In 1829 Carlile celebrated Taylor's release from prison by establishing Sunday morning adult school Bible discussions, thus anticipating the modern Quaker adult school movement in much the same way as his colleague anticipated the orthodox Christian Evidence Society. Three months later Carlile and Taylor entered upon an infidel and republican mission through the north of England. On their return to London they opened-up, on May 30th, 1830, the Rotunda—4the one-time famous music-hall in Blackfriars Road, or Great Surrey Street as it was called—-as a Freethought Coliseum. The Rotunda had been, in turn, a natural history museum, a literary "Surrey Institute,” a music-hall, a circus, and a home of panorama. Coleridge had delivered his lectures on Shakespeare from its platform; and Hazlitt had delighted audiences therefrom with his lectures on The Comic Writers of England. It now became the home of Robert Taylor's interesting extravaganzas, more scholastically known as astronomico-theological orations. Taylor possessed an eloquence and wit, not uncoupled with a power of research, that made a little truth go a long way. His orations at the Rotunda were published weekly under the title of The Devil's Pulpit. Their author thought this pulpit “a bonny one," and thus styled his performances owing to Henry Hunt having bestowed on him the dignity of The Devil's Chaplain. Local circumstances led Taylor to make capital out of this fact. The Rotunda was less than 200 yards distant from the old Surrey Chapel, which the Rev. Rowland Hill--uncle of Postmaster-General Rowland Hill, of penny-postage fame--founded and opened in 1783. He had the chapel built circular in shape so that the devil should not find a corner in it! Taylor held it desirable that His Satanic Majesty’s chaplain should found his pulpit in close approximation to the chapel. Hence the title oft his orations.

The Rowland Hill family probably regarded the Rotunda platform as of the devil for quite other reasons than its religious teachings, for it rapidly became a capitol of public virtue and palladium of social liberty. From its pulpit the genius of contemporary revolt attacked the shams and shibboleths of a civilization diseased to putrefaction. The less virtuous talent of mere revisionism also sent its representatives to plead for the acceptance of their ameliorative measures. Defiance had nothing to fear from free discussion. The economic oppressions were freely canvased; and their causes and cure vigorously considered. The proletarian audiences were invited to discuss the savage mummeries of monarchism as a mimicry of ancient folly, A self-seeking, self-state-subsidizing, religiously hypocritical family, such as that of the Rowland-Hill, could hardly view the principles publicly propagated at the Rotunda meetings with other than a disdain that only concealed its alarm. Truly, the devil had been reincarnated!

Seven months after he opened the Rotunda, Carlile established his Prompter, because he thought the nation needed a prompter! This. was on November 13th, 1830. Three days before, the Government attempted to raise a tumult at the Rotunda and surrounded it with military. Its plans miscarried, and Carlile’s coolness reduced the whole affair to a farce. Military surrounded the place at 10 p.m., and Carlile was called on to lead a revolution by the officer commanding. Carlile refused to stir or to open the doors of the Rotunda to the military when ordered. The result was that, after two hours’ incitement to riot, the Government’s conspiracy fizzled out without harming any of the Advanced Guard of Revolt!

Not so the Governmental vendetta! On January 10th, 1831, Carlile was further incarcerated for a period of thirty-two months for sedition. This charge was based on the advice to agricultural laborers which we quoted in the eighth section of this biography. Six months later Robert Taylor was imprisoned a second time for blasphemy.

Taylor, during his incarceration, was treated very badly, with the result that, being of a highly nervous temperament, he indulged in several outbursts of passion and resorted to some very ill-conceived methods of protest, which greatly troubled his friends. Richard Carlile was strongly opposed to such exhibitions of weakness. He accordingly addressed a long letter of sympathy and protest to his reverend colleague, on July 20th, 1831, from his own place of incarceration, the Compter. This letter throws an interesting light upon the characters of the two men.

Reminding Taylor that assault was one thing but that insult was another, Carlile stated that if the jailer insulted him it was Taylor’s own fault, since it was not in the power of man to insult except where there was a disposition to court it. Human nature was capable of a dignity that would not leave room for the word-— insult. Unfortunately, Taylor had a temperament that encouraged villains to be insolent. To him, at the moment, this disorder was as bad and dangerous a plague as cholera morbus. It was no time for poetry, rhapsody, or jest. Taylor had a serious game to play. His was a glorious situation if he would but fight his battle well. He had in him the spirit of a divinity that was invincible, and of a humanity-that was weak and to be conquered. His jail enemies would beat him at any game that was wrong, whereas they would be powerless if he would but avail himself of his best and fairest means of warfare. Taylor had everything to conquer, and first of all, he had to conquer his self-command. He wanted coolness, composure, dignity, patience, fortitude, for his situation. He needed to reason with himself. Carlile wished he could pour an opiate over his colleague’s irritability, and say, “be composed.”

