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,
J i
THE LESSONS OF A LIFE;
HARRIET
MARTINEAU.
51 tnta
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE
SOCIETY,
ST, GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM ELACE,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON,
lltft
MARCH, 1877.
FLORENCE FENWICK MILLER.
■
------------------ - ------ _ \
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
Price Threepence.
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�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis, and
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Twenty-Four Lectures (in three series), ending April, 1877,
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�tYTef
H 3<UT9M YA<1W3
SYLLAB US.
The lessons to be drawn from this Life are partly direct
partly indirect.
A lesson for the Lecturer.
Indirect lessons from the moulding influences of Harriet
Martineau’s career:
a. Her relationships—of birth and affection.
Z>. Her religious growth.
c. Her work, and the criticism it received.
Some of the direct lessons taught by her writings.
political work, and its lesson for men.
and its lesson for women.
Posthumous fame and influence.
Her
Her work for her sex,
�THE LESSONS OF A LIFE:
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
N a summery evening in the month of June, in last year,
there was quenched one of the shining lights of our
time. After such a lifetime as falls to the lot of but few
human beings—still more of but few women ; after a long life
of physical suffering, and of such torture as could be inflicted
on such a mind by misrepresentation, slander, and abuse of
her convictions ; but withal a life full of work, full of thought,
full of purpose, and crowned with result—on that day Harriet
Martineau ended her labours, and entered into eternal rest.
All England felt that one of the most remarkable women
that ever lived had departed from amidst us. Perhaps she
has had really no predecessor in history, if we except Deborah,
who dispensed judgment from her seat under the palm-tree to
all Israel. Other women have had an equal and a greater
influence upon the course of events in their own time, but not
under anything like analogous circumstances. Aspasia ruled
by the impress of her great mind upon the great men who
sat at her feet, and Madame de Pompadour and not a few others
have ruled by the power which passion lent them over men who
swayed the destinies of states; while Elizabeth of England and
Catherine of Russia were placed by birth in a position which
gave scope for the exercise of their natural powers of govern
ment. But Harriet Martineau was born to no high station;
her influence was not the backstairs influence of the beautiful
and intriguing favourite ; she was not even hidden from view,
while the credit of her thoughts and deeds was usurped, by
any man whatever. She was a political power in our land;
our highest statesmen asked and followed her wise counsel;
O
�6
The Lessons of a Life :
thinking for herself, and uttering her thoughts fearlessly, she
gained respect for her opinions when she gave them her name,
and wrote words winged with power to find their way straight
to men’s hearts even when they were not known as her utter
ances. Taking into account the effect of her acknowledged
writings (such as her 1 Tales in Political Economy/ and her
‘ Illustrations of Taxation’), the direct influence which she
had with various leaders of politics, and the unknown extent
to which she educated men as a leader-writer and reviewer, it
will be seen how much she has impressed herself upon her
time, and what political power she has exercised.
The story of such a life cannot fail to be fraught with both
the keenest interest and the highest and most important
lessons, over and above those which may be gained from every
good biography. Probably no life, even the most insignificant,
could be truthfully delineated without conveying some new
thought, some fresh lesson, to the wise and careful student
of human nature. But if this is so with even the careers which
are as commonplace as the story of any one blade of grass,
or any one grain of sand upon the sea-shore, how much more
must it not be so when the subject of study is a life
so full of variety and of individuality as that of Harriet
Martineau ?
The lessons which we may learn here, and carry away with
us to our daily task, are of a twofold character. First, there
are the lessons which are given indirectly by the moulding
influences of her life. There is a keen interest in watching
the growth of a flower, of a fish, or any other mere physical
development; but there is far more in tracing the processes
by which a mind has increased to its full strength and beauty.
We cannot but eagerly strive to see how this one particular
mind became greater than its fellows ; what are the conditions
which seem to have aided and what those which have trammelled
its progress ? Secondly, there are the direct lessons which
this teacher of men spent her life in enforcing; the lessons
taught in her written words, and living in the printed page
upon which the eyes of so many have rested, and have yet to
rest.
And foremost among these lessons is one for me in my
present position—one which Harriet Martineau taught both
by precept and example—that of complete candour in speaking
�Harriet Martineau.
7
■of the impressions produced upon me by her works and the
record of her life. In the preface to her ‘Biographical
Sketches/ reprinted from the Daily News, she says:
“ The true principle of biographical delineation . . . is to tell, in
the spirit of justice, the whole truth about the characters of persons im
portant enough to have their lives publicly treated at all. . . In old
age, and on the borders of the grave, what do distinguished persons
desire for themselves ? How do they like the prospect of sickly praise,
of the magnifying of the trifles of their days, of any playing fast and
loose with right and wrong for the sake of their repute, of any cheating
of society of its rights in their experience of mistake and failure, as well
as of gain and achievement ? Do they not claim to be measured with
the same measure with which they mete their fellows,—to leave the world,
not under any sort of disguise, but delivering over their lives, if at all,
in their genuine aspect and condition,—to be known hereafter, if at all,
for what they are ? ”
After these words of precept for those who, in any way,
shall speak of her life after she has ceased to be, there comes
the example of her own biographical sketches. These short
essays, which treat of a large proportion of the eminent
statesmen, philosophers, and scientific and literary men and
women who have died within the last fifteen years, are truly
noteworthy for their candour, and a lesson in that respect to
all future memoir writers. They are candid not only in
blaming—candour which is all verjuice is only spite called by
another name; but praise and appreciation are given to the
worthy works and the noble qualities of even those who had
proved incapable of reaching a high standard of moral and
mental excellence in every respect. Two of these short
memoirs are those of Lockhart and John Wilson Croker. A
reference to the autobiography will show how bitterly Harriet
Martineau felt the treatment which she received at the hands
of these men (of which I must speak again farther on). But
no reader of the notices of their lives would guess that the
writer who gives them all the credit which was their due for
wit and ability was a woman whom they had joined them
selves together to pursue for years with insult, slander, and
misrepresentation. On the other hand, her dearest friends,
as Lord Durham, are treated with a calm, dispassionate con
sideration, answering that requirement of honesty laid down
in the words which I have quoted.
The first lesson, therefore, which meets me is one for
�8
The Lessons of a Life :
myself—one given by my illustrious subject both in words
and in deeds; to say honestly the truth which I see, not to
yield to the natural inclination to speak only of that which
we must all reverence—her greatness of mind and. life, but if
there be spots upon the sun which has lightened so much
darkness, to recognise their presence, though it be half
concealed by the glory, and account for them as best we
may.
First, then, let me say that I am somewhat disappointed in
the autobiography. In parts, it wins the reader completely;
one rejoices with her in her successes, and sympathises in her
disappointments and annoyances. Then there will come some
arrogant expression about the people around her, some glori
fying of others simply because they were her friends, some
scorn, or some other unpleasant egotistical feature, which
breaks the spell for pages.
