A little later she addressed a pet.i.tion to Lord Melbourne in Taylor's behalf, wherein she makes mention of his "p.r.o.neness to jest" on what are considered sacred subjects, and that his best friends regretted that tendency of the rev. gentleman, who was really the finest orator and deepest student in the country, and a man of wonderful genius, ect., ect. But the prisoner took great umbrage at this, and would have no pardon of this getting. The pet.i.tion itself was innocent enough and was really of Carlile's framing, and Taylor had no better friend than Carlile. But the rev. gentleman was very much of a spoilt child, and it was always difficult to keep him in good humor. It was two or three of Taylor's jokes which gained him the two years' imprisonment he received on the last trial. A little note in Mr. Taylor's handwriting, but without date, showed how keenly he felt the reflection on his good sense.

"Mr. Taylor begs to be spared the superfluous pain of seeing a person who has injured him so grievously, and has made the pretence of presenting a pet.i.tion on his behalf a means of insulting him more than his bitterest enemy could have done. Mr. Taylor would have rather terminated his existence, with his own hand, than have accepted his deliverance upon that degrading and atrociously insulting promise and condition with which Miss Sharples has taken upon herself to implore it. Mr. Taylor has written to Lord Melbourne to counteract as much as possible the mischievous and scandalous falsehood of which Miss Sharples has been the instrument. Mr. T.'s only hopes of a lessening of his term of imprisonment rested in the doubt that existed in Lord M.'s mind as to the nature of the alleged offence. Miss S. has removed that doubt and justified the imprisonment to any extent.

"To Miss Sharples,

"Editress of the _Isis_."

Following this, in a few days, after Carlile had written to Taylor telling him that "he ought to apologise to Isis on his knees for grieving her thus, when she was turning every stone to do him good ".

Taylor replied:--

"Ah, Lord! you talk of romance and recommend wisdom and reason. n.o.body loves wisdom and reason more than I do; but my knees are now too stiff to undergo the operation you recommend. I would rather and better support the consciousness of being altogether in the wrong, than to rescue even my life itself by kneeling. If you should find me as I intend you shall, on good terms with Miss Sharples, they will not have been achieved by kneeling. Mark! I will achieve my peace without you.

Humiliations never yet healed grievances,

"Yours affectionately,

"R. Taylor."

Later still we find him lamenting from the bottom of his heart that he should ever have been the cause of bringing tears to those lovely violet eyes, and asks forgiveness for whatever has seemed excessive in the expression of his grief, which has indeed been intense, and "a.s.sure Miss Sharples that I am sorry in my soul for the weight which my mental anguish has thrown upon her".

Several months pa.s.sed away and the further acquaintance and constant daily interviews of Miss Sharples with Richard Carlile, which were necessary to the business and the cause in which they were both so earnestly engaged, developed a very strong attachment between them. It would seem, almost, as though Miss Sharples had been reserved for this union, it being more than singular that she should have arrived at the age of twenty-six without having met anyone who had made any impression upon her heart. Yet she had many admirers, and indeed, one would think that so beautiful a girl had been formed for love alone. We cannot find, however, a single instance in her history which would show that her heart had ever been touched before she met Carlile. It seemed as though she was waiting for the summons to take her part in the allotted task, and when he wrote to her in his delight at hearing of a young and beautiful woman who wanted to wield a sword in the battle of free thought, saying that such a woman should be everything to him, she was not surprised, but expressed her complete willingness in her simple "so be it". But when she was brought into close relationship with Carlile and had the opportunity of seeing the genuine superiority of his character, the generosity, the unselfishness, the amiability of his temper, his kindness to everybody in his employ, his great love and patience with his children, and his unfailing sense of justice in all the relations of life, she found one who was worthy of all the love and appreciation she had to bestow, and he received it: a love that filled the measure to overflowing. Unfortunately, Carlile had been and was still paying the penalty of the mistake of his early manhood, his unhappy marriage, although after twenty years of unhappiness he was as free as he could be when no divorce was possible. So, in this state of affairs, Carlile did all that was left to him to do, and that was to explain every particular of his situation to her, for her consideration and reflection.

