Chapter 36

GOES INTO POLITICS. ARRESTED. LODGED IN PRISON. ELECTED TOWN COUNCILLOR, MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT, &C.

In 1846, I began to dabble in politics. And my views of political subjects were as much out of the ordinary way as my views on matters pertaining to religion. I was a republican. I would have no King, no Queen, no House of Lords, and no State Church. I would abolish the laws of entail and primogeniture, and reduce land to a level with other kinds of property. The sale of land should be as untrammelled as that of common merchandise, and it should be as liable to be taken for debt. I broached startling views with regard to the right of property in land, and urged that as it was naturally common property, it should be considered as belonging, in part, to the nation, or Government, and made to bear the principal burden of taxation. I recommended that the property of the church should be used for the promotion of education. I proposed to divide the country into equal electoral districts, and give to every man who was not a criminal, a vote for members of Parliament. As a rule, I held up America as an example in matters of government, but objected to a Senate and a four years' President, preferring to place all power in the hands of one Body, the direct representatives of the people. A committee of that Body should be the _ministry_, and the chairman of that committee the President.

I really believed that this would be the perfection of Government. And if all men were naturally good, as Unitarianism taught, what could be wiser or better calculated to secure the happiness of a nation, than to give every one an equal share of the power? I believed with Paine, that a pure and unqualified democracy would secure the strictest economy, the greatest purity, the best laws, and the most perfect administration of the laws. I also believed that a pure unmixed democracy would prevent insurrections, rebellions, and civil war, and that it would promote peace with all the world. True, I believed the people would require education, but I also believed that an ultra democracy would see to it that the people _were_ educated, and educated in the best possible way. Were not the people educated in America? And were we not taught that the educational system of America was the result of its democratic form of Government? And were not Price and Priestley democrats? And were not Channing and Parker, the two great lights of Unitarianism in America, democrats? Democracy then was the remedy for the evils of the world; the one thing needful to the salvation of our race.

More extravagant or groundless notions have seldom entered the mind of man. Yet I accepted them as the true political gospel, and exerted myself to the utmost to propagate them among the masses of my countrymen. The Irish reformers demanded a repeal of the Union and the right of self-government. I advocated both repeal for Ireland and Republicanism for England. And in all my speeches and publications I gave utterance to the bitterest reproaches against the aristocracy, and against all who took their part. I had suffered grievously in my early days. I had been subjected to all the hardships and miseries of extreme poverty. I had spent three years on the verge of starvation, never knowing, more than twice or thrice during the whole of that dreadful period, what it was to have the gnawings of hunger appeased by a plentiful meal. I had seen one near and dear to me perish for want of food, and had escaped the same sad fate myself by a kind of miracle only. And all these sufferings I believed to have been caused by the corn and provision laws, enacted and maintained by the selfishness of the aristocracy. I regarded the aristocracy therefore, and all who took their part, as my personal enemies; as men who had robbed me of my daily bread, and all but sent me to an untimely grave. I regarded them as the greatest of criminals, as the enemies of the human race. I considered them answerable for the horrors of the first great French Revolution, and for the miseries of the Irish famine. I gave them credit for nothing good. True, they had allowed the Reform Bill of 1831 to pass, but not till they saw that a refusal would cause a revolution. They had accepted free trade, but not till they saw that to reject it would be their ruin. I had not then learnt that in legislating with an eye to their own interests they had done no more than other classes are accustomed to do when they get possession of power. I had not yet discovered that the germs of selfish legislation and tyranny are sown in the hearts of all, and that the faults of the higher classes prevail among all classes under different forms. I saw the misdoings of the parties in power, and looked no further, and I heaped on them the bitterest invectives. My passionate hatred of the privileged classes, expressed in the plainest English, and justified, apparently, by so much that was bad in the history of their doings, roused the indignation of my hearers and readers to the highest pitch. I commenced a periodical, which at once became a favorite with the ultra democrats, and speedily gained an extensive circulation.

In 1847, in my _Companion to the Almanacs_, I foretold the French Revolution of 1848. How it happened I do not exactly know; but I have, at times, made remarkable guesses, and this perhaps was one of them. When the Revolution took place it caused a tremendous excitement in every nation in Europe. Kings and emperors found it necessary to promise their subjects constitutional governments. It turned the heads of many people in England. Numbers who had never been politicians before, became politicians then. And many politicians who had previously been moderate in their views, became wild and revolutionary. The Chartists clamored for "the Charter, the whole Charter, and nothing but the Charter." Meetings were held in almost every part of the country, and speeches were delivered, and publications were circulated, of a most inflammatory character. Monster demonstrations were got up, and many who did not take part in them encouraged them, in hopes that they would frighten the Government into large concessions to the party of reform. A meeting of the leading reformers was called in London, and I was present. Young Stansfield, now member of Parliament, was there, and Sergeant Parry, and Edward Miall, and Henry Vincent, and a number of others. The Chartists arranged for a convention in London, and I was sent as a member. The meeting cut but a pitiful figure. It soon got into unspeakable disorder. The second day the question was, "What means should we recommend our constituents to use in order to obtain the reforms they desired?" I, extravagant as I had shown myself on many points, had always set myself against resort to violence. My counsel therefore was for peaceful, legal measures. Ernest Jones and several others clamored for organization, with a view to an armed insurrection. By and by we got into confusion again. Some one hinted that agents of the Government were present, and that we were venturing on dangerous ground. Ernest Jones replied, "It is not for us to be afraid of the Government, but for the Government to be afraid of us." Confusion got worse confounded. I began to be ashamed of my position. Mad as I was, I was not insane enough for the leaders of the convention, so I started home.

