Charge$>1 <1d'affaires>1 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 <1Stamford Mercury ?>1" I dropped the letter from my hands; and my wife remembers well my excited look, as I exclaimed, " The message has come at last!---<1the message of>1 <1Destiny>1 ! 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 ? " 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---"5uperstition!" than I used to be. I find there are <1mysteries>1 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 1mportant 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 do 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 <1Sun>1 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. RENEWED FRIENDSHIP WITH WINKS. 133 CHAPTER XIII. LEICESTER : WRETCHEDNESS OF STOCKINGERS: 1840-1841. 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 <1Leicestershire Mercury>1 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 <1Leicestershire>1 <1Mercury,>1 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-bailiff 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 astler and Stephens. And I had seen mention of the Bull Ring meetings at Birmingham ; and of the seizure and imprisonment of many of the Chartist leaders ; and then of the release of some of them I HEAR A CHARTIST SPEAKER. 135 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, dG 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. 137 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 " 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. 139 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 14O 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. 141 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 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 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 public 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 Com Laws would benefit them---and these supported the manu- facturers at the public 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 145 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 public meetings. Of course, I might have taken neither side---the custom which is most usual with reporters ; but I was made of mettle that <1must>1 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 <1Leicestershire Mercury>1 ; and I speedily added to the offence. The Chartists had started a penny weekly paper to which they gave the high-sounding title of <1The Midland Counties Illumi->1 <1nator.>1 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 <1Leicestershire Mercury>1 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 <1Mercury>1 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." 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. 147 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 suffering 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, 1841, 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 <1Midland Counties Il->1 <1luminator>1 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 <1Northern Star>1 of me. So I sold not only the Chartist <1Northern Star,>1 but papers and pamphlets of various kinds, and my little shop became the daily <1rendezvous>1 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 <1one>1 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 NOTT1NGHAM ELECT1ON. 149 Colonel Perronet Thompson, the veteran advocate for Corn Law Repeal, kindly wrote me Letters" for my paper. But <1he>1 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 <1Times,>1 so long a determined foe of the New Poor Law, offered himself for Nottingham. The dot- 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 150 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 very 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." 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 " CHART1ST RUSHLIGH ' 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 parliamentary 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 liberty 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 som e kind---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, <1The Midland>1 <1Counties Illuminator>1---we kindled a smaller reful- gence, <1The Chartist Rushlight>1, at one halfpenny. 152 ISSUE OF THE TORY INTRIGUE; The fun of the thing pleased everybody but the Whigs; and the Tories bought our <1Rushlights>1 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 <1before>1 <1the hustings.>1 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, <1that>1 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 standing 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 : 1841- 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. 155 eandidate 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 <1happened,>1 inten- tionally, to droop his flag on one side, till it touched the heads of some of the Whigs who were 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 cost 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 Rushlight ! " The election for the borough was over; but then 156 CHARTISTS AND JOSEPH STURGE. came the elections for the north and south of the borough, for the Northern Division of the county ; 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. 157 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 <1Northern>1 <1Star,>1 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. 159 Nottinngham. O'Conner 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 160 COMMON FOLLIES AT ELECTIONS. the first votes may be for Mr. Sturge I <1that>1 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 away ! 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 5turge 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. 161 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. 162 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 <1Rushlight,>1 I started the penny <1Extinguisher->1--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. 163 by Ducrow's " horse-riders," as a dressing-room, and which 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 Room," 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 1st of August (her birthday) in this year, being seventy-one years or 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 Dear 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." 164 CHARTIST ADULT SCHOOL FORMED. CHAPTER XVI. CHARTIST POETS I 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 Marwel 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. 165 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. 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 Bra1nwich and Jones to our 166 BRAMWICH'S CHARTIST HYMN. hymnology, were published in my weekly <1Extin->1 <1guisher,>1 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 life 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 moom 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 created ; 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 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 paun 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 brabe, 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. I venture to add one of the only two hymns that I contributed to our Hymn Book : we sang it in the noble 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? Robbers from us our share have torn. The ancients of our wretched race Told of Thy sovreign 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, drive Thy goodness known, And we Thy lofty name will own. Father, our frames are sinking fast : Hast Thou our names bhind Thee cast? Our sinless babes with hunger die : Our hearts are hardening !--Hear our cry ! 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 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 <1Northern Star,>1 but of my own <1Extinguisher,>1 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. 