the odious and wicked efforts of Mr. Newdegate to drive Mr. Bradlaugh into the Bankruptcy Court; all these are but signs that the heterogeneous army of pious and bigoted Christians are gathering together their forces for a furious attack on those who have silenced them in argument, but whom they hope to conquer by main force, by sheer brutality.  Let them come.  Free-thinkers were never so strong, never so united, never so well organised as they are to-day.  Strong in the goodness of our cause, in our faith in the ultimate triumph of Truth, in our willingness to give up all save fidelity to the sacred cause of liberty of human thought and human speech, we await gravely and fearlessly the successors of the men who burned Bruno, who imprisoned Galileo, who tortured Vanini—­the men who have in their hands the blood-red cross of Jesus of Nazareth, and in their hearts the love of God and the hate of man.”

CHAPTER XII.

STILL FIGHTING.

All this hot fighting on the religious field did not render me blind to the misery of the Irish land so dear to my heart, writhing in the cruel grip of Mr. Forster’s Coercion Act.  An article “Coercion in Ireland and its Results,” exposing the wrongs done under the Act, was reprinted as a pamphlet and had a wide circulation.

I pleaded against eviction—­7,020 persons had been evicted during the quarter ending in March—­for the trial of those imprisoned on suspicion, for indemnity for those who before the Land Act had striven against wrongs the Land Act had been carried to prevent, and I urged that “no chance is given for the healing measures to cure the sore of Irish disaffection until not only are the prisoners in Ireland set at liberty, but until the brave, unfortunate Michael Davitt stands once more a free man on Irish soil.”  At last the Government reconsidered its policy and resolved on juster dealings; it sent Lord Frederick Cavendish over to Ireland, carrying with him the release of the “suspects,” and scarcely had he landed ere the knife of assassination struck him—­a foul and cowardly murder of an innocent messenger of peace.  I was at Blackburn, to lecture on “The Irish Question,” and as I was walking towards the platform, my heart full of joy for the dawning hope of peace, a telegram announcing the assassination was placed in my hands.  Never shall I forget the shock, the incredulous horror, the wave of despair.  “It is not only two men they have killed,” I wrote, a day or two later; “they have stabbed the new-born hope of friendship between two countries, and have reopened the gulf of hatred that was just beginning to close.”  Alas! the crime succeeded in its object, and hurried the Government into new wrong.  Hastily a new Coercion Bill was brought in, and rushed through its stages in Parliament, and, facing the storm of public excitement, I pleaded still, “Force no remedy,” despite the hardship of the task.  “There is excessive difficulty