On Good Friday there was an immense meeting on Skircoat Moor, near Halifax, and I was one of the speakers. It was the largest assembly I ever saw. The Speakers that preceded me talked about the uselessness of talk, and called for action. I talked about the usefulness of talk, and contended that resort to violence would be both folly and wickedness. While I was speaking, a man in the crowd on my left fired a pistol, as if to intimidate me, and encourage the party favorable to insurrection. I at once denounced him as a traitor, who had come to hurry the people into crime, or a madman, whom no one ought for a moment to think of imitating. The physical force men were terribly vexed at my remarks, but the mass of the meeting applauded my counsels, and the immense concourse dispersed and went home, without either perpetrating a crime, or meeting with an accident.

My advocacy of peace was duly appreciated by some even of those who lamented the extravagance of my views on other subjects. Others looked on me with unmitigated horror. And the feelings of the richer classes generally against me rose to such a pitch at length, that it was hardly safe for me to go abroad after dark. My religious and political opponents joined their forces, and seemed bent on my destruction. They believed I was undermining the foundations of society, and throwing all things into confusion. They looked on me as little better than a madman, scattering abroad firebrands, arrows, and death. And many treated me as a kind of outlaw, as a man who had no rights that anybody was bound to respect; and rude boys and reckless men took liberties with my property, and even threatened me with death. Insurance companies would not insure my property. Schoolmasters would not admit my sons into their schools, lest others should take their children away. Mothers would not allow their daughters to play with my little daughter, lest she should infect them with her father's heresies.

After the Summer Assizes in 1848, the judge at Liverpool issued Bench warrants for the arrest of a number of political agitators, and in the list of the names of those parties, published in the newspapers, mine was included. As I had always kept within the limits of the law, and as I had received no visit from the police, I supposed that my name had been inserted in the list by mistake. And as I was allowed to remain at large for six weeks, I felt confident that it was either some other Joseph Barker that was wanted, or that my name had been mentioned as one of the parties to be arrested, in jest, or to frighten me into silence.

And the probability is, that if I had kept at home and remained quiet, I should have been permitted to go on with my business undisturbed. But I had an engagement at the end of six weeks, to give two political lectures at Bolton. Just about that time a vacancy occurred in the representation of that Borough, and my friends there, without consulting me, put me forward as a candidate for the vacant seat, and announced my lectures as a statement of my political views, urging the people to come and hear me, and judge for themselves, whether I was not the fittest man to represent them in the National Legislature.

I gave my first lecture on a Friday night, to a crowded and excited audience in the Town Hall, and when I had done, the people passed a resolution by acclamation, to the effect that I was just the man for them, and that they would have no other.

On the Saturday I went on into Wales, to fulfil an engagement which I had for the Sunday, and returned on Monday to give my second lecture. When I got near to Bolton, some friends met me, and told me that the police from Manchester were in the town looking for me, and that I had better go right home. I said, "Nay, I never broke an engagement yet, and I won't do so now;" so I went on. As soon as I had rested myself a little I went direct to the head of the Manchester police, and asked him if he would not allow me to deliver my lecture, promising, if he wished it, to go with him quietly afterwards. He said, No, I could not be allowed to deliver my lecture, and added, that I must consider myself his prisoner. I, of course, offered no resistance, but at his request went with him at once to the railway station. The people had already collected in the streets as I passed along, and there was soon an excited crowd at the station, but I and my friends urged them to be peaceful, and peaceful they were. We were soon at Manchester, and I was taken at once to the City Jail, where lodgings had been procured for me at the public expense. I passed the night in an underground cell, of the kind provided for criminals of the baser sort. It was anything but clean and sweet, and the conduct of the authorities in placing me in such a hole, when I was not even charged with any gross offence, was neither wise nor just. There were some raised boards on one side, but no bed, no sheets, no blankets.

It was not long before a number of friends who had heard of my arrest, called to see me, and were admitted to my dungeon. They brought some food, some candles, and as they had been informed that I had not been permitted to wash myself before being locked up, one of them, a lady, brought me a moistened towel with which to wipe my face. While these kind friends were trying to make things comfortable for me in my prison, others were running to and fro in search of bail, with a view to my speedy release. One dear, good soul, Mr. Travers Madge, when he heard that I was in jail, started at once for Mossley, a distance of ten or eleven miles, to see Mr. Robinson, a faithful friend, to request him to come to my help. It was two o'clock in the morning when, weary and full of anxiety, he knocked at Mr. Robinson's door. Mr. Robinson rose as soon as he heard his voice, and took him into the house, and requested him to take something to eat, and go to rest till daylight, promising to start with him back to Manchester by the earliest conveyance. But poor Mr. Madge could neither eat nor sleep till his friend was out of prison.

Early in the morning I was brought into court. Bail was offered at once, but the magistrates would not accept bail so early, though offered by well-known and thoroughly respectable parties. The reason was, the election was to take place at Bolton that day, and the magistrates were afraid that if I were allowed to be present, there might be more excitement than would be consistent with the peace and safety of the Borough. So they kept me in prison till four o'clock, when they received intelligence that the election was over, and that all was peaceful. They then set me at liberty. I went at once to Bolton, and found, sure enough, that I had been elected, and that by an immense majority, of more than eight to one. And as no one else was elected at that time, either by show of hands or a poll, I was, in truth, the only legal representative, though I never sat in Parliament. Explanations after.

I was soon surrounded by a vast multitude of people, to whom I gave a short address. As soon as I could get away from the excited crowd, I hastened home. A friend had started for Wortley as soon as I was out of prison, to inform my wife and children that I was safe and at liberty, and he was there when I arrived. It fortunately happened that my family heard of my imprisonment and of my liberation at the same time, and from the same lips, so that the shock they received was not so severe as it might have been. But they were terribly tried. It would be vain to attempt to describe their feelings when they saw me enter the house. I did my best to comfort them, and assured them that I should take no hurt.

I was bound over to appear to take my trial at the Winter Assizes on a charge of sedition and conspiracy, and I set to work to prepare for the event. A good kind friend residing at Barnard Castle, George Brown, Esq., who had helped me in my contests with my theological opponents, helped me in this new trial. He had studied the law all his life, and was a most faithful and trustworthy adviser. He directed me what steps to take, and all his instructions proved wise and good.