CHAPTER II. ISIS TO RICHARD CARLILE

The first shock to the happiness of Carlile and Isis was caused by the receipt of a letter from her brother which induced the following:--

"Health and Tranquillity! A letter from Bolton has at length found its way to London, and my bosom is bursting with indignation and sorrow, with indignation for the contemptible and satirical style and manner in which the letter is written; and sorrow for a parent's suffering. My G.o.d! what shall I do? Leave you, my dear Richard, I cannot, it would be death to me and your hopes, and your and my cause. My own hopes are that mother is not so ill as represented, and that they have written in such a strain to induce me to give up my purpose. What must I do? Oh! how I wish that you were at liberty to advise and comfort me. I am quite alone in this large place. David wished to go out with Thomas, and I could not refuse, 'tis the first time the request was made. Mrs. Hudson merely gave me the letter and then went out again; all is shut up and I feel to want your presence so much. Oh! Richard, I think my heart will burst, that cruel, taunting, unkind, insulting letter. I could have forgiven him if it had not contained the distressing intelligence of my mother's illness (inconsiderate, unfeeling wretch, you have not written in haste, but must have sat and premeditated every word, so-that you might doubly wound, doubly wring my over-whelmed heart). My dear Richard, what must I do? You are all the world to me, yet I cannot divest myself of those feelings which are now almost too much for me to bear. Were I to return home to-morrow it would perhaps avail nothing, and the idea is madness itself to me. You must forgive me, Richard, for troubling you with my grief and sorrow; but methinks my brain will turn if I do not give you a little of them. Remember you are my friend, my husband, and never did I require your love, your care so much as now. My brother has probed to my heart's core, by heaven, I think I shall never forgive him. I will never again write to him. He shall never hear from me. I will write to my sister to-morrow; how I feel for her, poor Maria. My heart is torn with contending emotion. I long to go home for mother's sake and Maria's, but for my own sake I wish to remain with you. I feel quite a.s.sured that if I return home that I shall never see you again, and what say you to that? Are you willing to relinquish your Isis, your bride? Oh Richard, do endeavor for my sake to obtain your liberty. I will endeavor to be all that you can wish. I will strive to equal Miss F. Wright. My eyes are quite swollen with tears, the first I have shed since I came to town. I wish much to breakfast with you this morning, but really I am afraid the Governor will think my visits too frequent. I, however, hope to see you some part of the day and to hear from you early in the morning. I am afraid, my dear Richard, you will think me very weak, very unlike a philosopher. It was only to-day I was boasting of courage and firmness. I cannot but think that empty vessels make the greatest sound.

"Good Night."

After this it was agreed between Carlile and Isis that she should return home for a short visit and satisfy herself as to her mother's condition, and to ease her mother's mind as to her own well-being, which certainly was the wisest thing to do. In the following letter she takes leave of Carlile for a time:--

"Of all men the most intelligent and the most beloved! When you receive this note I shall be in person many miles distant, but united in heart, in thought, in corresponding sentiment, in mind, in soul, in mutual love and affection. These are the two first days that we have been separated, that we have been taken away from each other; and although I am writing this before my departure, because there will be no opportunity of sending during my absence, I can very easily antic.i.p.ate what my feeling and disposition will be on. Sunday morning. I shall be surrounded by friends anxious to make me comfortable, and they will wear a smile upon their faces; but my bosom will pant for him whom it has-been accustomed to meet, and whom it adores. It will pant for its accustomed embrace from him on whom my eyes gaze with pleasure and delight, him whose features shine with perfect integrity, with confidential affection, with intelligence, with candor, with conscious dignity, with friendship, with reciprocal love, and with manly beauty. My attachment becomes stronger every day. The more I see and know of you the more I admire, love, and esteem you, and the more reluctant I am to be absent one moment from you. Oh! may it be always thus. In twenty years may we embrace each other in tried affection, and again renew our engagement of everlasting fidelity, honesty, and truth. I sincerely love you, and flatter myself that my absence will be a little regretted to-day, the day on which I shall request David to convey this note. Let us be happy in the kind a.s.surance of each other's love; let us bless each other with a free, affable, and corresponding deportment towards each other. Let us strengthen each other so as to be able to contend with existing evils, but let us never deviate one moment from our principles. Let not the presence of the Misses Laws on Sunday make you to forget me. Remember, my love, that now I have a double claim to your protection, to your a.s.sistance, to your kind protection, to your solicitude, to your love.