The pleasantest parts of the book are those in which she
treats of hei’ own inner experiences—where the interest is so
strong that she forgets that she is revealing herself, and talks
naturally, openly, boldly, without self-consciousness. The
least pleasant parts are those in which she speaks of the inci
dents of her life, and the people who were connected, with her
in them.
It must not be imagined that there is in the book any undue
laudation of her own works—any of what would be commonly
called “ conceit.” The reverse is even unpleasantly the case.
It is not agreeable to hear that Miss Martineau thought
Margaret Fuller a “ gorgeous pedant,” that she never had any
respect for Lord Brougham, and that she believed Macaulay
to have “ no heart,” “ honesty,” or “ capacity for philosophy;”
it is not agreeable to contrast with this and very much more
of the same kind, her opinion of Mr. Atkinson, and of some of
her servants; it is even less pleasant to read of the petty per
sonal insults offered her by Mrs. A. and Lady Dash, which she
might well have ignored, or at all events forgotten; but least
pleasant of all is it to read her depreciation of her own works,
her declaration about first one and then another, that she
“dares not read it over now”—she “knows she should des
pise it now,” and so on.
All these drawbacks to the reader’s satisfaction seem to me
to arise from (certainly not “ conceit,” but) the self-conscious-
�Harriet Martineau.
9
ness which is almost inevitable during the writing of a memoir
of one’s self. Could any one of you, my hearers, write out your
whole heart and life unmoved by the knowledge that thousands
of ears are open to receive the story, and that friends and
enemies will sit in judgment upon it, coldly canvassing your
tenderest emotions ? It is impossible; and the very effort
which has to be made to be candid under such circumstances
is in itself the destruction of naturalness and subjective
individuality.
For this reason it is that I never read the autobiography of
any person of whom I had already formed an opinion, from
published writings or public works, without some feeling of
disappointment, except in the single case of Leigh Hunt. This
exception I imagine to arise from the fact that Leigh Hunt
wrote always—poems and essays alike—with his individuality
in his own mind, and brought before the mind of his reader.
Probably Thomas Carlyle would write an autobiography
equally true to the idea of him gained from a perusal of his
Writings, and for the same reason—that all his works are
written with the desire that his readers shall think about the
writer as they read.
In almost every other case, however, the aim of the author
is to keep his personality out of sight, and remembrance of
himself merges in his subject. The result is that he writes
with a freedom and unconsciousness of self which make him
reveal the true inner man far more honestly and unaffectedly
than he can possibly do when he sits down for the express
purpose of telling the world all about his own life.
For this reason, I shall consider Harriet Martineau’s works
as throwing light upon her life to as full an extent as the
autobiography itself, and even more satisfactorily.
Passing on to consider the indirect lessons which may be
gathered from the moulding influences of her career, I come
first to those which acted upon her through the affections—her
relationships of birth or of emotion. Let us see the con
ditions which surrounded this great mind in its early years.
Harriet Martineau might almost be considered as a proof of
the correctness of the doctrine that suffering is necessary to
mental excellence. Born in 1802, the sixth child of a wellto-do Norwich manufacturer, she passed a childhood and youth
of wretchedness both of body and mind; and her misfortunes, to
B
�io
The Lessons of a Life:
all appearance, culminated in early womanhood in the total
loss of fortune. Her deafness was known before her death by
almost every one acquainted with her name, as adding to the
marvel of her accomplishments; but she was not deprived of
this sense during her earliest years. She did not begin to
become deaf until she was twelve years old. She now records,
however, that she never had the sense of smell ; and as this
and taste are most intimately joined together, neither could
she taste. The senses are our only methods of communication
with the outer world; they are the gates by which pleasure as
well as pain enter into the citadel where consciousness resides.
Of all the senses, those which most frequently give entrance
to pleasure and seldomest to pain, were those which she had
lost. Here, then, were two, and soon three, of the avenues of
enjoyment shut. To this physical deprivation was .added the
misery of want of tenderness in family life. Her mother was
a woman of, apparently, much intellect, but deficient in the
gentler qualities, and wanting in the wisdom of the heart.
Miss Martineau speaks of this parent always with the utmost
respect, and indeed affection ; but she does not attempt to dis
guise the melancholy truth that, throughout her childhood, she
was as desolate a little soul as ever felt the burden of life with
out love in workhouse or orphan asylum. She had but small
natural talent for housewifely work, and what she had was
turned into awkwardness by her fear of displeasing her mother.
She remembers once upsetting a basin of sugar into a gibletpie from sheer nervousness ; and she was always so anxious
when sent to look for anything that she never could find it, and
“ her heart sank” when she received an order to fetch a thing.
“ I had,” she says, “ a devouring passion for justice,—justice
first to my own precious self, and then to other oppressed
people. Justice was precisely what was least understood in
our house in regard to servants and children. . . . Toward
one person I was habitually untruthful, from fear. To my
mother I would in childhood assert or deny anything that
would bring me through most easily. I remember denying
various harmless things, and often without any apparent
reason : and this was so exclusively to one person that, though
there was remonstrance and punishment, I was never regarded
as a liar in the family. When I left home all temptation to
untruth ceased.”
�Harriet Martineau.
ii
And this was the “mothering ” of a singularly affectionate
xjhild—‘of one who treasured up in her memory every kind word,
and was so grateful for a little loving gentleness as to prove
how cruel was the deprivation of it! “The least word of
tenderness,” she says, melted me instantly, in spite of the
strongest predeterminations to be hard and offensive. I really
think if I had once conceived that anybody cared for me,
nearly all the sins and sorrows of my anxious childhood
would have been spared me.” She was devotedly attached
to the children who were younger than herself—a sister, and
the brother who has grown up to be known to so wide a public
as Dr. James Martineau. When, at the age of fifteen, she was
sent away to stay with an aunt at Bristol—the first person of
whom she was never afraid—she says, “ My home affections
seem to have been all the stronger for having been repressed
and baulked. Certainly, I passionately loved my family, each
and all, from the very hour that parted us ; and I was physic
ally ill with expectation when their letters were due,—letters
which I could hardly read when they came, between my dread
•of something wrong and the beating heart and swimming eyes
with which I received letters in those days.”
Can one hope that the lesson for parents taught in this por
tion of the story will have effect upon those who are erring
in their treatment of their children in the same way; who are
feeding and caring for the body while neglecting the affections,
and leaving them to pine and grow savage under starvation ;
who are ignoring and neglecting one child of their family,
and filling it with a bitter sense of injustice and desolation ?
Ah, the lesSon has been preached many a time—never more
impressively than in Hans Andersen’s fable of the ugly duck
ling—and with yet little effect. Would that parents would
remember that “ Parents, provoke not your children to wrath,”
■is as urgent a moral command as “ Children, obey your
parents.”