My friends set on foot a subscription, to procure for me the ablest defence, and raised, in the course of a few weeks, from two to three hundred pounds. I am amazed when I look back to those days, at the number and ardor of my friends, and at the eagerness with which they hastened to my aid.

Some friends from Holbeck, in the Borough of Leeds, requested me to allow myself to be put forward as a candidate for the Town Council at the approaching election. Not thinking that I should have any chance of being elected, I hesitated; but as they expressed a contrary opinion, and seemed exceedingly anxious that I should place myself in their hands, I complied with their request. They elected me by the largest number of votes that had ever been given for a town councillor in any borough in the kingdom up to that time. My neighbors chose this method of testifying their regard for me, and of protesting against the conduct of the Government in interfering with my liberty.

At length the Assizes came. I made my appearance in court at the time appointed, with more than thirty voluntary witnesses by my side, all prepared to testify, that in my lectures and public speeches I had uniformly advocated peaceful measures, and denounced everything in the shape of conspiracy, violence, or insurrection. I waited ten days for my trial, attending in court all the time. I watched the trials of other political prisoners, and was not a little discouraged to find that they were all convicted, and sentenced, generally, to lengthy terms of imprisonment. The charge against one of the prisoners was, that he had sold and circulated seditious publications. Copies of the works which he was charged with circulating were brought into court. What were my feelings when I found that the publications were my own _Companion to the Almanacs_, and my weekly periodical _The People_. These works were handed about the court, and placed in the hands of the judge. The man was convicted, and sentenced to two years' imprisonment. What chance was there now for me? My solicitor advised me to plead guilty, telling me I should thus get off with a lighter punishment; but I refused. Some _did_ plead guilty, and _did_ get off with lighter punishments than those who stood their trial; but I was determined to have a public trial, or else be honorably discharged.

It was alarming enough to see a man convicted for selling my publications: but something still more alarming happened the following day. A most unprincipled and lying witness was brought forward by the Attorney-General. During the trial of one of the Chartist leaders he swore that he had himself formed one of a band of conspirators in Manchester, who pledged themselves to burn the city, and who had prepared the most destructive combustibles to secure the success of their horrible plot. When asked to name the parties composing the meeting at which he said he had been present, he named me as one. I was horrified. I had never seen the man before in all my life, and the idea that I should be a party to such a plot as he had described, was monstrous; but what was to hinder a prejudiced or a frightened jury from believing his testimony? Fortunately for me, the Judge asked him if he saw in court, and could point out, any of the persons he had named as parties to the conspiracy. I stood within two or three yards of him, and looked him full in the face. It was plain from the way in which his wandering eyes passed by me, that whatever other parties he might know, he did not know me. At length he pointed out a person that he said was present at the secret meeting. 'What is his name?' said the Judge. The fellow gave a name. It was not the right one. He pointed out another. 'What is his name?' said the Judge again. The fellow gave a name. He was wrong again. The court got out of patience with the villain, and the Judge ordered him into custody to await his trial on a charge of perjury. This was an unspeakable relief both to me and to my anxious wife and friends, who had witnessed the dreadful affair with the most intense anxiety and alarm.

Some time after this horrible exhibition of baseness, my solicitor came to me and told me that he had had an interview with the Attorney-General, and that he had authorized him to say, that if I would enter into bonds and give securities to keep the peace, he would not ask me to plead guilty, but set me at liberty without more to do. He even offered, at last, to accept my own recognizances to the small amount of fifty pounds, without any other security. I refused the offer. To give bonds to keep the peace seemed like an acknowledgment that I had attempted or threatened to break it; and I had done no such thing. My solicitor said the offer was a very generous one, and pressed me very earnestly to accept it: my counsel did the same; but without effect. A number of friends came round me and tried to remove my objections to the measure: but all was vain. I was sorry to go against their advice, but my feeling was, that to agree to the compromise proposed would be a sacrifice of principle, and would entail dishonor on me, and be followed by self-reproach and shame. At last, to obtain a little respite, and to get out of the way of my importunate friends for a time, I told my solicitor that I would lay the matter before my wife, and that whatever she might advise, I would do. He agreed to this. He was satisfied that there was not a woman in the country that would not advise her husband to make a concession like that required of me, rather than see him run the risk of two or three years' imprisonment.

My wife was at Southport just then, some eighteen miles away, and it was too late for me to get to her that evening, so I had to spend the night alone in Liverpool. I went to bed, but found it impossible to sleep. My anxious mind kept turning over and over the proposal of the Attorney-General, and trying to find some good reason for accepting it; but all in vain. I had promised to be guided by my wife; but suppose she should counsel me to give the required security, could I do so and be happy? It seemed impossible. It struck twelve,--it struck one--two--three, and I was still unsettled. At last I said, 'I will explain my misgivings to my wife,--I will tell her that I feel as if I should never be happy to consent to the compromise,--that I cannot get rid of the feeling that it would be dishonorable. And I know she will never advise me to do anything that I regard as dishonorable.' As soon as I had fairly decided what to do, I fell asleep.

I was at Southport in the morning by the earliest conveyance, and laid the matter before my wife. 'Do nothing,' said she, 'that you regard as a sacrifice of principle, or an act of dishonor. Whatever you believe to be your duty, do it; I am willing to take the consequences.' I answered, 'I believe it my duty to insist on a trial, or on an honorable discharge,' 'Then insist on it,' said she. That was enough. I returned to Liverpool at once, and told my solicitor the result of my interview with my wife, and he communicated the intelligence to the Attorney-General. The Attorney-General was very much vexed, and, using an expression which we cannot with propriety repeat, declared that he would 'make me squeak.'