Oh! do be faithful, be constant, do not encourage a thought to arise that will, in the least, stem the torrent of affection with which my bosom is overflowing.

"I hope ere this your cold is better. Do, my dear Richard, take care of yourself. The name of Richard is doubly dear to me; my father, my beloved father's name was Richard, and now my husband's, my lover's name is Richard. I love to dwell upon it. Adieu, most valued, most beloved of men. G.o.d bless you, my philosopher!"

This little visit to Bolton relieved the mind of Isis of some anxiety in regard to the mother she had so abruptly left, and convinced also the mother that the determination to follow the course she had mapped out for herself was no idle purpose, but one of principle and duty. Besides, she was wholly linked to Carlile in spirit, in principle, in the object to be attained, in business, and in the strongest bond of all--that of love. As she said herself, "Her spirit was wedded to the spirit of her husband before she had spoken to him". With him was life, without him was death. Probably never before had a prison witnessed such an exhibition of awakening love and almost perfect happiness. To Isis it was not only the opening up of the fountain of knowledge, but that of love also, and seldom have those two all-powerful streams been more beautifully and more fittingly blended. Their agreement was that they should make the best marriage contract that could be made at that time, that she should unite her name with his and be known as Mrs. Sharples Carlile, her private signature to be Elizabeth Sharples Carlile, and the public announcement of their moral marriage to be made immediately upon his liberation from the Giltspur Street Compter, which was then in early prospect. But the action of the authorities in refusing her admission to the gaol caused an earlier explanation of the facts of the a.s.sociation to be made, and was understood by all their private friends. It was not, however, till May 29th, 1834, that it was publicly announced in the dedication of the first volume of the _Isis_. An outbreak of cholera in the city of London gave to the authorities of the gaol an excuse to keep out all visitors. This was truly an unexpected blow to both, but to poor Isis it was almost a killing blow. Carlile had to find courage and fort.i.tude for them both. The letters that pa.s.sed daily between them were of the most affectionate character, and Isis poured out her soul in love and adoration through them. Unfortunately for the better sequence of this correspondence, many of Carlile's letters have been lost, but enough remains to show the character of it. It is very difficult to arrange these letters in proper order, owing to the fact that they were not dated, being exchanged by bearers or messengers making regular trips once or twice a day. It is only by a searching out of dates and of facts, otherwise known, that it is possible to place them with any degree of accuracy or fitness.

This love which Isis poured out so lavishly was of the old-fashioned kind, of happily an old-fashioned time: the time when women had no other avenue for their pent-up feelings or ambitions, the only avenue which opened up for them except their church, their sewing, or their household cares, their dresses or their gossips; when they were wholly dependent upon their relatives for their support; when no diplomas awaited their eager studies; when the luxury of self-earned money was unknown to them; when the curse of Puritan propriety was laid on them, when a skip or a jump was a crime against young ladyhood; when all the possibilities of the present age were undreamed of, and women were bound by the iron rule of precedent and respectability. Even our poor Isis was only in a transitional state, and had much to unlearn and overcome.

Here are some extracts from her letters of that time:--

"Your letter to me of to-day is really a most delightful one. I have read it over and over again, pressed it as frequently to my lips and blessed its author. I feel the value of your friendship most fervently, and feel myself happy in your choice. How kind, how very kind and considerate is your behaviour toward me. Believe me, your acquaintance is duly appreciated, and expect and hope that twenty years hence our feelings and affection will be still the same. I feel that mine will never change, whatever fortune may allot me. I am very much in arrears with you in letter writing. I believe a bankruptcy will have to take place, at least a compromise. I send you an _Observer_, loaf sugar, and a little tea, as much as can be afforded this evening. Heaven bless you, my love, anchor of my affection and my hope, solace and comfort of my life, inferior to none and without an equal."

"The light-fingered G.o.ddess to her friend and beloved companion. You desire me to be happy; and you, my friend, a prisoner. Be really happy, you say. Think of my situation for a moment, and then you will be led to exclaim, 'No, poor girl, I must make her happy, her happiness will depend upon me '. I am waiting, oh! how anxiously, for your liberation, and then, and not till then shall I be able to say, 'I am happy'."

"Happiness!