One good, however, this hard discipline doubtless worked in
Harriet Martineau’s character. It gave her endurance under
coldness from those whom she loved. Out of the fear of her
mother’s wrath she grew to that fearlessness which distin
guished her whole after life—she learnt how to suffer and be
still when the cause of right demanded her sacrifice.
I have dwelt thus upon her passionately emotional childhood,
�12
The Lessons of a Life:
however, as being necessary for the due appreciation of the
fact that she lived solitary, and died unfettered and unhelped
by marriage. The suffering which want of love caused her in
her childhood is a token of how capable she was of affection.
The commonplace supposition that the emotions are crowded
out of a mind by the development of the intellect is an utterly
false one, founded upon ignorance of both physiology and
facts.
Before there came the great awakening of the heart in
Harriet Martineau, came her first appearance in print. In
1821, when she was 19 years of age, she wrote a paper upon
“Female Writers of Divinity,” which appeared in a Unitarian
paper conducted by Mr. Moncure Conway’s predecessor at
South-place. She wrote this essay at her brother James’s
suggestion, to console herself upon his departure for
College.
*
When she was two years older than this, she saw for the
first time the man who drew forth her love. Their union was
prevented at the time “ by one who had much to answer for
in what he did.” Then came a failure in her father’s busi
ness, and his heart-broken sinking into the grave ; and when
she was in trouble and difficulties, her lover returned to her.
The cloud which had kept him away was dispelled by this
storm, and he went back and asked her to marry him. She
was in a state of great uncertainty of mind, between her fears
that she would not make him happy, and her love for him;
between her duty to others and to the one to whom her affec
tion was given. “ Many a time,” she says, “ did I wish, in
my fear that I should fail, that I had never seen him. But
just when I was growing happy, surmounting my fears and
doubts, and enjoying his attachment, the consequences of his
long struggle and suspense overtook him. He became sud
denly insane; and after months of illness of body and mind,
he died.”
If we had to rely upon the autobiography for information
as to how this affected Miss Martineau’s character, we should
learn but little about it. It is a proof of what I before said
about the almost impossibility of any person consciously baring
his inner self to the careless gaze of the whole world. One
or two essays published at the time tell us far more both what
love and its loss were to her than she has consented to deli-
�Harriet Martineau.
ij
berately inform the world. These essays bear the general
title of 1 Sabbath. Musings.’ In the preface to the volume in
which they were published, in 1836, she said that the majority
of the pieces therein contained were purely impersonal, de
scriptive of states of thought as she imagined them; but that
a few (which she would not be expected to indicate) were
truly drawn from her own experience. Read with her
autobiography, there is no difficulty in discovering these
latter.
As works of literary art alone, the quotations which I pur
pose giving would be worth listening to; for these are poems.
Her Daily News leaders long after had that term applied to
them ; but here it is more justly used. If, as Mr. Mill said,
“Whoeverwrites out truly any human feeling,writes poetry,”
then these are poems for that reason; but when added to this
there is a wealth of language and of imagery, no one will
venture to deny their right to the title.
But I quote them for a far more important reason than their
poetic beauty. I quote them to show that Harriet Martineau
had a heart—and that she knew she had a heart. I am not
sure but that the most fatal mistake made by the party who
would free mankind from superstition and priestcraft is not
the very fact that they neglect and skim over such subjects.
Priestcraft has its most unassailable stronghold in the inter
mixing of its rites and ceremonies with human interests. The
birth of the child, the union of the life, the burial of the dead,
are the events which appeal to every sympathy—which touch
the coldest hearts, and make them impressible for the moment.
All systems of religion, accordingly, and the Christian (espe
cially the Roman Catholic) religion before all others, have
bound up these moments with sacred observances, so that the
mind may be impressed as the priest desires at its most
ductile moments. Human nature remains and must remain
the same in all ages and climes. If there is any reason to
suppose that development of the intellect means crushing of
the affections; if there is an impression abroad that the Reli
gion of Humanity is the blasphemy of individual emotion; if
it is believed by the masses that only priestcraft recognises
and hallows the most solemn occasions of life ; then, indeed,
Will priestcraft flourish. For human affections will assert
their sway. Every man or woman who loves knows' that his
�14
The Lessons of a Life :
emotion makes him higher and better; every parent who leans1
over the couch of his first child feels that the existence of that
little creature is almost as a new birth to his own spirit; every
human being who lays in the grave the object of his dearest
love, gone for ever from his sight, knows that sorrow is not
to be reasoned away, and if lightened at all is to be lightened
only by the sympathy of the great heart of the race and the
universe with his bleeding soul.
Therefore, I feel that I am doing good service in showing:
that the development of reason means the simultaneous increase
of the power of loving; that to be possessed of mental power
and capacity for breaking away from early-implanted super
stitions does not mean to be incapable for affection and sharing
in the highest and deepest of human emotions. It was much
that John Stuart Mill showed for men the compatibility of
the highest order of intellect and the deepest and most pro
found studies, with a singularly devoted, earnest, and faithful
attachment. Now, let Harriet Martineau show the same for
women; let her show how a woman with an intellect of the
highest order, and occupying it upon the most abstruse sub
jects within the range of human comprehension, could appre
ciate love, and could suffer for the very strength of her
affections. The first passage which I quote seems to have
been written before her bereavement. The marriage to which
she refers is, doubtless, that of her elder sister. The .essay is
entitled^ “ In a Hermit’s Cave.”
“ . . . The altar of the human heart, on which alone a fire is
kindled from above to shine in the faces of all true worshippers for ever.
Where this flame, the glow of human love, is burning, there is the temple
of worship, be it only beside the humblest village hearth: where it has
not been kindled there is no sanctuary; and the loftiest amphitheatre of
mountains, lighted up by the ever-burning stars, is no more the dwelling
place of Jehovah than the Temple of Solomon before it was filled with,
the glory of the Presence.
“ Yes, Love is worship, authorised and approved........................... Many
are the gradations through which this service rises until it has reached
that on which God has bestowed His most manifest benediction, on
which Jesus smiled at Cana, but which the devotee presumed to
decline. Not more express were the ordinances of Sinai than the
Divine provisions for wedded love ; never was it more certain that
Jehovah benignantly regarded the festivals of His people than
it is daily that He appointed those mutual rejoicings of the affec
tions, which need but to be referred to Him to become a holy homage.
....................Would that all could know how from the first flow of
�Harriet Martineau^
T5
the affections, until they are shed abroad in their plenitude, the purposes
of creation become fulfilled. Would that all could know how, by
this mighty impulse, new strength is given to every power; how the
intellect is vivified and enlarged; how the spirit .becomes bold to explore
the path of life, and clear-sighted to discern its issues. .... For
that piety which has humanity for its object—must not that heart feel
most of which tenderness has become the element? must not the spirit
which is most exercised in hope and fear be most familiar with hope
and fear wherever found ?
