I have already said that corruption soon did its fatal work.  It sanctioned, nay, it compelled, the persecution of the majority of the nation for their religious creed; and with this persecution the last flame of national prosperity expired, and the persecutors and the persecuted shared alike in the common ruin.  In 1792 Lord Edward FitzGerald denounced the conduct of the House in these ever-memorable words:  “I do think, sir, that the Lord Lieutenant and the majority of this House are the worst subjects the King has;” and when a storm arose, the more violent from consciousness that his words were but too true, for all retraction he would only say: 

“I am accused of having said that I think the Lord Lieutenant and the majority of this House are the worst subjects the King has.  I said so; ’tis true; and I am sorry for it.”

On the 1st of January, 1801, a new imperial standard was exhibited on London Tower, and on the Castles of Dublin and Edinburgh.  It was formed of the three crosses of St. George, St. Patrick, and St. Andrew, and is popularly known as the Union Jack.  The fleur de lis and the word France were omitted from royal prerogatives and titles; and a proclamation was issued appointing the words Dei Gratia, Britaniarum Rex, Fidei Defensor.  The Dublin Gazette of July, 1800, contained the significant announcement of the creation of sixteen new peerages.  The same publication for the last week of the year contained a fresh list of twenty-six others.  Forty-two creations in six months were rather an extensive stretch of prerogative; and we cannot be surprised if the majority of the nation had more respect for the great untitled, whose ancestry were known, and were quite above accepting the miserable bribe of a modern peerage.

Strangely enough, from the very day on which the Union was proclaimed, the Catholic question became a ministerial difficulty.  Pitt’s administration failed on this very point, although it had seemed invincible a few weeks before.  The obstinacy of the King, which, indeed, almost amounted to a monomania, was the principal cause.  He made it a personal matter, declared it the “most jacobinical thing he had ever heard of;” and he informed the world at large that he would consider any man who proposed it his personal enemy.  Pitt resigned.  Opinions varied as to his motives.  He returned to office in 1804, having promised that he would not again press the subject; and he adhered to his determination until his death.  The Irish nobles, who had worked hardest to carry the Union, were somewhat disappointed as to the result.  Lord Clare was told by the Duke of Bedford, that the Union had not transferred his dictatorial powers to the Imperial Parliament.  He retired to Ireland deeply chagrined, and was soon borne to his grave, amid the revilings of the people whom he had betrayed.  Lord Castlereagh, who had been less accustomed to command, and had less difficulty in stooping to conquer, succeeded better with his English friends, and in a few years he ruled the cabinets of Europe; while the Iron Duke, another Irishman, dictated to their armies.