"There was only one object wanting to render Mr. Owen's inst.i.tution a perfect paradise. The company was very numerous, being, I suppose, about 2,000 individuals in attendance, upon whose countenances joy, health and happiness seemed to beam. Oh! what folly to look beyond this world for heaven, I thought, as I gazed upon the happy throng. Oh! that man would become rational, make, for it is in his power, a heaven upon the earth; instead of which, like the dog in the fable, he is grasping at a shadow and losing the substance. Oh! that man would cease to be inconsistent, that he would cease to act so contrary to reason and common sense by soaring above his comprehension and understanding in search of that which is in his immediate possession. My evening's amus.e.m.e.nt was greatly enhanced by the introductions which took place between myself and several of the delegates, particularly those who came from Lancashire. I was introduced as the 'Lady Isis', and was indeed warmly, and I may say affectionately, received. My fame, they were pleased to say, had spread abroad in Lancashire, and the co-operators were anxiously awaiting the time when you and I could pay them a visit. Your name being introduced, and with so much ardor and respect, afforded me additional pleasure. Two or three were requested by the society to see you, if possible, and are calling to-day at Fleet Street in order to be taken by me to prison.

What think you, love, must I attend them or send Mullins? You must decide. Do say yes, because remember I did not see you yesterday. I promise not to stay a moment with you; and I really have a great deal to say, for I have seen a gentleman from Bolton who heard a sermon preached in our church on the Farce day, and all about me. Now must not I come just while I tell you the news? The hour appointed for the two gent.'s to call here is one o'clock. Now, love, if you think it will be more prudent to remain at my post, I will submit cheerfully, although to-morrow I may not see you. My visit to the amiable Misses Laws must be deferred to-morrow, I cannot go and lecture too. Mr. Smith is going, he told me. I saw Mr. Prout last evening, and had a nice chat with him. I have sent you a number of the _Co-operative Society_. I thought of filling up this bit of paper, but Thomas is waiting. Adieu."

"Now, love, I have just a moment to spare. I a.s.sure you that with the exception of the short time it took to prepare your little dinner, my absence from the shop has not amounted to more than half-an-hour. The dinner was rather late, in consequence of my being detained in the shop.

I did not fidget about it, because I felt desirous that you should have time to enjoy it. Oh, my dearest Richard, excuse me, but really I must mention the subject that lays nearest and dearest to my heart first, my separation from you; everything else sinks into nothingness in comparison of that greatest of all evils and troubles and trials--my separation; overcome this point, and I will be happy and cheerful and gay. On the contrary, I am sure, I shall not survive a month. It is nonsense to preach patience and philosophy, I'll not hear it, my patience is exhausted and all my philosophy falls to the ground. All my thoughts, all my hopes tend towards seeing you on Sunday. If I am disappointed, I shall bid farewell to all hope. You must insist upon seeing me just once to explain matters of business, etc., etc. Oh, dear, I will see you. Indeed, I must! Now, love, the second trouble. I have sent to Standige's, and they very politely said 15 would satisfy them until next week. I have sent the 15, so let your mind be at ease on that point. Do, do, Richard, if you love me, obtain me an interview; it will reward me for a world of pain and suffering. You know not how this separation presses upon my heart, and to-morrow--But I will not antic.i.p.ate anything unfavorable, you, I know dear, you will do your best. I wish I was Miss Newell* for a day or two. Copeland is waiting, love. I send you a _Crisis_ and two oranges, in haste. Bless you. Good night, my beloved, my honored Richard. I hope we shall yet be happy."

* Miss Newell was the artist who painted the portrait of Carlile while in the Compter. She begged and received permission to paint the portraits of Carlile and Rev. Robert Taylor, and gave them each a painting, and kept one of each for herself. Carlile was so pleased with his own that he urged her to paint the portrait of Isis. But this, she said.

