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nd there
was some intelligent conversation upon the subject of the lecture. One
Christian, however, who was, for some reason, told that his question
would be answered upon the following evening, cried, "Answer it
to-night; to-morrow you may be where you ought to be, in hell."

In August 1861 Mr Bradlaugh was in Lancashire, and on one showery
Sunday he betook himself to a place known as Boardman's Edge, where it
was arranged that he should lecture. He himself tells the story of this
experience.

"On arriving at the place," he says, "I found a little opposition:
three policemen and a stout gentleman in black, whose precise status I
was unable to ascertain, but who was introduced to me as the 'Lord's
Steward,' forbade the meeting. Their prohibition had little effect,
and the meeting soon assembled in the field hired for the purpose, and
numbered from 1500 to 2000 persons.... The [Royton] band prefaced the
meeting with a march, and then Mr J. Biltcliffe, of Stalybridge, was
elected chairman. Another attempt was now made; the constabulary had
been reinforced, five were now present, and they came with the farmer
from whom the field had been taken, to eject us _vi et armis_. The
police began to talk, but as their oratory is not very inspiring I
ordered them to keep quiet until the farmer had spoken.

"FARMER: You must go away from here.

"ICONOCLAST: The field is mine. I decline to go.

"FARMER: It is true I have let you the field, but I find you
must not have it.

"ICONOCLAST: As you have let the field, I am your tenant, and
occupy it as such. I am sorry to give you trouble, but I decline to go.

"POLICE-OFFICER: Oh, we'll see about that.

"ICONOCLAST: Silence, sir; you and your companions, as
policemen, have no right here on my ground, except by my permission. If
you are disorderly, I shall have you removed." The police were suddenly
subdued; from talkers they became listeners, and the meeting proceeded
peacefully and satisfactorily.

An advertisement, stating that my father proposed to lecture in the
Dewsbury Public Hall on February 9th, 1862, provoked an extraordinary
burst of venom and spite from those who constituted themselves chief
defenders of the faith in Dewsbury. The following is the text of a bill
posted throughout the town, and is probably unrivalled as a form of
attack:--

 "Grand discovery! To be seen to-morrow, Sunday, not one hundred
 miles from the Public Hall, a fine specimen of the gorilla tribe,
 standing seven feet six inches in height, imported into England from
 Sheffield, the capital of the Hollyhock settlement, in the interior
 of Africa, and brought to this town for public exhibition by Mr
 Greenfield. This gorilla is said to be one of the finest of its tribe.
 It presents a bold front, is impudent in its demeanour, and growls
 fearfully at the approach of a debt-collector, magistrate, or any
 Government officer. Having been some time in England under an assumed
 name, it has acquired a smattering of the language, and will address
 visitors on the origin, progress, and future prospects of the gorilla
 tribe. As the animal will be properly secured, parties need be in no
 apprehension of danger."

Of course, the only effect of this ridiculous insult was to increase
the size of the audience, people coming from Huddersfield, Leeds, and
other places round.

A curious incident happened at Leeds, where Mr Bradlaugh was lecturing
in August 1862. The subject for the evening address was, "Were Adam and
Eve our first parents?" and Mr Bradlaugh was opposed by a young man who
had already offered some opposition at the afternoon lecture, and had
then created a favourable impression by the pleasant ease and fluency
with which he spoke. A question arose as to a passage in the works of
Eusebius to which Mr Bradlaugh had referred. The passage, which he
read at request, the young man, who turned out to be a paid preacher
belonging to Kirkstall, near Leeds, said was not from Eusebius, but
from some other book. On Mr Bradlaugh asking for the name of the
book, the young preacher said he had so many books that he could not
remember their names, but if Mr Bradlaugh would go home with him at the
conclusion of the lecture he would show him the book. This audacious
young man must have been somewhat dismayed when he found himself taken
seriously, for after the lecture Mr Bradlaugh hired a cab and went home
with him "accompanied by one Christian and one Infidel to see fair
play." Arrived at Kirkstall, the preacher's "numerous library subsided
into two modest rows of books on a little table, and after about half
an hour's search [he] ended by begging my pardon, and admitting that
_he had made a mistake_."[72] The Christian who had gone "to see fair
play" was so ashamed that he called upon Mr Bradlaugh on the following
evening and reimbursed the cab-hire which the latter had paid. But the
"mendacious parsonling" (as my father called him) knew no shame, for at
Mr Bradlaugh's next lecture he again rose and tried to explain away his
former conduct and misstatement; he further said that he had consulted
with persons well read, in Eusebius, but none had met with the passage
quoted by Mr Bradlaugh, and to satisfy the audience he had procured
the volume of Eusebius and brought it with him. "I rather too hastily
abbreviated his triumph," said Mr Bradlaugh, "by turning to the book he
brought ... and by reading from his own volume the paragraph which he
had so decidedly said was not there." The young Christian teacher did
not seem to mind in the least being a second time exposed, for, quite
unabashed, he rose again to speak on another subject.

[Footnote 72: C. Bradlaugh in _National Reformer_.]

There is one more story which I must tell before quite leaving the
subject of these early provincial lecturing experiences, and I must
tell it not merely because it presents what my father called "a rather
novel feature," but because with a little addendum specially composed
for the purpose it has been made to do duty as a sort of bulwark of the
Christian faith.

On the second Sunday of December, in the year 1863, Mr Bradlaugh was
giving three lectures in the Philosophical Hall, Huddersfield, and the
subject for the evening was "Le Roi Voltaire." A "very voluble lady,"
said to be an enthusiast of the Weaver school, got up after the lecture
to offer some opposition--if what she said could be dignified by that
name! This lady told the audience what we may suppose to have been
intended as an awe-inspiring story, but which must, in reality, have
been provocative of much mirth. Her son, she said, had once purchased
half a pound of butter, and brought it home wrapped up in a leaf of
some work by Voltaire. "The leaf was thrown upon the fire ere fully
read, but the effect was so remarkable," said my father, in recounting
this incident at the time, "that the son dreamed he saw Voltaire, who
appeared with a ball of fire for a head and another ball of fire for a
heart. Voltaire, while thus blazing, informe

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