The result of my refusal was that the Attorney-General put off my case to the very last. On the eleventh day of the Assizes I was placed in the dock with a number of prisoners who had agreed to plead guilty, and enter into bonds. My name was called at length, and I refused either to plead guilty, or to be bound to keep the peace. 'Can there be any man so foolish as not to accept the mercy of her Majesty?' said the Judge. My answer was, that I had committed no crime, and that it was justice that I wanted, and not mercy. 'I demand a trial,' said I, 'or an honorable discharge. I have been arrested on a charge of sedition and conspiracy, and held up before the world as a criminal, and I claim the right of justifying myself before the public, unless I am honorably discharged.' The Judge said I had no need to concern myself about the public,--that the public did not concern itself about me. I answered that the public _did_ concern itself about me; and that I was right in concerning myself about the public. At this point my Counsel rose, and spoke of my character and position, with a view to justify my demand for a trial, or an honorable discharge. The Attorney-General then applied for a postponement of my trial to the following Assizes, alleging that I was the author of a seditious and blasphemous publication. I said the statement was false, and that the Attorney-General had no right to make such a charge against me, and added that to ask a postponement after I and my witnesses had been waiting there eleven days, was most unreasonable. The Judge then asked on what grounds a postponement was desired. When the Attorney-General stated his grounds, the Judge pronounced them insufficient. The Attorney-General then said he should enter a _nolle prosequi_. Some of my friends, when they heard this, were greatly alarmed. They supposed it to be a threat of something very terrible, and expected to see me carried away at once to prison. And some of the bystanders began to reproach me, and say I was rightly served for not accepting the generous offer of the Attorney-General. I, of course, knew that the Attorney-General's _nolle prosequi_ meant that he would have nothing more to do with me, and that I was now free. While therefore my friends were fearing and trembling, I stood calm and comfortable. After a few moments the Judge said 'You are at liberty, and may retire.'

When my friends found that I was free, they were wild with delight, and flocked round me, eager to shake me by the hand, and give me their congratulations. They were now satisfied that in rejecting the proposal of the Attorney-General, I had done no more than my duty. One gentleman, who had been bail for me, was extravagant enough to declare that I occupied the proudest position of any man in the country. 'You have withstood the tyranny of the Government,' said he, 'and have triumphed.' I hurried home as fast as I could with my happy wife and my exulting friends. When we got there the cannon were roaring and the bands playing. My workmen and neighbors had heard of my triumph, and were celebrating it in the noisiest way they could. Then followed feasting and public congratulations, both at home and in distant parts of the country, and for a time I was quite a hero.

The interference of the authorities with my liberty, and the needless annoyances to which they had subjected me, had roused my indignation to a high pitch, and after my liberation, I wrote and spoke more violently against the Government than I had done before. At length the great excitement in which I had so long lived, and the excessive labors in which I had been so long engaged, exhausted my strength; my health began to fail; I thought my constitution was giving way, so I resolved on some change of position and occupation.

I had long suffered from dyspepsia. For twenty years I had spent so much nervous energy in mental work, that I had not sufficient left to digest my food. And I had suffered in consequence, not only from violent heart-burn, but from a more distressing pain at the pit of my stomach. I had continually, or almost continually, for months together, a feeling as if a red-hot bullet lay burning in my stomach, or as if some living creature was eating a hole through the bottom of it. I took medicine, but it gave me no relief. The disuse of intoxicating drinks had once cured me for a time,--cured me for some years in fact,--but the torturing, depressing sensation came again at last, and seemed more obstinate than ever.

In 1847, as I was leaving home one day in the train, I was seized with a pain of a much more dreadful description. It seemed as if it would burst my stomach, or tear it in pieces, and destroy my life at once. It continued for nearly an hour. It returned repeatedly, and remained sometimes for several hours. In some cases it tortured me all night. Vomiting took it away, so I frequently took warm water to produce vomiting. I was advised to take more exercise in the open air, so I bought a gun and went out shooting. I purchased a horse and carriage too, and went out riding. These did me good. But I found that when I took certain kinds of food, such as rich cakes, rich pies, or rich puddings, the pain returned. So I began to deny myself of those luxuries. But even spare living seemed to lose its effect after a time, and first the gnawing, and then the stretching, tearing, rending pain returned.

In 1849, I took a voyage to America. Vast numbers of my readers wanted to emigrate to America, and they looked to me for information respecting the country. I had given them the best I could get, but they wanted more and better. They wanted me to visit the country, and give them the result of my observations and inquiries. I did so. To fit myself the better for giving them counsel, I crossed the ocean in a common emigrant sailing vessel, and saw how the poor creatures fared. We were nearly eight weeks on the water. For much of the time the winds were idle. They refused to blow. They might have struck for shorter hours or better pay. When they did blow, they blew with all their might, but almost always in the wrong direction; as if they regarded us as their enemies, and were bent on giving us all the annoyance they could. Many were sick; more were discontented; and all longed wearily for land. These eight weeks were the longest ones I ever lived. They looked like years. At length we got a sight of land, and rejoiced exceedingly. For myself, I had other feelings as well as joy, when I first got sight of the great New World of which I had heard, and read, and thought so much, and so long, and of which I had dreamt so often. For America had lived in my thoughts from my early days; and the first faint glimpse of her wooded shores thrilled my whole soul with unspeakable emotions.

We landed. I examined the emigrant boarding houses. I sought information about work and wages, and about means of transport to the West. I called on Horace Greeley and others, to whom I had letters of recommendation, who helped me to books about the West. I made my way through New York, and across Lake Erie to Cleveland. I had three brothers who were settled in different parts of Ohio, and a number of old friends. I visited them. I explored Ohio. I went into Western Virginia, and examined some lands there that had been advertised for sale in England. I passed on to Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, and Wisconsin. I spent some days in Chicago. The city was awfully dull. The people were despondent. I almost think I could have bought the whole city for fifty thousand pounds. I had a farm offered me for seven dollars and a half an acre, on which now a great part of the city I suppose is built. I went to Milwaukie. There the people seemed more hopeful; though several were leaving for warmer climes. It was autumn, and I treated myself freely to the peaches and other rich fruits of the country. About the end of October I started for England, in one of the Cunard Steamers, crossing the ocean in nine days, about one-sixth of the time I spent in the voyage out.