"was a different matter, and she should require her regular fee of ten guineas". This was agreed upon, and she painted the picture of Isis. These portraits are as fresh and beautiful to-day as they were when painted over 60 years ago, and are copied for this work. Necessarily the copies lose much of the beauty of the painting, as the delicate beauty of the coloring is all lost. It is most noticeable in that of Isis, in whose complexion the purity of the lily and the warmth of the rose were marvellously blended. The abundant hair curled naturally, and was of a soft pale auburn. The eyes a violet blue, with a mild but intelligent expression. The head, features, and face were of perfectly harmonious outline, each part perfect in itself, and perfect as a whole. The figure, too, was naturally perfect, tall, and slender, with a very graceful carriage; shoulders thrown well back and head well poised. Her neck and shoulders were beautifully moulded, and her waist, though innocent of stays or corsets, measured but 18 inches. Her hands were very beautiful, with long slender fingers, and the skin of such delicate texture as to appear transparent. In after years it was a favorite amus.e.m.e.nt of her children to try and look through their mother's hand by holding it up to the sun or lamp. Add to this that she was well bred, well educated, well read, and possessed of a fine singing and speaking voice. She was very neat and stylish in her dress, and it was no wonder then that she turned the heads of many of the younger men of liberal principles at the Rotunda, when she stepped upon the rostrum to fill the gap made by the imprisonment of Carlile and Rev. Robert Taylor.

And now comes another style of letter.

"Isis to her well-beloved Richard--'Happiness'.

"I was surprised by a visit from two ladies last night after nine o'clock, and who do you think they were? Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Brooks, they wondered what had become of me, and felt anxious to know. Mr. Owen has likewise been very punctual in his enquiries, and wishes much to see me."

Phrenologically speaking, her head was said to be the exact counterpart of that of Lafayette, and the similarity was often alluded to by lecturers on the then new and fashionable study of phrenology. While this has been said frequently, the writer thinks a mistake has been made, for having recently seen photographs of the death mask of Lafayette, she can detect no similarity. The head of Isis was purely feminine in form; one cannot say this of the head of the French general, if these masks be genuine.

Mrs. Robinson mentioned Friday for my first visit, and I inadvertently agreed to go, where I shall have the pleasure of being introduced to other members and Owenites. Let me be wherever I may, my heart is always with you. I never am so happy as when with you, and allow me, again and again, to a.s.sure you of my love, friendship, and esteem. My hope is, Richard, that you will survive me, after twenty years' engagement, that you will receive my last sigh, that my latest breath will be received on your affectionate bosom; the firm reliance that I have on your honor and character gives strength to my love. I feel that you are the best man in the world, and I the most favored woman. I want my lecture for this evening, to study. When may I expect the one for Sunday? You are really worked to death, and I am ashamed of myself. What can I send you, love?"

"Pardon for my neglect. I have been busily engaged in reading the discourse for last Sunday evening, which has afforded me infinite pleasure. I really think, love, it is superior to any of the former ones, and much regret that I had not an opportunity of delivering it.

How beautifully sentimental in all its pa.s.sages. I am pleased beyond measure. The paragraph, particularly, commencing with 'Let me again and again impress upon your minds that there can be no error in a well-spent life', I admire. I am glad to hear of your good health and spirits. May they always remain tranquil. Copeland is waiting with the newspapers, and I must not detain him. Must I visit you to-morrow? I hope so; if not, I will ask Mrs. Smith to accompany me in a walk to-morrow afternoon. My heart is aching."

Carlile wanted Isis to become a philosophical lover, and had written her something to that effect, which called forth the following letter:--

"Why, my dear, this very paragraph alone is sufficient to turn the argument in my favor. You say that you should have by right given me on the first onset five or seven years of hard study in philosophy; and then again you say, perhaps had you done so, I should ere this have run away, you not being so situated as to be able to lock me up, or I should have died. Does not that prove that there is nothing charming about philosophy; or why fear me? I am enamored with love. I love with all my heart, with all my mind, and with all my soul, and with all my strength.

I very soon found out the beauties of love; I have experienced the delightful sensation that love produces. I have felt its power; I have received its cheering influence, and have drank deep draughts from the fountain of love. In vain have I been endeavoring to find out the charms of this divine philosophy. The charms of love presented themselves immediately to my view. But no, like the glorious Const.i.tution of England, its charms are lost, are hidden, and the more you become acquainted with either the more anxious are you to run away from both.

Such is the impression that remains still upon the mind. And your letter, believe me, has advocated the cause of love more ardently than even mine did, for one word in favor of philosophy you have bestowed twenty in favor of love. 'Tis true, indeed, the first sheet of paper was entirely occupied with the subject of love. The commencement of the second sheet, says, 'How charming is divine philosophy, not dull and crabbed. It is the perfection of love, and to this I want to bring you.'