“ How distinctly I saw all this in those who are .now sanctifying their
first, Sabbath of wedded love....................... To those who know them as
I know them, they appear already possessed of an experience in com
parison with which it would appear little fo have looked abroad from,
the Andes, or explored the treasure-caves of the deep, or to have con
versed with every nation under the sun. If they could see all that the
eyes of the firmament look upon, and hear all the whispered secrets that
the roving winds bear in their bosoms, they could learn but little new I
for the deepest mysteries are those of human love, and the vastest
knowledge is that of the human heart.”
The next quotation is a very small portion of an essay
entitled, “ A Death Chamber.” This was obviously written
immediately after the death of her lover. The piece is,
to a certain extent, spoiled by being mutilated; but I
have no option but to give only the following few lines
from it:—
“All is dull, cold, and dreary before me, until I also can escape to
the region where there is no bereavement, no blasting root and branch,
no rending of the heart-strings. What is aught to me, in the midst of this
all-pervading thrilling torture, when all I want is to be dead? The
future is loathsome, and I will not look upon it—the past, too, which it
breaks my heart to think about—what has it been? It might have been
happy, if there is such a thing as happiness ; but I myself embittered it
at the time, and for ever. What a folly has mine been! Multitudes
of sins now rise up in the shape of besetting griefs. Looks of rebuke
from those now in the grave: thoughts which they would have rebuked
if. they had known them: moments of anger, of coldness; sympathy
withheld when looked for; repression of its signs through selfish pride ;
and worse, far worse even than this .... all comes over me
now. O 1 if there be pity, if there be pardon, let it come in the form
of insensibility; for these long echoes of condemnation will make me
desperate.
“But was there ever human love unwithered by crime—by crime of
which no human law takes cognisance, but the unwritten, everlasting
laws of the affections? Many will call me thus innocent. The departed
breathed out thanks and blessing, and I felt them not then as reproaches.
If, indeed, I am only as others, shame, shame on the impurity of human
affections ; or rather, alas! for the infirmity of the human heart! Fori
know not that I could love more than I have loved.
�16
The Lessons of a Life :
“ Since the love itself is wrecked, let me gather up its relics, and
guard them more tenderly, more steadily, more gratefully. 0 grant me
power to retain them—the light and music of emotion, the flow of
domestic wisdom and chastened mirth, the life-long watchfulness of
benevolence, the thousand thoughts—are these gone in their reality ?
Must I forget them as others forget ?”
And for this Harriet Martineau lived her life alone—a happy
life, one full of all human interests; doing good to her ser
vants, her animals, and her poorer neighbours, for her domestic
pleasures, and for relief from cares of state and thoughts sub
lime. Thus she saved herself from that degenerating into
selfishness which is the special danger of an independent
single life for either men or women. Whether she might not
have been better and happier in marriage, had her lover been
spared to her, it is impossible to imagine. “ When I see,”
she writes, “what conjugal love is, in the extremely rare cases
in which it is seen in its perfection, I feel that there is a power
of attachment in me that has never been touched. When I
am among little children, it frightens me to think what my
idolatry of my own children would have been. But . . the
older I have grown, the more serious and irremediable have
seemed to me the evils and disadvantages of married life as it
exists among us at this time.” And here, no doubt, she is
right. The vicious state of the marriage laws and social
arrangements, the consequence of the imperfect system by
which regulations have been made for both sexes and their
mutual interests by the partial knowledge and wisdom of one
sex alone, does make marriage a terribly dangerous step for a
woman. And she was probably wise when she added, “ Thus,
I am not only entirely satisfied with my lot, but think it the
very best for me.”
As regards the cultivation which Harriet Martineau’s intel
lect received in her childhood, there is a very significant
fact to be noted: that she adds one more to the long list of
illustrious women who have, through some happy accident,
'1been educated “ like boys.” When one remembers that this
phrase means nothing more than that the education has been
thorough in its method, and has included careful mathematical
and classical teaching, no surprise can be felt at the frequency
with which eminent women are found to have shared in the
tutorial advantages of their brothers. The moral is obvious.
Now for her religious growth. Miss Martineau was born
�Harriet Martineau.
17
<of Unitarian parents, and educated theologically in the tenets
of that sect. When she was twenty-eight years old, she dis
tinguished herself among the members of the Unitarian body
fey gaining three prizes, which had been offered for public
competition, for essays designed to convert Jews, Mahommedans, and Roman Catholics respectively, to the more
advanced faith. Although she was still, at that period,
sufficiently an orthodox Unitarian to perform this argumenta
tive exploit to the satisfaction and admiration of the leaders of
the sect, yet she had long before emancipated her mind, to some
extent, from even the comparatively light chains of that faith.
So early as when she was but eleven years old, she remembers
asking her elder brother Thomas that question which has
been the first stumbling-block in the path of faith to so many.
She asked—If God foreknew from eternity all the evil deeds
that every one of us should do in our lives, how can He justly
punish us for those actions, when the time comes that we are
born, and in due course commit them ? And her brother replied
that she was not yet old enough to understand the point.
Whether she ever did become old enough to understand, the
course of her mental history will show.
By-and-by, under the guidance of Dr. Carpenter, of
Bristol, she became a student of the philosophy of Locke and
Hartley; and in time she raised herself to the reception of the
philosophical doctrine of Necessity. But she had a terrible
season of doubt and struggle with early-implanted impressions
to encounter, before she could permit herself to let go one
fraction of her theology. C’est le premier pas qui coute;
and she probably suffered more in this first step onward than
in all her future progress. Her description of her agonies of
doubt is most forcible; but it is only the experience which all
who have equally cut themselves loose from their early belief
have felt, and I quote it for the benefit of the persons who
are so constituted as to be incapable of ever knowing it
in their own lives, and who are apt to believe that the
rejection of belief is a pleasant process, wilfully entered on
by those who are guilty of it, and affording to them great
present delights.
“What can be the retribution of guilt if the horrors of doubt are
what I have felt them? What can be the penalties of vice if those of
mere ignorance are so agonising? While in my childhood I ignorantly
�I&
The Lessons of a Life :
believed what men had told me of God, much that was true, mixed with
much that I now see to be puerile, or absurd, or superstitious, or impious
I was at peace with men, and, as I then believed, with God. But when
an experience over which I had no control shook my confidence in that
which I held; when I had discovered and rejected some of the falsehoods,
of my creed, and when I was really wiser than before the torment
began which was destined to well nigh wrench life from my bosom
or reason from my brain ... I could not divest myself of the
conviction that my doubts were so many sins. Men told me, and I
could not but believe, that to want faith was a crime ; that misery like
mine was but a qualification for punishment, and that every evil of
which I now complained would be aggravated hereafter. Alas! what
was to become of me if I could find no rest even in my grave ?—if the
death I longed for was to be only apparent—if the brightness which I
found so oppressive here should prove only like the day-spring in com
parison with the glow of the eternal fires, amidst which my spirit must
stand hereafter ? In such moments, feeling that there was no return to
the ignorance of the child or the apathy of common men, I prayed, to
whom I know not, for madness!