I gave to my readers an account of all I had seen, and heard, and read, and thousands of them left the land of their birth in search of homes in the domains of the Great Republic. Some got home-sick, and cursed me. Some got profitable work, or promising farms, and blessed me. And I learned two lessons; first, that a man must not look to men for the reward of his beneficent services, but to God and a good conscience; and, second, that some will be miserable, and that some will be happy, go where they may:--that it is not the land they live in, but the dispositions they cherish, and the life they live, that makes their heaven or hell.

I had already made up my mind to settle in America myself, and early in 1851 I disposed of my business, and prepared to transport myself and my family to Central Ohio. I had suffered so long from pain, and weakness, and depression, and I was so utterly wearied with continual over-work, and so disgusted too with the government and institutions of the country, and with some of its inhabitants, that I felt it an infinite relief to be freed from all further care and concern about business, and in the first rush of my new wild joy, I took my gun and blew off part of the top of the chimney of my printing establishment. No child could be wilder in his delight, when escaping from long confinement in a weary school, and starting for the longed-for society and pleasures of his home.

But preparing for a journey of four thousand miles, with wife and children, was itself work enough for a time. There were a hundred things to be bought, which you would need in your new and far off home. And there were a thousand things which you already had, to be packed, and as many more to be set aside, to be destroyed, or sold, or given away. And there were a thousand letters and papers to be examined, and a judgment formed, as to which should be preserved, and which should perish in the flames. And there were visits to be paid and repaid, and there were partings, and regrets, and tears. But all was over at length, and we were on our way to the world beyond the flood.

It was pleasant to get away from one's religious and political opponents, but painful to part with so many devoted friends, who had proved their affection for me and for my family by so many sacrifices, and their steadfastness in times of so much trial. But I had hopes of keeping up my intercourse with them through the Press, and of ministering to their gratification and improvement by sending them accounts of all I saw or learnt of an interesting character in the land to which I was going. I had also hopes that a quiet home, in a retired and peaceful part of a new country, might prove conducive to my own improvement and happiness.

One of the objects I had in view in going to America was to obtain a little quiet for calm reflection on the course I had so long been pursuing, and a sober consideration of the position which I had reached. I was not satisfied that the changes which had taken place in my views and way of life, since my separation from the Church and the ministry, had all been changes for the better. I had had suspicions for some time, that amidst the whirl of perpetual excitement in which I had lived, and the continual succession of angry contests in which I had been engaged, I had probably missed my way on some points, and I wished for a favorable opportunity of ascertaining whether these suspicions were well grounded or not.

But when I got to America I found myself in a condition less friendly to calm reflection and to a just and impartial review of my past history, than the one from which I had fled. The very day we landed in New York we fell in with the Hutchinson family. I had become acquainted with them in England, and had spent some time in their company, and had attended some of their concerts at Leeds. They were to sing that night in New York, and we attended the performance, and were delighted with their sweet wild music, and with their wisdom and their wit. They were all reformers of the radical school, and though their songs and conversation were not immoral or profane, they were advanced beyond the bounds of religion, into the neutral ground of Latitudinarianism.

When we got to Akron, Ohio, we found a Woman's Rights Convention in session; and there we got introduced to a number of advanced spirits, both male and female, and in their society became acquainted with quite a multitude of strange and lawless speculations, of which, till then, we had lived in happy or in woful ignorance. We reached at length the region where we were to make our home, and now other matters engrossed my mind. I had, in the first place, a farm to select, and then the purchase to make. I had then my goods to look after, my house to arrange, and my food to provide. Then work wanted doing on the farm--a hundred kinds of work, all new, and many of them hard and very perplexing. We wanted men to aid us; and men were not to be got; or, when got, were difficult to manage, and hard to please. And horses, and cows, and sheep, were wanted; and poultry, and pigs; and ploughs, and harrows, and wagons, and harness. And stoves and fuel were required. And the house had to be enlarged, and the barns rebuilt, and the gardens cultivated, and the orchard replanted. And a hundred lessons on farming had to be learnt, and a hundred more to be unlearnt. And we were always making mistakes, and sustaining losses. And our neighbors were not all that we could wish; and we were not all that they could wish. It was impossible to avoid impositions, and difficult to take injustice quietly; so we remonstrated, and resisted, and made things worse.

Before we had got ourselves fairly settled we began to be visited by a number of friends. And many of those friends were wilder and more extravagant, in their views on religion and politics, than myself; and instead of helping me to quiet reflection, did much to render such a thing impossible. They were mostly Garrisonian Abolitionists, with whom I had become acquainted while in England, or through the medium of anti-slavery publications. Many of them had had an experience a good deal like my own. They had been members and ministers of churches, and had got into trouble in consequence of their reforming tendencies, and had at length been cast out, or obliged to withdraw. They had waged a long and bitter war against the churches and ministers of their land, and had become skeptics and unbelievers of a somewhat extravagant kind. Henry C. Wright was an Atheist. So were some others of the party. My own descent to skepticism was attributable in some measure to my intercourse with them, and to a perusal of their works, while in England. The first deadly blow was struck at my belief in the supernatural inspiration of the Scriptures by Henry C. Wright. It was in conversation with him too that my belief in the necessity of church organization was undermined, and that the way was smoothed to that state of utter lawlessness which so naturally tends to infidelity and all ungodliness. My respect for the talents of the abolitionists, and the interest I felt in the cause to which they had devoted their lives, and the sympathy arising from the similar way in which we had all been treated by the churches and priesthoods with which we had come in contact, disposed me, first, to regard their skeptical views with favor, and then to accept them as true.

And now they welcomed me to their native land, and embraced the earliest opportunity of visiting me in my new home. And all that passed between us tended to confirm us in our common unbelief. I afterwards found that in some of the abolitionists, in nearly all, I fear, anti-christian views had led to immoral habits, which rendered their antipathy to Christianity all the more bitter. In almost all of them infidelity had produced a lawlessness of speculation on moral matters, which could hardly fail to produce in the end, if it had not already produced, great licentiousness of life.