Then again you fall into full strain and sing the praises and glories of love. I confess myself that I have never been a philosopher, because I saw nothing in it to admire. I saw everything in love, and I want to become a scientific lover--not a philosopher, but an unequalled lover, a paragon of perfection, of constancy, and of faithful love--pure, uncontaminated, unsophisticated, unmixed, natural love. Love sincere and true wants not the aid of philosophy; does not want any restraint and will not bear it, it cannot long exist in thraldom. It must be free as the air we breathe. It will not be told that it must love thus far and no further. No, no, that will never do. I do not say that it is to be indulged in to the injury of other duties or claims; that it is to satiate itself. No, that would be a mere carnal pa.s.sion, an animal propensity, and a profanation to call it love. It is not the love I feel, not the kind of love that I am pleading the cause of: I want a love, virtuous and pure, but still unbounded. When we talk of moderate love, philosophical love, etc., it amounts to nothing. There is no such a thing as a moderate true lover. Pray tell me how do you like a moderate reformer? 'Tis just the same. A Whig, a half and half sort of a Radical. Nay, the subject will not bear the comparison. I am an out and out Republican, an enemy to kings, priests and lords, and have not patience to hear anyone talk of being a politician when his head is stuffed up with superst.i.tion. And how in the name of wonder can you preach philosophy to me in my present situation, surrounded as I am by almost insurmountable difficulties? If I had only one very large one to overcome then I might listen with some degree of patience to-your preaching and entreaties. But then I have a thousand little troubles, real troubles, besides all my imaginary ones, and they are numberless.

And I have one as huge as a mountain, our separation. Ah! none of your philosophy for me, I make no account of it, Diogenes (I don't know if I am correct in spelling the name, but you will understand to whom I allude). He might very comfortably preach philosophy he having nothing to do with the practice of it--no-cares, no troubles, no nothing upon his mind, and really he had nothing to engross his time but to roll an old tub about and write moral sentences and philosophy. I tell you what, Richard Carlile, I will make this agreement with you, that if you will consent to my going into the country and taking up my abode in some sequestered spot, far from the busy haunts of men, I will become all you wish me to be, quite a philosopher in petticoats; I will write pastorals. I shall then have no annoyances; I will even try to forget you for a time. I think a few years' study would make me perfect, quite inanimate. You say, 'imitate me'. I cannot, you're a man, and Richard Carlile. Can the a.s.s ever inherit the strength of the horse? Can weakness ever become strength? Can woman become man? Can I change my nature? I respect, I admire, I esteem, I love where I find it impossible to imitate. You are an exception, and where you point out yourself as an example you do not give me fair play. We are now in the nineteenth century, and you cannot find me one dignified woman as an example. I only ask you for one. I shall enter more fully into this subject again, if I am allowed. I have not written well today. I was much pleased with your effusion of love. I will not accept you as a father, as an example.

I am almost inclined to think that I am jealous of your superiority of character over mine, and am aiming at being a more jealous lover than you. Love is a delightful study; I feel and know it to be so, and shall never be less a lover than now. I find the pa.s.sion to grow upon me, and I am not a wild-fire. You say let there be no more nonsense, and that you do not like that foolish kind of love, wild and romantic. It is not good nor lasting. Why, then, did you arouse, by your kindness, by your attention, by your example, by everything but precept, my affection to such a pitch of love? You have endeavored by every inducement that lay in your power to implant the seed of love in my bosom, and now, when you see the fruits, you are alarmed, you are distressed. What! did you not know human nature better than to expect patience? Ah, you may talk, you may preach, you may pretend, you may a.s.sume an angry appearance, you may threaten; but it will not do. Now pray tell me, if you can, I say mention but the name of one individual in whom the two pa.s.sions have been encouraged, in whose heart philosophy and love have taken up their abode at one and the same time. I am young in philosophy, and yet you are angry because I am not a sage. You are angry and distressed because I have paid more regard to your example than to your preaching. I knew a priest once that said: 'Do not do as I do, but do as I say.' Now there was honesty. Well, well, you are, you may be a philosopher. I know that in every affair that concerns us in the way of business and in the generality of human affairs, that you are bold and honest, just, calm and patient under the most trying circ.u.mstances. Cool, courageous, and mild under disappointments and perplexities and difficulties, in fact that you are a philosopher in everything but love. You may smile and say I am mistaken. I tell you that I am right in my calculation, in my conjecture; come, come, be honest on this point, give your love a favorable answer. Yes, say, love me in your own way, that is, tenderly and affectionately; love me and never mind philosophy. You blame me.