“Yet I would not that the cup had passed from me. Far nobler is
the most humiliating depression of doubt than the false security of
acquiescence in human delusion. Far safer are the wanderings of a
mind which by original vigour has freed itself from the shackles of
human authority, than the apathy of weak minds which makes them
content to be led blindfold wheresoever their priestly guides shall choose.
The happiest lot of all is to be born into the way of truth . . . but
where, as in my case, it is not so ordained, the next best privilege is to
be roused to a conflict with human opinions (provided there is strength
to carry it through), though it be fought in darkness, in horror, in
despair.”
At length, as the final words of this passage convey, she made
her way to her first definite standpoint, and settled by her
reason the question which her faith had never been able to
solve satisfactorily. She fully accepted the Necessitarian doc
trine that we are what we are, we do what we do, because of
the impulses given by our previous training and circum
stances ; and that the way to improve any human beings or all
humanity is to improve their education, and to give them good
surroundings and influences, and mental associations: in
short, that . physical and psychological phenomena alike
depend upon antecedent phenomena, called causes. She
writes:—
“I fairly laid hold of the conception of general laws, while still far
from being. prepared to let go the notion of a special Providence.
Though at times almost overwhelmed by the vastness of the view opened
to me, and by the prodigious change requisite in my moral views and
self-management, the revolution was safely gone through. My labouring
�Harriet Martineau.
19
brain and beating heart grew quiet, and something more like peace than
I had ever yet known settled down upon my anxious mind. ....
I am bound to add that the moral effect of this process was most salu
tary and cheering. From the time when I became convinced of the
certainty of the action of laws, of the importance of good influences and
good habits—of the firmness, in short, of the ground I was treading, and.
of the security of the results which I should take the right means to
attain, a new vigour pervaded my whole life, a new light spread through
my mind, and I began to experience a steady growth in self-command,,
courage, and consequent integrity and disinterestedness. I was feeble
and selfish enough at best; but yet I was like a new creature in the
strength of a sound conviction. Life also was something fresh and won
derfully interesting now that I held in my hand this key whereby toi
interpret some of the most conspicuous of its mysteries.
“ . . . For above thirty years I have seen more and more clearly
how awful, and how irremediable except by the spread of a true philo
sophy, are the evils which arise from that monstrous remnant of old
superstition—the supposition of a self-determining power, independent
of laws, in the human will; and I can truly say that if I have had the
blessing of any available strength under sorrow, perplexity, sickness and
toil, during a life which has been anything but easy, it is owing to my.
repose upon eternal and irreversible laws, working in every department
of the universe, without any interference from any random will, humanor Divine.”
When her mind became fairly settled in the doctrine of
necessity, she could not but perceive the uselessness of prayer ;
since to petition the Supreme Power for any given thing is to
imply a belief that It can or will set aside the action of fixed
laws. First, therefore, she ceased supplicating for benefits;
and, in time, she came to feel that even the expression of
desires for spiritual goods was “ demoralising.” “ I found
myself,” she says, “ best, according to all trustworthy tests of
goodness, when I thought least about the matter.” As to
praise, she soon “ drew back in shame from offering to a
Divine Being a homage which would be offensive to an
earthly one.” And at last, when “prayer” in the ordinary
sense had become quite impossible to her—
“My devotions consisted of aspiration—very frequent and heartfelt—
under all circumstances and influences, and much as I meditate now,,
almost hourly, on the mysteries of life and the universe, and the great
science and art of human duty. In proportion as the taint of fear and
desire and self-regard fell off, and the meditation had fact instead of
passion for its subject, the aspiration became freer and sweeter, till at
length, when the selfish superstition had wholly gone out of it, it spread
its charm through every change of every waking hour—and does now,
when life itself is expiring.”
• ask 4-- -’
�20
The Lessons of a Life :
Gradation by gradation she went on : not willing altogether
to give up belief in Christianity, in the Divine authorisation
of the mission of Jesus, she “ lingered long in the regions of
speculation and taste.” At last came the illness to which I
have already referred; and in it, with leisure for contempla
tion, she rose by degrees to the highest religious state of all—
rejecting theological figments, refusing to believe in a God of
love and mercy who yet made a world with evil in it, and con
demned the creatures whom he exposed to its irresistible
temptations, to eternal torment—an infinite punishment for
finite sins. She saw that all conception of the mode of origin,
or the scheme or nature of the universe, is above and beyond
the comprehension of man ; she saw that our work here is to
*
‘do our best for the improvement of ourselves and those who
shall come after us; that all our “ looking before and after,”
all our attempts to pierce the veil which is around us, all our
foolish vain imaginings, based upon the ridiculous assumption
that this world is the centre of the universe, and man its
highest product—all are but vanity and vexation of spirit,
and must be discarded at the dictates of reason and scientific
fact.
This state of conviction was farther strengthened and con
firmed by a visit which she paid in 1846 to the East—the
birthplace of the Christian religion, and its progenitors, the
Hebrew and Egyptian. In connection with the book which
she wrote upon her return home, she seriously considered
whether she should avow her dissent, which by this time was
■complete, from all theologies. Finally, she decided that this
book was not the proper place for it.
In 1850 appeared ‘ Letters between H. Martineau and
H. G. Atkinson, on Man’s Nature and Development.’ I am
not criticising Mr. Henry G. Atkinson, or I should find it neces
* “ I began to see that we, with our mere human faculty, are nnt in
the least likely to understand it, anymore than the minnow in the creek,
as Carlyle has it, can comprehend the perturbations caused in his world
of existence by the tides. I saw that no revelation can by possibility
set men right on these matters, for want of faculty in man to understand
anything beyond human ken ; as all instruction whatever offered to the
minnow mnst fail to make it comprehend the actions of the moon on
the. oceans of the earth, or receive the barest conception of any such
action.”—‘ Autobiography,' vol. ii., p. 185.
�Harriet Martineau.
21
sary to say a great deal about this book. Fortunately, I am
not called upon to say anything about it more than this—that,
as both Mr. Atkinson and Miss Martineau avow several times
over, the book is really his work. She did the literary arrange
ment and supervision; and she wrote short letters to serve as
a groundwork for Mr. Atkinson’s disquisitions.
The only important connection which Miss Martineau
had with this book was giving it her name, and thus
announcing to the world her total disbelief in all theologies.
It is hardly necessary to say that she never stepped back
from this advanced position. It is one of the special excel
lences which persuasions grounded upon reason have over
beliefs resting upon unreasoning faith, that any alterations in
them (provided the logical apparatus remains sound), must of
necessity be changes in the direction of still farther throwing
off shackles upon thought.