I had no sooner got things comfortably fixed at home, than I received an invitation from the American Anti-slavery Society, to attend their Annual Meeting, which was to be held in Rochester, New York. I went, and there I met with S. S. Foster, Abby Kelly Foster, Parker Pillsbury, C. L. Remond, Henry C. Wright, Wendell Phillips, W. L. Garrison, Lucy Stone, Lucretia and Lydia Mott, and a number of other leading Abolitionists. Here too I met with Frederick Douglas, the celebrated fugitive slave, who had settled in Rochester, and was publishing his paper there. Some of the Anti-Slavery Leaders I had seen before in England, and had had the pleasure of having them as my guests, and of enjoying their conversation. Henry C. Wright, W. L. Garrison, Frederick Douglas, and C. L. Remond, were old acquaintances. The rest I knew only by report: but I had read the story of their labors and sufferings in behalf of the negro slave, and had longed for years to make their acquaintance. They were, in my estimation, among the best and bravest of their race. I had read of them a thousand times with the greatest interest, and a thousand times I had wished for the honor of co-operating with them in their generous labors. And now I was in their midst, on American soil. And all seemed glad to make my acquaintance, and eager to testify their regard for me, and to welcome me to a share in their benevolent labors. I was soon at home with them all, for they were a free and hearty people. I attended both their public and their private meetings. The anniversary lasted several days, and the time was one continued Festival. There were people from almost every part of the country, and the house of every Anti-Slavery person in the city was placed at the service of the visitors. They were as one family, and had all things in common. The public meetings were largely attended, and the audiences seemed favorably impressed. In the intervals I visited the Falls on the Genesee River. More beautiful and enchanting scenes I never beheld. In all but terrible grandeur they equal, if they do not surpass, the Falls of Niagara.

And there was an infinite abundance of strange and exciting conversation in many of the circles, not only on Slavery, but on the Bible and Religion, on the Church and the Priesthood, and on Woman's Rights, and the Bloomer Costume, and Marriage Laws, and Free-love, and Education, and Solomon's Rod, and Non-resistance, and Human Government, and Communism, and Individualism, and Unitarianism, and Theodore Parkerism, and Spiritualism, and Vegetarianism, and Teetotalism, and Deism, and Atheism, and Clairvoyance, and Andrew Jackson Davis, and the American Congress, and Quakerism, and William Henry Channing, and his journey to England, and Free-soil, and the Public Lands, and the Common Right to the Soil, and Rent, and Interest, and Capital, and Labor, and Fourierism, and Congeniality of Spirit, and Natural Affinities, and Domestic Difficulties, and--the Good time Coming. All were full of reform, and most were wild and fanatical. Some regarded marriage as unnatural, and pleaded for Free-love as the law of life. Some were for Communism, but differed as to the form which it ought to assume. One contended that all should be perfectly free,--that each should be a law unto himself, and should work, and rest, and eat, and drink, as his own free spirit should prompt him. Another said that the principle had been tried, and had failed,--that some were anxious to do all the eating, and sleeping, and loving, and left others to do all the working. Joseph Treat was there, advocating Atheism, and defending the right of men and women, married or single, to give free play to native tendencies and sexual affinities. But Treat was indifferently clad, and not well washed, and he was evidently no great favorite. * * * Most were in favor of non-resistance, and full individual freedom. To acknowledge the right of human government and of human laws, was treason to humanity. Man is a law to himself. He is his own governor. The Protestant principle of the right of private judgment and liberty of conscience strikes at the root of all the governments on earth. Each one's nature is his own sole law. The one principle of duty is, for every one to do that which is right in his own eyes. The principle of the Anti-Slavery Society means that, and neither more nor less. And the Anti-Slavery Society will, after emancipating the negro, destroy all the governments, remodel all the laws and institutions, and emancipate all the nations of the earth. Of course the laws of marriage will fall to the ground. Why not? They originated only with men,--with men who lived in darker times, and who were less developed, than we. It would be strange if children could make laws fit to govern men. And with the laws of marriage will go the laws of property in land. Land was common property at first, and what right had any one to make it private? The first man who appropriated land was a thief. And those who inherited it from him were receivers of stolen goods. And the title that was vicious at first could never be made valid by time. The continuance of a wrong can never make it right. Allow that men have a right to the land in consequence of long possession and inheritance, and you must allow that men may have a right to their slaves. The right to land, and the right to slaves, are not so different as some would suppose. What is man's right to his own body worth, if he is deprived of his right to the land? Man lives from the land, and unless he has a right to the land, he can have no right to life. A right to life implies a right to the land. Men live _on_ the land as well as _from_ it; and if they have not a right to the land, they can have no right to live. And man has a right to perfect freedom. Life without freedom is slavery; and slavery is the extinction of all rights, the right to life included. And woman has equal rights with man. And children have equal rights with either. The idea that human beings have no rights till they are twenty-one, is monstrous. What mighty change is it that takes place at the moment a person reaches the age of twenty-one, that he should be a slave a moment before, and a free man a moment after? No change at all takes place. The rights of a human being are the gift of Nature, and not the gift of the law. Who authorized men to make laws for one another? In making men different from each other, Nature has made it impossible for one man to legislate wisely for another. The majority have a right to rule themselves, but they have no fight to rule the minority. All rights are the rights of individuals, and the rights of individuals composing a minority, are the same as the rights of individuals composing a majority. A man may elect a representative; but he cannot be bound by a representative elected by others. Children should be educated, not by force or authority, but by attraction. The assumption of authority over a child by a parent is usurpation; the use of authority over a child is tyranny. The individuality of a child is its life, and life is sacred. To destroy individuality is murder. We have no right to take Nature's place, and make a human being something different from what she has formed him. Solomon's rod and Paul's authority are alike immoral. All should be governed by their attractions, like the orbs of heaven, and the constituents of the earth. The law of Nature is one, both for living men and dead matter. Our sympathies and affinities are our only rulers. They are ourselves,--our best selves,--and to allow either law or ruler to interfere with them, is self-destruction. We are no longer ourselves when we allow ourselves to be controlled by the will or power of another. Animals have equal rights with man. The poet was right when he said,

"Take not away the life thou canst not give, For all things have an equal right to live."