How in the name of heaven can you expect me to be reasonable in such a dilemma, between snow and heat, between two such extremes, and one is pulling me one way and the other is dragging me in an opposite direction? Decide, Richard Carlile, will you have your Isis, a wild, romantic, erring, loving, kind, affectionate creature, sometimes weak and making you a little angry at times, hoping, fearing, sincere, faithful, changeable, warmhearted, kind, generous, thoughtful but grateful, thankful for your kindness and sensible of your worth, say, will you have me a woman, or will you have me a philosopher? Whichever character you prefer, I will become that one. As a philosopher I will not smile, I will view every change with philosophic indifference and exclaim with Pope, 'Whatever is, is right'. My heart shall never be overburdened with care, my countenance never change, I will neither laugh nor cry, sorrow shall not make me weep, misfortune shall not affect me, and when I again behold you I shall be a stoic: no expression of love or of pleasure, no exhibition of feeling, no, no, that would be disgraceful, my character would suffer. Charming philosophy! No, love, I tell you again I cannot be both, that the two characters cannot be a.s.sociated in the same person, and I defy you to point out one example--say 'Imitate this philosophical love, encouraging, admirable woman!' And should you do so, should you happen to have hit upon one female in the course of your deep reading and researches, I would immediately tell you that she had not a lover in prison, and if she had that she was not prohibited from occasionally beholding and conversing with him; and if she was, that she was not within a few days of being a mother, and if she was that she did not live at 62, Fleet Street; that she had not to fear a despicable Whig Government; that she did not fear for her lover's safety, and if she did, that her love did never equal mine; and if, after encountering all these perplexities she could boast calm fort.i.tude and philosophical love and indifference, I do not envy, do not wish to be possessed of such feeling. Ah, Richard, have not wisdom, strength and power fled when love gains possession of the heart?

Of what use was Solomon's wisdom or Samson's strength? Where then was philosophy? 'Tis nonsense to talk of both. Such a doctrine fails when it comes to be put in practice, and you know it only you want honesty, philosophy and love. You must be both. I will be both, but it must be when our child is born; it must be the hero; I still must remain what I am, a mere woman.

"Living in a retired, quiet spot of ground, having your mind at ease, your wants supplied, and your wishes gratified, that is the hour, then is the time to talk philosophically. I got into a little fit of love this morning. I begged Miss Philosophy to help me over it, but the cross old maiden lady used me very ill, just as you would fancy a cross old maiden lady treating a young, lovely girl of twenty, did this maid treat me. I thought of you, and then I was uneasy. I thought again philosophically; then by way of a little stimulant, I rummaged for that very ugly letter you sent me the week before we were separated. You must remember it. A 'to be burnt' letter you called it. It a.s.sisted my bit of philosophy most wonderfully. Do you remember the contents of that letter? Oh, this letter has a.s.sisted my philosophy most wonderfully.

I almost think that if I received a note for admission in the compter to-morrow morning, that I should have magnanimity of soul sufficient for a Seneca's wife. Now what say you? I will have you make a choice.

No both. Must I practise love? I will adhere to either of the two characters but not to both. I shall spoil myself and be neither one nor the other. Make a choice, oh! make a choice. Pure nature's feeling for me, altho' I may err 'tis not of the heart; let me be thought weak and irresolute. I perhaps am so, but I never hoped to be called unfeeling.

Must your Isis love you or must she not? that is the question; or must she a.s.sume an indifference that she does not feel: a cold, calculating, philosophical, dignified indifference? Come, make a choice; oh, make a choice; philosophy or love?"

CHAPTER III. LETTERS TO "ISIS"

A little later comes this letter of Maria, the younger sister of "Isis".

It was written because of two open letters which appeared in the _Isis_, the publication of that name. We neither criticise nor defend these letters, they were no doubt outlined by Carlile in his usual habit of publicity and with the best of intentions, but there is also no doubt that they startled and wounded the feelings of the family deeply. In those days to have your name in the paper was a disgrace, unless under the heading of Births, Marriages or Deaths.

"1832. Her sister Maria to the Editress of the _Isis_.