Intellectual fearlessness is one of the great lessons taught
by this branch of Harriet Martineau’s life history. She
carried the powerful reason which she possessed into every
question; and having found that which satisfied her mind
of its truth, she never hesitated to avow it. Stand
ing, as she believed, on the very brink of the grave
when she wrote her autobiography, she contemplated death
with happy calmness, content with having done her share for
the advancement of her age, and fully convinced that others
would rise to take up the work which she laid down. Satis
fied to hope for rest in the grave instead of a personal immor
tality, rejoicing in the belief that the human race is slowly
but surely progressing toward higher things, and that the
greatest privilege that any man or woman can have had is to
have aided that progress if but one fraction of a step, she
was ready to spend the remainder of her life in workingfor her fellows, and in enjoying the sympathy and love of her
associates.
Singularly enough, twenty years of life remained to her after
she wrote the closing words of her autobiography. The heart
disease which then threatened to kill her every day did not
do so for twenty years longer. And so well did she employ
that time, that those who could not see with her clearness
were constrained to believe that God helped her against her own
will to be happy and holy; that some of hei’ friends rejoiced
�22
The Lessons of a Life :
■when she died that heaven itself was now her habitation;
and that her Christian relatives could not omit the bad taste
-of having a Christian religious service, full of that hope of
immortality which she had not, read over the grave where
they laid her.
It were to be wished that the lesson hereby taught of the
-complete compatibility of a most truly moral and holy life
with a total disbelief in any future and eternal punishments
would be laid to heart by the persons who need it most. There
is small hope that it will be ; for the same fact has been shown
by many a noble life before, as well as by a priori reasoning
upon the small practical effect which far-distant punishments,
rendered likewise uncertain by a scheme of redemption through
faith, not works, can ever have on the mind; but still its
possibility is denied ! “ Dogmatic faith compels the best minds
and hearts to narrowness and insolence. Even such as these
cannot conceive lof being happy in any way but theirs, or
that there may be views whose operation they do not under
stand.”* There the lesson is, however, be it received or
rejected.
It is an interesting inquiry whether Miss Martineau herself
would have sanctioned the use in this connection of the word
^‘religious.” In a chapter in which Mrs. Chapman gives
recollections of conversations with her (and in which there
are several things that might better have been omitted, since
no authorisation for their publicity can have been given by
Miss Martineau), her biographer says that she objected to such
a use of the term “ religion.” My own judgment is the reverse.
I cannot see how we are to avoid the word so long as we wish
to express the idea. By the word religion, we mean always
all those impulses to good and right, all that seeking for holi
ness, all that desire for the best in living, all that longing for
truth, purity, and strength in righteousness as we see these
things, which are our highest and sweetest emotions. What
other word can we use to express all this, except the one which
always has been used ? It is therefore a satisfaction to me to
be able to place against Mrs. Chapman’s report from memory
Harriet Martineau’s own words in the Daily News autobio
graphical memoir. ■“ Her latest opinions were, in her own
* ‘ Autobiography,’ vol. ii., p. 442.
�Harriet Martineau.
23
view, the most religious, the most congenial with the
emotional as well as the rational department of human
■nature.”*
I have purposely given the story of her religious growth in
her own words, without unnecessary interpolation of my own
expressions, and without criticising any of her opinions from
■an individual point of view.
Harriet Martineau never shrank from giving any work to
the world for fear of the criticism it might receive. In 1829,
she, with her mother and sister, was reduced to utter destitu
tion by the failure of the concern in which all their property
was invested. Two years later appeared the first of the
works which made her fame, but in relation to one of which
she was most bitterly attacked—her ‘ Tales in Political
Economy.’
During this two years she supported herself by her needle ;
and when she first made known that she intended to exchange
that little implement for the pen, there were not wanting
several persons to tell her that such a course would be both
unwise and improper, that needle-work was her proper sphere
as a woman, and that she should confine her efforts to doing
what it was certain she could do. Had she taken this orthodox
counsel she would have bent over her stitches from morning
to night for a miserable pittance, and the world would have
lost all she has given it.
Unknown outside the despised and small sect to which she
then belonged, she had great difficulty in getting a •publisher
to undertake her books; and they were at last issued upon
terms which gave her all the risk, and her publisher about
seventy per cent, of the profits. When this arrangement was
settled, she was in such poverty that she could not afford to
ride even part of the way from the publisher’s office to the
* And again. . . . . “ The best state of mind was to be found,
however it might be accounted for, in those who were called philoso
phical atheists....................I told her that I knew several of that class
—some avowed, and some not; and that I had for several years felt
that they were among my most honoured acquaintances and friends;
and that now I knew them more deeply and thoroughly, I must say that,
for conscientiousness, sincerity, integrity, seriousness, effective intellect,
and the. true religious spirit I knew nothing like them.”—‘ Autobio
graphy,’ yo\. ii., p. 188.
�24
The Lessons of a Life:
house of the relative with whom she was staying in London ;
and she relates that she became so weary and faint as she
walked, that she leant to rest upon a railing somewhere near
Shoreditch, apparently contemplating a cabbage-bed, but
really saying to herself, with shut eyes, “ My books will do
yet 1 ”
And they did “ do.” No sooner had the first volume ap
peared than the poor little deaf Unitarian was famous, and
hailed as a new light among men. As she went on, illus
trating with scientific precision and clearness first one and
then another of the principal doctrines of Political Economy,
the attention of the great men of her day was drawn to her
work. She went through a course of flattery and attempts
at “ lionising ” which would have ruined a weaker character ;
and the chief political men of her time, from the Ministry
downwards, made overtures for her valuable co-operation in
preparing the public mind for their schemes.
But popularity could not spoil her. She knew the dangers
she would have to encounter in treating some subjects ; but, she
said, what was influence worth except to be used in propa
gating truth
Accordingly, when she came to the proper
point for illustrating the population doctrine, she unhesitat
ingly treated it, as she had done all preceding parts of her
subject. Her book was called 1 Weal and Woe in Garveloch.’ The story showed how the inhabitants of a small
island had gone on recklessly increasing their numbers, and
how a temporary failure in some of their sources of food
supply reduced them immediately to the utmost destitution.
The scientific moral was taught that it is dangerous and wrong
to multiply the population even up to the extreme limit of its
food-supply, and that sickness and famine will eventually step
in, in such a case, to do that which prudence should have done
before—equalise the food and its consumers.
Mr. Malthus’s name has become so associated among us
with a doctrine, has been so much used to express a scientific
principle, that he is to us quite an impersonal being; and it is
interesting to read Miss Martineau’s account of him as an
individual. She describes him as one of the mildest and most
benignant of men, full of domestic affections.
Upon the issue of this number she was attacked by Lock
hart and John Wilson Croker, in the Quarterly Review, in the
�Harriet Martineau, i.
>25
most violent and scandalous manner. One cannot but wonder
that such expressions and insinuations should have been tole
rated by the readers of such a periodical. Seldom has so
malicious and cruel a personal attack disfigured the pages of
a respectable review. Croker openly said that he expected
to lose his pension very shortly, and being wishful to make
himself a literary position before that event happened
he had begun by “ tomahawking Miss Martineau.” All that
could be painful to her as a woman, and injurious to her
as a writer, was said, or attempted to be conveyed, in this
article.