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 <1Extinguisher>1 for a few weeks. But several of the most neces- sitous men declared they must perish if I did nor 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 <1Commonwealthsman,>1 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, Stafford, 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 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 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 bread, 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 <1was>1 one, He wouldn't let us suffer as we do." 5uch was the feeling and language of the stronger 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 Socialists 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 I842, 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 <1Gwennap->1--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 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, gain and again : We'll crown him with laurel, our champion to be : O'Connor the patriot : for Sweet Liberty ! Thee 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 again. Who Strove for the patriots--was up night and day-- To save them from faling to tyrants a prey ? 'Twas fearless O'Connor was diligent 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. CHAPTER XVII. CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : CORN-LAW REPEATERS : 1842. OuR singing through the streets, in the fine evenings, often accompanied with shouts for the Charter, had no harm in it, although 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 <1Quarterly Review>1 , published Dec. 1842. 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 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 Smart, was sent as our delegate from Leicester ; and young Bairstow to the second. Duncombe 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 <1Northern>1 <1Star,>1 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 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 Sufferage 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 Sufferage ;" 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 meetings in the New Hall, 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 <1said we did>1 But it was a falsehood. We were called disturbers as soon as we entered a meeting, and before we had spoken ! 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 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 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 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 16th of August As I had some small accounts owing to me for my <1Commonwealthman,>1 in Birmingham, Bilston, Wol- verhampton, Stafford, and the 5taffordshire 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. CHAPTER XVIII. CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : THE RIOT IN THE STAFFORDSHIRE POTTERIES : 1842. 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 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 5aturday. 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 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, 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 ail 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 l 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- 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 <1that>1 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 I842, 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 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 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 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 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. 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!" 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 <1cordon>1 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 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. CHAPTER XIX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : REMARKABLE NIGHT JOURNEY : 1842. 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. 5cenes 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 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 colliers 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 <1fatal>1 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 ?" "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 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 ?" "I 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?" " 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 in 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 <1against>1 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 back with them, I feel certain ; and <1then>1 I might have back with them, I as the leader of the outbreak ; 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. 2O5 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 2O6 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 <1real>1 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, and something serious too !" EVIDENT ALARM IN MANCHESTER CHAPTER XX. CHARTIST LIFE CONTINUED : MY FIRST TRIAL AND ACQUITTAL : 1842. 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 2O8 MANCHESTER CHARTIST CONFERENCE next morning, Wednesday, the I7th of August, when James Arthur of Carlisle 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 workiing 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. 2O9 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 <1Northern Star.>1 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 21O DISCUSS1ON 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 difficulty ; 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. 213 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 <1how>1 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 <1inuendo.">1 "Is there any particular statute against <1inuendo>1 ? " I asked the magistrate ; "would it not be strange, if I Were convicted of the crime of <1inuendo>1 ? Do you think it right, sir, to put answers into men's mouths in this way ?" 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 I845. I also 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 11th of October, before Sir Nicholas Conyngham Tindal, Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas : Sir William Follett, 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. 215 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 216 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 <1were>1 the words : wrong or right, I shall not deny them." Moore, Green, Worthington, Sylvester, and others of my own witnesses, not only proved my <1alibi,>1 but the later witnesses <1against>1 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 <1alibi>1 on the night of the riots ; and thirdly, I sketched my own life, and SIR NICHOLAS TINDAL IN MY FAVOUR. 217 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. Jury retired ; and, after twenty minutes of agonizing suspense for myself, gave in their verdict of " 1 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 year's 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, 218 MY RELEASE ON BA1L. hard-working, highly intelligent man was <1dying>1 ; 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 <1not>1 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 <1that,>1 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. CHAPTER XXI. CHARTIST LIFE, CONTINUED : STURGE CONFERENCE : SECOND TRIAL: 1842---1843. 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 Duncombe, M.P., a public entry into Nottingham,---as the poli- tical patron or advocate under whose persuasion Mr. Gisbome was to be accepted by the Nottingham electors. O'Connor wished me to meet him at Not- 22o THOMAS SLINGSBY DUNCOMBE. tingham, to do honour to Duncombe ; and so I went over. Our Chartists joined the procession with their flags, mingling friendlily 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 Heyworth 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 <1their>1 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 which 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 W1LLIAM 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 ele- 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 Suffrage 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 !" THE SPEECH OF PARSON WADE. 225 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 ?---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 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. 