How _can_ man have a right to take away the life of an animal? The lower animals occupied the world before man, and man, a later comer, could not abrogate the prior rights of his predecessors. The use of animal food is unnatural. It is unhealthy. In feeding on other living creatures man degrades, corrupts, and then destroys himself. And vegetables, grains, and fruits should be taken in their natural state. The art of cooking is an unnatural innovation. The first of our race did not cook. Man is the only cooking animal, and he is the only sickly one. He is the only one that loses his teeth, or suffers from indigestion. Teetotalism is binding on all. Alcohol is an unnatural product. Man is the only being unnatural enough to drink it. Grapes are good, and so is grain; but wine, and beer, and spirits, are a trinity of devils, which destroy the bodies and torment the souls of unnatural men. "There is no God," said one. "Gods and devils are alike fantastic creatures of the erring mind of man." "But there _must_ be a God," said another. "All nature cries aloud there is a God. Our own hearts' instincts--our highest intuitions,--assure us there is. As well deny the universe, and the primal intuitions of humanity, as the being of God. A God and a future life are necessities of human nature. And there is, _without_ us, a supply for every want _within_ us. As soon will you find a race of beings with appetites for food, for whom no food is provided, as a race with longings for God and desires for immortality, while no God and immortality exist to meet those longings, to satisfy those desires." "But if there be a God to answer to our longings, and a blessed immortality to satisfy our desires, why not a devil to answer to our fears, and a hell to answer to our guilty terrors? And would a God leave us without a revelation of his will." "The instincts of our nature are the revelation of God's will. To obey our instincts is to obey the law of God." "Then is the law of God as various as men's natural tendencies? Does the murderer, whose tendency is to kill, obey the law of God, as well as the victim who struggles to escape his doom? And does the eagle obey the law of God in pouncing on the dove, and the dove in seeking to evade its talons? Is every tendency the law of God? If it be the will of God that the powerful tendencies of some should neutralize the feebler tendencies of others, is not might, right? And if might be right, why murmur at anything that is? For everything that is, exists by virtue of its might: and every thing that perishes, perishes in virtue of its weakness. Are you not sanctioning the doctrine of the Optimist, and saying with Pope,

"In spite of sense, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear--whatever _is_, is RIGHT."

"Whatever is, _is_ right," says another. "It is the result of eternal wisdom, of almighty power, and infinite love. God is all perfect, and He is all in all. A perfect God could have nothing short of a perfect object in all His works, a perfect motive prompting Him, a perfect rule to guide Him; and, as the author of all existence, a perfect material out of which to make the creatures of His love. All is perfect. It is men's own imperfection that makes them think otherwise." "All is perfect," you say, "yet man is _imperfect_; and his imperfection makes him think other things imperfect. All is perfect, yet something is imperfect; and that something is the most perfect or the least imperfect creature in existence." "Imperfection itself is a part of perfection," says the Optimist. "As discords are necessary to the highest musical compositions; so imperfection is necessary to the highest perfection."

"The most difficult point of all," says a philosophical Unitarian, "is that of necessity. Every thing must have a cause. Man's actions are the result of physical causes; yet man is consciously free." "Man is no more free than the planets," says an Atheist. "He _acts_ freely, as the planets do,--that is, he acts in harmony with his tendencies,--in harmony with the causes of his actions,--the causes of his actions cause them by causing him to will them, by inclining him to do them; and the causes of planetary action produce that action in the same way: but the freedom and the necessity are the same in the one case as in the other. All is free, and all is bound. The chain is infinite, eternal, and almighty. The difference between man and a planet is, that man is conscious of his acts, and the planet is not." "Then duty is a dream," said a third, "and conscience a delusion; and responsibility a fiction; and virtue and vice are alike unworthy of either praise or blame, reward or punishment." "A tree is not responsible," said the Necessitarian, "yet we cut it down, if it bears no fruit; and we cut off the natural branches, and insert new scions, if its fruit is not to our liking. A musquito is irresponsible, yet we kill it when it gives us pain. A horse is irresponsible, yet we caress it when it gives us pleasure." "So man is no more than a tree, a musquito, or a horse! And selfishness is the measure of our duty! We caress or kill as we are pleased or pained." And so the conversation ran on in one party.

In another the Bible is the subject of conversation. But here all are agreed on the principal point. No one regards it as of supernatural origin, or of Divine authority. The question is, whether the Anti-Slavery Society shall acknowledge that the clergy are right in saying that the Bible sanctions Slavery. "That it does sanction Slavery is certain," says one. "Abraham was a slave-holder, a slave-trader, and a slave-breeder. Isaac inherited his slave property. Jacob had slaves, and had offspring by two of them. Moses allows the Jews to buy up the nations round about them, and to hold them as slaves, as a _possession_, and to transmit them as an inheritance to their children for ever. The Decalogue recognizes slaves as property. Jesus never condemns slave-holding, and Paul returns a fugitive, to his master. Take the clergy at their word. Acknowledge that their sacred book does sanction Slavery. Acknowledge that it allows a master to flog his slave to death, on the ground that the slave is his money. Acknowledge too that it allows the slave-holder to make his female slaves his concubines. Acknowledge every thing. Take the preachers' side in the matter, and you will shock the preachers, and you will shock the public, and cause them to give up the defence of Slavery." "The slave-holders are not governed by the Bible," says another. "Their appeal to it is only a pretence,--an _argumentum ad hominem_. They favor Slavery because it is profitable, and because they like it. Make it unprofitable, and they will soon find a different interpretation for the Bible." "Show that the Bible is no authority,--that it is merely a human book,--and you take away their argument for Slavery," said one. "Their argument is force," said another, "and you will never abolish Slavery till you take up arms and crush the tyrants." "But the Bible is the question," says a third. "Call a Convention to discuss the Bible," said I, and the Convention was accordingly called.

