“The general cry in the country was, that they would not see their beloved monarch used ill in his old age, and that they would stand by him to the last drop of their blood.”  This ebullition of ill-judging loyalty reminds Peter of an accident which once befell the Russian Ambassador in London.  His Excellency fell down in a fit when paying a morning call.  A doctor was summoned, who declared that the patient must be instantly bled; and he prepared to perform the operation.  “But the barbarous servants of the Embassy, when they saw the gleaming lancet, drew their swords, threw themselves into an attitude of defiance, and swore they would kill the man who dared to hurt their beloved master.”

Peter’s own remedy for Irish disaffection was, first, to remove all civil penalties for religious faith, and then to subsidize the Roman Catholic bishops and clergy in Ireland, and pay for the maintenance of their schools and churches.  He calculated that this would cost L250,000 a year.  The clergy should all receive their salaries through the Bank of Ireland; the salaries were to be proportioned to the size of the congregations; and all patronage should be lodged in the hands of the Crown.—­

“Now I appeal to any human being, what the disaffection of a clergy would amount to, gaping after this graduated bounty of the Crown; and whether Ignatius Loyola himself, if he were a living blockhead instead of a dead saint, could withstand the temptation of bouncing from L100 a year in Sligo, to L300 in Tipperary.  This is the miserable sum of money for which the merchants, and landowners, and nobility of England, are exposing themselves to the tremendous peril of losing Ireland.”

If all these schemes of conciliation were rejected as dangerous and impracticable, there remained of course the time-honoured remedy of Coercion.  This had been demanded by Spencer Perceval, when attacking the conciliatory administration of “All the Talents,” and it provoked Peter Plymley to a characteristic outburst:—­

“I cannot describe the horror and disgust which I felt at hearing Mr. Perceval call for measures of vigour in Ireland.  If I lived at Hampstead[56] upon stewed meats and claret; if I walked to church every Sunday morning before eleven young gentlemen of my own begetting, with their faces washed, and their hair pleasingly combed; if the Almighty had blessed me with every earthly comfort—­how awfully would I pause before I sent forth the flame and the sword over the cabins of the poor, brave, generous, open-hearted peasants of Ireland!  How easy it is to shed human blood!  How easy it is to persuade ourselves that it is our duty to do so, and that the decision has cost us a severe struggle!  How much in all ages have wounds and shrieks and tears been the cheap and vulgar resources of the rulers of mankind!  How difficult it is to govern in kindness, and to found an empire upon the everlasting basis of justice and affection!”