227 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 <1Northern Star,>1 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 <1Northern Star>1 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 2Oth, 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 23O MY DEFENCE FOR TEN HOURS character, and would have swom away any man's life 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. 231 <1Mistake>1 on all the pages, instead. The Jury conferred together a few moments, and desired him to write <1Mistake.>1I 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 <1Certiorari>1 " 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. CHAPTER XXII. PLEADING 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, H arney, Doyle, Leach, Bairstow, Hill, Parkes, Arran, Railton, Brooks, James Arthur, and several other members of the Manchester Convention, and I with them, were first arraigned, and bound in $100 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 " <1Mistake">1 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 intermpted 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!" 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 he has done ? " " If you like !" said the Lord Chief Justice, in the 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 three 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 cmel 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 Gaol. 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 <1convicted>1 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 qenyon 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 stuffed 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 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, " Areyou going, to-day ? " 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. 241 "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 ? " 242 THREATENED WITH THE BLACK-HOLE. " Ruin you ! you old goose," I said ; " you <1are>1 ruined,--are you not ? " The old man ran off, laughing, into the day-yard, wondering What I was about to do. There was no 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 or 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 qewper ! 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' ll 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 Duncombe, and told him that I had written out a petition to the House of Commons, and should address it to himself for 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. Duncombe 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. Duncombe. 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. Duncombe, -- 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. Duncombe, 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 the 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. Duncombe," I shouted after him 246 THE MAGISTRATES BECOME KINDLY. CHAPTER XXIII. CHARTIST PRISONER'S LIFE, CONTINUED: 1843---1845. 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 had said " Good morning, Mr. Cooper ;" and I thought <1that>1 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 <1open>1 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 so 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 an ad- dition to our number; and in the second spring a second companion sojourned with us for a short time. On the 12th 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. 251 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 10th 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 Aneid 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 10th 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 discipline." "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 qidderminster, 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 REMARRABLE 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. I 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---<1not>1 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," he 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." The 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, and 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 <1Horace de>1 <1Arte Poetica^,>1 before I left the gaol ; and, a few years ago, sent me a copy of his translation of <1Grotius de>1 <1Veritate.>1 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 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 writing 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 morning of the 4th of May, 1845 ; 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 little 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 260 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. 261 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 <1kneel to>1 pray again so long as I remained in prison. My angered and distempered mind 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. DUNCOMBE'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. Duncombe, who was then lodging in the Albany, Piccadilly. He received me with extreme kindness ; 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. DUNCOMBE." " 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 <1think>1 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. Disraeli'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 <1all>1 poetry is a perfect drug in the I TRY MR. COLBURN, PUBLISHER. 267 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, andhis 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. Colbum, 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 268 MR. AINSWORTH AND MR. JOHN FORSTER. a note to Ainsworth, and desire him to recommend you to Chapman and Hall." I took the note to Mr. Ainsworth's house, at qensal 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 <1Examiner.>1 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 <1not>1 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, <1perhaps,>1 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, <1disappointed,>1 in this instance ; for the eager interest with which Messrs. Chapman and Hall requested me to show them all the MSS. I had, had rendered me sanguine that they would really become my publishers, MY FRIEND MR MACGOWAN. 271 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 <1Northern Star>1 ; 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 <1Kentish Mer->1 <1cury,>1---whom I had not seen since I ceased to edit that paper, and left London, in November 1840. He was now printing the <1Northern Star,>1 for O'Connor ; for the paper was nearly ruined, like Chartism itself, about this time, and O'Connor had 272 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 his friendship with me. I told Mr. Macgowan that since O'Connor had not signified his recantation in the About a week after I met Mr. Macgowan, and he was very urgent with me to go and see O'Connor. 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 afford to despise any offer of help. I went and saw O'Connor, and he apologised with GENEROUS OFFER OF O CONNOR 273 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 hands 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 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 tumed 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. 275 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 <1you>1 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 276 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 $45, 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 literary 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 <1Britannia>1 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 <1not>1 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 aughtthat 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 <1Eclectic Review>1 ; 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 <1millionaire>1, 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 <1talked>1 of 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 and the country, and afterwards M.P. for Oldham. In addition to his Sunday moming 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, Holbom. He made my " Purgatory" the subject of one of these MUNIFICENCE OF MR. ELLIS 281 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 $100 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 <1without leave asked,>1 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 :--- " <1Chelsea, September>1 I, 1845. " DEAR SIB, " I have received your Poem; and wilI 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 <1Prose,>1 and as a thing turning altogether on <1Facts,>1 not Fictions. Certainly the <1music>1 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 <1Cosmos:>1 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 <1musical>1 <1talent>1 (which is the real intellect, the real vitality, or life of him) expended on making mere <1words>1 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 "---<1Life is a serious thing.