It pained her intensely, but it eventually did her good.
She had one of those temperaments which belong to all
leaders of men, whether in physical or moral warfare ; danger
was to her a stimulus, and her courage rose the higher the
greater the demand upon it.
The lesson which we are to learn from it is the one already
impressed upon us by this life of fearless speaking the truth,
as we may see it, irrespective of its consequences to ourselves.
Our eyes are weak, and cannot pierce the veil which covers
the future. The only safe course for any one of us to pursue
is to do that which we see and know to be right at the
moment, leaving our future to take care of itself; to act up
to our principles, assured that a policy of unprincipled tem
porary expediency must end at last in failure and dismay.
Encouragement, too, for speaking our truth, whatever it
be, we may get from this history; though it must be acknow
ledged that those who require such encouragement will
seldom be the ones to utter dangerous truths. Five times in
her literary history did Harriet Martineau, print that which
she had cause to believe might ruin her prospects, close her
career, and silence her voice for ever; yet she died honoured
and respected by all classes and conditions of people, and
having had her words listened to always with the fullest
respect and readiness.
Another of the subjects upon which she wrote, and fer
which she was severely criticised, was Mesmerism. From
1839 to 1844, Miss Martineau was a confirmed invalid, con
fined to her couch, unable to stand upright, constantly sick,
and full of pain. She was pronounced incurable by Sir
Charles Clarke in 1841. For three years she took iodide of
�o6
The Lessons of a Life ;
iron, and was continually under the influence of opiates. There
was no improvement in her condition in the summer of 1844,
when she consented to be mesmerised, first by Mr. Spencer
Hall, and later by Mrs. Wynyard, the widow of a clergyman.
In five months she was well enough to start off to the English
lakes, and visiting among her relatives, and presently even to
go away upon her fatiguing tour in the East.
I have neither time this afternoon, nor inclination at present,
to offer any comment upon this case. There were the
remarkable facts, whatever their explanation; and Harriet
Martineau was not one to shrink from the public avowal of
what she knew, for fear of the abuse or pain it might bring
to her. As a swimmer grows stronger with breasting the
waves, so did her mind gain in strength every time it was
necessary for her to come into direct collision with popular
opinion.
Her writings contain many direct lessons, some of which have
been already referred to, that the world either has learnt or
yet must learn. Prominent among the latter are the lessons
which her works ever taught to men as to the estimation in
which they have to hold the sex to which the writer belonged.
There has been far too much heard in past time of men’s
opinions both of women and of themselves; now we must
begin to hear the reverse—both what women think of men,
and what women know and think about women.
Miss Martineau, in common with every other woman of
intellect and courage in this age, of necessity most earnestly
desired the success of what is known as “ the woman move
ment,” and did her best for its advancement. Long before
the claim for suffrage for women became a “ movement
before the women who desire its concession had banded them
selves together to obtain it, she had lifted up her voice as one
crying in the wilderness. In her early years, she wrote, in an
essay upon Walter Scott, a noble protest against the crushing
of women’s capacities, the condemning them to waste their
energies upon petty trifles and ignoble ends, the frittering
away of their existence, and then the presumptuous reproach
of them for not doing great things, of which men have
dared to be guilty. In the book which she published about
* Society in America,’ in 1837, she wrote:—
“ The Emperor of Russia discovers when a eoat-of-arms and title do
�Harriet Martineau.
27
not agree with a subject prince: the King of France early discovers that
the air of Paris does not agree with a free-thinking foreigner. The
English Tories feel the hardship that it would be to impose the franchise
■on every artisan, busy as he is in getting bread. The Georgian Planter
perceives the hardship that freedom would be to his slaves. And the
best friends of half the human race peremptorily decide for them as to
their rights, their duties, their feelings, and their powers. In all these
cases, the persons thus cared for feel that the abstract decision rests
with themselves, that though they may be compelled to submit they need
not acquiesce.
It is pleaded that half the human race does acquiesce in the decision
of the other half as to their rights and duties. . . . Such acquies
cence proves nothing but the degradation of the injured party. It
inspires the same emotions of pity as the supplication of the freed slave
\to his master to restore him to slavery that he may have his animal
wants supplied, without being troubled with human rights and duties.
Acquiescence like this is an argument which cuts the wrong way for
those who use it.
“ But this acquiescence is only partial; and to give any semblance of
strength to the plea, the acquiescence must be complete. I for one do
not acquiesce. I declare that whatever obedience I yield to the laws of
society is a matter between, not the community and myself, but my
judgment and my will: any punishment inflicted upon me for the breach
of thbse laws I should regard as so much gratuitous injury : for to those
laws I have never, actually or virtually, assented. I know that there
are women in England, I know that there are women in America, who
agree with me in this. The plea of acquiescence is invalidated by us.”
But this same lesson of the right and the duty of women to
participate in the public work for the public weal, Harriet
Martineau taught to men far more emphatically by what she
did than by what she said. No words, however eloquent, no
pleadings, however forcible, could have the effect which the
story of her life’s work must have. Bor this member of a sex
“ which loves personal government,” was the author of some
of the most emphatic warnings against meddling legislation
that ever were penned.
*
This member of a sex “ by nature
slaves to superstition,” did as much as any one living in this
century to clear away the dust from men’s eyes, and encourage
freedom of thought. This member of a sex “ opposed to all
liberal movements,” was a shining light of the most Radical
of Radical parties. This member of a sex “ incapable of un
derstanding politics,” was secretly provided by the Ministry
with facts in the hope that she would use them to instruct the
‘ The Factory Controversy,’ 1855.—‘ Autobiography,’ vol. ii., p. 449.
�28
The Lessons of a Life :
people upon the forthcoming budget; was implored by the
Excise Commissioners to use their facts for the same end :
was entreated by Oscar of Sweden to make the world ac
quainted with the politics and position of his country—by
Daniel O’Connell to plead the cause of Ireland as none other
had done or could do, calmly, truthfully, understanding^, and
without fear or favour—and by Count Porro to lend the
strength of her exposition to Lombardy against Austria : nay,
was even the source of a great part of the political education and
opinions of the very men who presume to make such asser
tions, through her one thousand six hundred and forty-two
leading articles in the principal Liberal newspaper, the Daily
News.
Yes, Harriet Martineau’s life teaches a most valuable lesson
to men—both to those who oppose and to those who support
the giving a political existence to women. To those who
oppose it, she has shown the fallacy of their confidentlyexpressed belief about women; she has shown them that it is
impossible to predict the action of others in a position in which
they never yet have been seen; she has shown them that their
audacious certainties about the necessary influence of sex upon
thought are so many ignorant and contemptible assumptions;
she has shown them—what general history might have shown
them, had they been capable of reading its lessons—that to
give liberty is the only way to procure the virtues of freedom,
and that the course of human beings in emancipation must in
the nature of things be other than their course in subjection.