And thus the conversation ran in private circles, during the intervals of the public meetings.

I had supposed, that as the people of America had got a Democratic form of government, no further reforms were necessary, except the Abolition of Slavery. I now found however that there were more Reformers, and a greater variety of Reformers, in the circle into which I had fallen, than in England. There was nothing right,--nothing as it ought to be. The family, the church, the school, the government, religion, morals, and even nature were all wrong. The world was full of prejudice. We were heirs of all the mistakes of our forefathers for a thousand generations. "Every thing wants destroying," said one, "that every thing may be created anew." The oracle of the universe cries, "Behold, I make all things new;" and that oracle we ought to echo; and on that oracle we ought to act. "'When I was a child, I thought as a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.' Such was the language of the great Reformer of antiquity. The human race should adopt the same language, and follow the great example. The race should say, 'When _I_ was a child, _I_ thought as a child, _I_ spoke as a child, _I_ understood as a child; but now, having become a man, _I_ will put away childish things.' I will put away my childish thoughts on religion, on science, on morals, on government, on education, on marriage, on slavery, on war, on every thing. The fact that they are old, is a proof they are wrong. The clothes which fit a child _cannot_ fit a man. The notions, the institutions, the laws, which were good for the world's infancy, cannot be good for its manhood." "And they _shall_ be put away, so far as I am concerned," said a lady. "And they shall be put away, so far as I am concerned," answered another. "Ye are born again," says a third. "That noble declaration proves you new creatures. Old things are passed away; behold, all things _are_ become new."

A thousand wild sentiments were uttered; a thousand extravagant things were said; and many unwise things were done. It was plain that a license of thought was preparing the way, had already prepared the way, for a license of deed. This license produced a fearful amount of mischief before long. It had produced no little then. Many a domestic schism,--many a disgraceful alliance,--many a broken heart,--were the result of those lawless, wanton speculations.

And some came to see their folly and repented in part. Lucy Stone declared she would never marry according to law; but she married according to law in the end, contenting herself with recording a vain and foolish protest. Harriet K. Hunt would never pay any more taxes till she was allowed to vote, and was eligible to the Presidency of the United States. Whether she has paid her tax or not we do not know; but she has not yet got a vote, and is certainly not yet the President of the United States. Mrs. C. L. made a declaration, the publication of which covered her hard-working and excellent husband with shame; but she too has since seen her error, and endeavored to make all things right.

It was rather amusing, but somewhat startling,--it was very bewildering, yet very instructive,--to listen to all the projects and theories of a multitude of thoughtful people, suddenly emancipated from religion and moral obligation, and from law and custom, and to speculate on what might be the result of so much extravagance. It put humanity before one in a new light. It was a new revelation. And all those people were educated up to the American standard. And they were all in tolerable circumstances. Some were rich, and most were owners of the lands on which they lived. Several of them had been ministers of the Gospel. Many of them were authors. And their appearance and manners were often equal to those of the best. And some of them could hardly be excelled as public speakers. Some of the lady speakers were the best I ever heard. After mingling in such society, and witnessing such a strange breaking up of "the fountains of the great deep" of thought, and fancy, and animal passion, it is hard to say what might not take place in the world, if the spirit of infidel reform which is pervading the nations should become general.

I returned to my home neither a better nor a wiser man. But I was full of thought. I had been afraid that in the excitement of controversy, and under the smart of persecution, I had gone too far. But here were people who had gone immeasurably farther. I was afraid I had been too rash. But here were pleasant looking and educated people, compared with whom I was the perfection of sobriety. And the sense of my comparative moderation quieted my fears, prevented salutary investigation, and prepared me to go still farther in the way of doubt. New books were placed in my hands, all favorable to anti-christian views. I got new friends and acquaintances, and all were of the doubting, unbelieving class. Several of them were atheists, and insinuated doubts with regard to the foundation of all religious belief. Till my settlement in America I had continued to believe, not only in God, and providence, and prayer, but in immortality; and to look on Atheism as the extreme of folly. But now my faith in those doctrines began to be shaken. Instead of drawing back from the gulf of utter unbelief, and retracing my steps toward Christ as I had partly hoped, I got farther astray; and though I did not plunge headlong into Atheism, I came near to the dreadful abyss, and was not a little bewildered with the horrible mists that floated round its brink.

Thus my hopes of calm and quiet thought, and of a sober reconsideration of the steps I had taken in the path of doubt and unbelief, were all, alas! exploded, and the last state of my soul was worse than the first.

To make things worse, I got into trouble with my Christian neighbors. My alienation from Christ had already produced in me a deterioration of character. I was not exactly aware of it at the time, and if I had been told of it, I might not have been able to believe it; but such was really the case. The matter is clear to me now past doubt. I had become less courteous, less conciliatory, less agreeable. I had discarded, to some extent, the Christian doctrines of meekness and humility. My temper had suffered. I was sooner provoked, and was less forgiving, I was more prompt in asserting my rights, and more prone perhaps to regard as rights what were no such things. And I made myself enemies in consequence, and got into unhappy disputes and painful excitements.

I imagined, I suppose, while in England, that the disturbers of my peace were all outside me, and that when I went to America I should leave them all behind; but I see now that many of them were within me, and that I carried them with me over the sea, to my far-off Western home. And they gave me as much trouble in my new abode as they had given me in my old one. It is the state of our minds that determines the measure of our bliss. As Burns says,

"If happiness have not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest. No treasures, nor pleasures. Can make us happy long; The _heart_ ay's the part ay That makes us right or wrong."

And my heart was out of tune, and tended to put everything around me out of tune.