>1 I owe many benefits to Mr. Carlyle. Not only richly directoral thoughts in conversation, but deeds of <1substantial>1 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 <1revise>1 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 sterling 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 : 1846. 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 10th of March, 1846, noble Thomas Slingsby 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 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 <1Times>1 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 <1Cooper's Journal>1 than to write the sketch over again. The reader will please to re- ARRIVAL AT RYDAL MOUNT. 287 member that the article was written and published in May, 1850. I saw the patriarchal poet who has just departed, in 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 qeswick 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. <1I had no introduction,>1---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 <1that>1 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 7 dTT i ;j-Il 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- 290 THE TORY IS A CHARTIST! membrancethatthe <1Quarterly, Edinburgh, Westminster,>1 and <1Times,>1 have hitherto, and alike, 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. 291 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. 292 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 qeats, 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 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 declineand 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 qing of the French dies. But <1not>1 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 willbe 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 <1peaceable>1 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 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 able to thank him. I left him with a more intense great intelligence, than I had ever felt in any other moments of my life. 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 <1feared>1 to supply the place of another speaker, whoever he might be. My friend was soon well again, and retumed 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 $25. 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 $ 10 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 greatand 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, usuallyweekly, 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 affirmed 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 reeling 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 TOWER OF MAZZINI'S MIND. 301 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 what are my countrymen to do, who are trodden down under the iron heel of a foreign tyranny?---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 ? <1They must fight!">1 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 remarkable 302 MY HOUSE AT KNIGHTSBRIDGE. I 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 10th 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 $50. In the year 186O, 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 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 1848. 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- 306 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 <1you ?>1" " Came to <1me,>1 and told me the same tale of his having been in the Detective Force ; but I stopped him---although I had to use threatening in order to do it. He seeks to ruin you both." " 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 thathe kne 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 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 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. 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 I845 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 afternoon 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, 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 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 little 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 qen- nington Common, or the "glorious 10th 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 " 10th 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- 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 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 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 Willie Thom stood and conversed with her a long time. Poor Willie Thom ! 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 <1thought>1 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 Willie," or "My ain wee thing:" and sometimes I sang them my prison 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 him, it soon faded. Again and again, I carried invitations to him, from Douglas Jerrold, to contribute to the <1Shilling Magazine,>1 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 mylilts 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 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- 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 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 I could have no doubt that the original publisher of Wooler's <1Black Dwarf>1 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 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 <1Black>1 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 <1Black Dwarf,>1 however it had been relished by the men of a former generation, was not in favour with the men of my generation, and <1they>1 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 <1Plain Speaker>1 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 Osbome, Sir Joshua Walmsley, Lord Stanley, the Duke of Rutland, Lord Brougham, and others, all more or less political, form the staple were considered to be the most amusing part of the series. In the spring of 1849, I lectured in Birmingham, Sheffield, Manchester, Liverpool, Bolton, Newcastle- on-Tyne, Shields, Sunderland, Carlisle, Leeds, and York; and still kept up my writing for the <1Plain>1 <1Speaker.>1 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 <1Plain>1 <1Speaker.>1 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 <1Poor>1 man, unconnected with aristocracy, or power- ful local influences, can succeed in such a purpose. During this year I also lectured at Cheltenham and Northampton, and other towns. In August, 1849, I ceased to write for the <1Plain>1 <1Speaker.>1 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 I present it to the reader.--- "Hargate Hill, near Barnsley, "9th 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- bourhood, you will Deed 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 <1Cooper's Journal>1 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 <1Coopers>1 <1Journal.>1 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 <1Cassell's Magazine),>1 William Whitmore of Leicester, and others. My best and most productive prose contributor was Frank Grant--a young man of very considerable powers of mind, but an invalid for years, by paralysis of his 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. qydd (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 other nights 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 ' 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.