you think of the Catholics, there they are—­you cannot get rid of them; your alternative is to give them a lawful place for stating their grievances, or an unlawful one:  if you do not admit them to the House of Commons, they will hold their parliament in Potatoe Place, Dublin, and be ten times as violent and inflammatory as they would be in Westminster.  Nothing would give me such an idea of security as to see twenty or thirty Catholic gentlemen in Parliament, looked upon by all the Catholics as the fair and proper organ of their party.  I should have thought it the height of good fortune that such a wish existed on their part, and the very essence of madness and ignorance to reject it.  Can you murder the Catholics?  Can you neglect them?  They are too numerous for both these expedients.  What remains to be done is obvious to every human being—­but to that man who, instead of being a Methodist preacher, is, for the curse of us and our children, and for the ruin of Troy and the misery of good old Priam and his sons, become a legislator and a politician.

A distinction, I perceive, is taken by one of the most feeble noblemen in Great Britain, between persecution and the deprivation of political power; whereas, there is no more distinction between these two things than there is between him who makes the distinction and a booby.  If I strip off the relic-covered jacket of a Catholic, and give him twenty stripes ...  I persecute; if I say, Everybody in the town where you live shall be a candidate for lucrative and honourable offices, but you, who are a Catholic ...  I do not persecute!  What barbarous nonsense is this! as if degradation was not as great an evil as bodily pain or as severe poverty:  as if I could not be as great a tyrant by saying, You shall not enjoy—­as by saying, You shall suffer.  The English, I believe, are as truly religious as any nation in Europe; I know no greater blessing; but it carries with it this evil in its train, that any villain who will bawl out, “The Church is in danger!” may get a place and a good pension; and that any administration who will do the same thing may bring a set of men into power who, at a moment of stationary and passive piety, would be hooted by the very boys in the streets.  But it is not all religion; it is, in great part, the narrow and exclusive spirit which delights to keep the common blessings of sun and air and freedom from other human beings.  “Your religion has always been degraded; you are in the dust, and I will take care you never rise again.  I should enjoy less the possession of an earthly good by every additional person to whom it was extended.”  You may not be aware of it yourself, most reverend Abraham, but you deny their freedom to the Catholics upon the same principle that Sarah, your wife, refuses to give the receipt for a ham or a gooseberry dumpling:  she values her receipts, not because they secure to her a certain flavour, but because they remind her that her neighbours want it:—­a feeling laughable in a priestess, shameful in a priest; venial when it withholds the blessings of a ham, tyrannical and execrable when it narrows the boon of religious freedom.