In the same determined spirit of dignified composure, Carlile wrote, about this time, a note to Julian Hibbert, counseling him not to pay any fine on behalf of any of the imprisoned shopmen, as it would do mischief to the struggles for the liberty of Press and Speech. He also assured Hibbert that he found in his retirement a joy and peace unknown to kings.

This was in November, 1831, some time after he had virtually separated from Jane Carlile, upon whom he settled in 1832 an annuity of £50 a year for life, and to whom he had previously given sufficient books to start in business for herself, and also the furniture belonging to them mutually, leaving himself “the debts and the business.” She accordingly opened a publishing office opposite to that of Richard Carlile’s, remaining at the same time on terms of absolute friendship with the latter. Friendliness was possible where constant amicable contact was not. For thus nobly and sensibly terminating a union for which neither were suited, the Carliles are entitled to great credit. Their indomitable courage, frankness, and force of character deserve this amount of tribute, at least. Of the three children which had resulted from this union, Richard, Alfred, and Thomas Paine were the names.

“Those,” says the Prayer Book, “whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” So be it. But I would add and this is a no less important clause——let no law bind together those whom nature hath not joined together, for if ever there was an offense against the well-being of the community and the happiness of the individual it is the forcing to live together, in a purely sensual union, human beings not suited to each other by any mutual harmony of temperament and of being. Recognizing this, Jane and Richard Carlile had ceased to cohabit for some years previous to their final separation. This mode of separation was no less to the honor of the greatness and invincible courage of Richard and Jane than what the later free-love union was to the purity and daring of Carlile and Eliza Sharples.

The latter was the daughter of Richard Sharples, a well-to-do Bolton manufacturer of quilts and counterpanes. She was kept at college until well over twenty years of age, and had three sisters and three brothers whose “education” was similarly cared for. She lost her father early in womanhood. During one of her vacations she visited a younger schoolmate at Liverpool, the daughter of a prominent banker. The schoolmates were hidden to dine alone that day, as the banker would be busily engaged with a friend, whose name, they learned, was “Richard Carlile.” His name was anathema to them as the synonym of all that was satanic. Their curiosity was aroused, and the young ladies, accordingly, determined to play the spy. Carlile was received in a room next to their own. After dinner had been cleared away and the servants had withdrawn, they, consequently, found it comparatively easy to seek positions where they could see and hear everything without themselves being seen. By kneeling on a rug and placing, in turn, their ears and eyes to the keyhole, they were able to mark every word and note every action of this notorious individual, whose amiability of manner and refinement of bearing betrayed no suggestions of being hellishly inspired. A year later a cousin introduced some of Carlile’s writings to her notice, with whose opinions she rapidly developed a sympathy.

Taking advantage of the joint visit of Carlile and Taylor to Bolton in 1829, she -attended their meetings, and waxed more enthusiastic than ever in the. cause. She now found it increasingly difficult to act the hypocrite as she was obliged to do "at home. After having once thrown off the fetters of current theological and political superstition, even the pretense of remaining in their chains became repulsive to her. It was impossible to continue a process of concealment and" disguising of her real sentiments. Regular weekly visits were paid to a local bookseller, A. Hardie, who dared to expose Carlile’s works for sale. She confided in him, and he, more than once, wrote about her to Carlile. These letters found their climax in one which Hardie addressed to Carlile on December 5th, 1831, requesting the latter to address a letter, to Miss Sharples, care of him, as she was expecting to visit London, and was anxious to organize meetings in Carlile’s defense. At this time her age was upwards of twenty-five.

By Christmas of this year, she had finally decided that every exertion should be called forth, every efibrt, every attempt made to enlighten herself first, and then to diffuse that knowledge and instruction to mankind so universally wanted. She openly avowed herself an enemy to every kind of subordination and persecution. She was the foe of kings and priests and lords. She felt proud in being called an infidel, and wished that all mankind felt as she did. “What a reformation, what a glorious reform we should have.” This decision was her response to Carlile’s hearty welcoming of her to the public platform as an advocate of those philosophical truths which were the light needed to remove the Cimmerian darkness of his contemporary civilization.