And to the men who have already determined that right and
justice must be done, irrespective of any minor considerations,
this life’s work gives encouragement: it gives them faith in
the principle of justice ; it helps them to see the good which
their efforts will at last produce—the improvement in women
and the aid to progress; it assists them to despise the fore
bodings of the politically ignorant who now echo those fears
which have always preceded reforms, and always been falsified ;
it makes them believe more firmly that all women will dis
prove the prophets’ declamations when the thing comes
which must come, as Harriet Martineau has disproved them
already.
To women she teaches a similar lesson, both directly and
indirectly. She teaches us to do something. Her purse and
�Harriet Martineau.
29
her pea alike were ever ready to aid women’s causes ; but far
more than these could do she has done by her whole life’s work.
And every woman who does any one thing well, humble though
it may appear; every woman who dares to think, to speak, and
to act for herself, has learnt the great lesson, and does more for
her sex than the most eloquent words or the most untiring
effort of the greatest of men can do for us. We must help
ourselves ; and we must do it by proving our capacity in our
varied spheres, from housekeeping up to leader-writing, and
by our mental vigour and independence.
Posthumous fame was as nought to Harriet Martineau. She
knew that, as the poet of our era, Tennyson, has it:
“The fame that follows death is nothing to us.”
And as the whole of her life shows, she never did anything so
unworthy, and so sure to result in disgrace, as following any
•course for the sake of the reputation and influence it would
bring her. Nevertheless, she must ever stand prominent in
the history of this wonderful century. For it is a wonderful
century, though we may be too close to it to recognise its
greatness, and though it must be left for the children of our
children’s children to compare it with other epochs, and mark
its wondrousness. In an earlier age, a Harriet Martineau
would have been impossible. Her existence, and the work she
did, are at once tokens and results of civilisation and progress.
The development of mind has brought the moment for the exer
cise of the power which resides in the physically weak. The
age which has the telescope wherewith to explore the distant
universe; the age which has the microscope, to reveal undreamt
of life and hidden mysteries; which has the electric telegraph
and the steam-engine to carry thought around the globe; which
has the printing-press to multiply the words of the thinker until
they can reach all who are ready to hear them; is an age such
as the world never knew before, and for which new provisions
and social arrangements must be made. This century has
either discovered or applied to practical use all these marvels ;
this century has repealed the Corn Laws, recognising in free
trade the brotherhood of all mankind,—has freed the slave in
civilised lands,—has emancipated other slaves from the serfdom
in which wealth had so long held them,—and now only needs to
cast aside for ever the slavery of sex to give it immortal pre-
�30
The Lessons of a Life : Harriet Martineau.
eminence. Yes, although we are too close to the achievements
of onr time to see all its glories, as
“King Arthur’s self to Lady Guinevere was flat,”
yet it is a glorious age, one worth the living in, worth the
working in. And she who has shared in so many of its great
nesses, who has wrought in so many of its nobly-successful
struggles, must live with it, so that future ages shall honour
the name of Harriet Martineau.
FEINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET, HAYMARKET.
�The Society’s Lectures now Printed are—
Miss MARY E. BEE DY. On “Joint Education of Young
Men and Women in the American Schools and Colleges.”
Mr. G. BROWNING. “ The Edda Songs and Sagas of Iceland.”
Dr. W. B. CARPENTER. On “ The Doctrine of Human Au
tomatism.”
Professor CLIFFORD. On “ Body and Mind.”
On “ The first and the last Catastrophe : A criticism on some
recent speculations about the duration of the Universe.”
On “ Right and Wrong ; the scientific ground of their distinction.”
Mr. EDWARD CLODD. On “The birth and growth of
Myth, and its survival in Folk Lore, Legend and Dogma.”
Mr. WM. HENRY DOMVILLE. On “The Rights and
Duties of Parents in regard to their children’s religious
education and beliefs.” With notes.
Mr. A. ELLEY FINCH. On “ Erasmus, his Life, Works, and
Influence upon the Spirit of the Reformation.”
On “Civilization; its modern safeguardsand future prospects.”On “ The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the Develop
ment of the Human Mind.” With Woodcut Illustrations.
Miss F. FENWICK MILLER. On “ The Lessons of a Life :
Harriet Martineau.”
Dr. G. G. ZERFFI. “ A Dissertation on the Origin and the
abstract and concrete Nature of the Devil.”
On “ The spontaneous Dissolution of Ancient Creeds.”
On “ Ethics and ^Esthetics; or, Art in its influence on our
Social Progress.”
On “ Dogma and Science.”
The price of each of the above Lectures is 3d., or post-free 3|d.
Professor CLIFFORD. On “ Atoms ; being an Explanation of
what is Definitely Known about them.” Price Id. Two,
post-free, 2|d.
Mr. A. ELLEY FIN CH. On “ The Pursuit of Truth ; as
exemplified in the Principles of Evidence—Theological,
Scientific, and Judicial.” With copious Notes and Authori
ties. Price 5s., oi' post-free 5s. 3d., cloth 8vo., pp. 106.
On “ The Inductive Philosophy: with a parallel between
Lord Bacon and A. Comte.” With Notes and Authorities.
Same price. Cloth 8vo., pp. 100.
Mr. EDWARD MAITLAND. On “ Jewish Literature and
Modern Education ; or, the use and misuse of the Bible in
the Schoolroom,” Price Is. 6d., or post-free Is. 8d.
Dr. PATRICK BLACK. On “ Respiration; or, Why do we
breathe ? ” Price Is. 6d. or Is. 8d. post-free.
Can be obtained (on remittance of postage stamps) of the Hon.
Treasurer, Wm. Henry Domville, Esq., 15 Gloucester Cres
cent, Hyde Park, W., or at the Hall on the days of Lecture;
or of Mr. J. Bumpus, Bookseller, 158 Oxford Street, W.
�$ .
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Dublin Core
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Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
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Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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The lessons of a life : Harriet Martineau. A lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, St George's Hall, Langham Place, on Sunday afternoon, 11th March, 1877
Creator
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Miller, Florence Fenwick
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: London
Collation: 30 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Includes bibliographical references. Publisher's list inside back cover. Printed by C.W. Reynell, Little Pulteney Street, London. Harriet Martineau was a British social theorist and Whig writer, often cited as the first female sociologist. Florence Fenwick Miller (sometimes Fenwick-Miller, 1854–1935) was an English journalist, author and social reformer of the late 19th and early 20th century. She was for four years the editor and proprietor of The Woman's Signal, an early and influential feminist journal. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
Publisher
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Sunday Lecture Society
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1877
Identifier
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N488
Subject
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Harriet Martineau
Women's rights
Rights
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (The lessons of a life : Harriet Martineau. A lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, St George's Hall, Langham Place, on Sunday afternoon, 11th March, 1877), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
Format
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Harriet Martineau
NSS