XXIII-THE CATHOLIC RESTRICTIONS.

SYDNEY SMITH.

I OBJECT, sir, to the law, as it stands at present, because it is impolitic, and because it is unjust. It is impolitic, because it exposes this country to the greatest danger in time of war. Can you believe, sir, can any man of the most ordinary turn for observation, believe, that the monarchs of Europe mean to leave this country in the quiet possession of the high station which it at present holds ? Is it not obvious that a war is coming on between the governments of law and the governments of despotism?-that the weak and tottering race of the Bourbons will (whatever our wishes may be) be compelled to gratify the wounded vanity of the French, by plunging them into a war with England. Already they are pitying the Irish people, as you pity the West Indian slaves-already they are opening colleges for the reception of Irish priests. Will they wait for your tardy wisdom and reluctant liberality? Is not the present state of Ireland a premium upon early invasion? Does it not hold out the most alluring invitation to your enemies to begin? And if the flag of any hostile power in Europe is unfurled in that unhappy country, is there one Irish peasant who will not hasten to join it ?—and not only the peasantry, sir; the peasantry begin these things, but the peasantry do not end them-they are soon joined by a power a little above them—and then, after a trifling success, a still superior class think it worth while to try the risk: men are hurried into a rebellion, as the oxen are pulled into the cave of Cacus-tail foremost. The mob first, who have nothing to lose but their lives, of which every Irishman has nine-then comes the shopkeeper-then the parish priest― then the vicar-general-then Dr. Doyle, and, lastly, Daniel O'Connell.

War, sir, seems to be almost as natural a state to mankind as peace; but if you could hope to escape war, is there a more powerful receipt for destroying the prosperity of any country than these eternal jealousies and distinctions between the two religions?

But what right have you to continue these rules, sir, these laws of exclusion? What necessity can you show for it? Is the reigning monarch a concealed Catholic? Is his successor an open one? Is there a Catholic pretender? If some

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of these circumstances are said to have justified the introduction, and others the continuation of these measures, why does not the disappearance of all these circumstances justify the repeal of these restrictions? If you must be unjust—if it is a luxury you cannot live without-reserve your injustice for the weak, and not for the strong-persecute the Unitarians, muzzle the Ranters, be unjust to a few thousand sectaries, not to six millions-galvanize a frog, don't galvanize a tiger.

XXIV. PLEA TO GEORGE IV. IN BEHALF OF THE QUEEN.

PHILLIPS.

WHO could have thought, that in a foreign land, the restless fiend of persecution would have haunted the Princess Charlotte? Who could have thought, that in those distant climes, where her distracted brain had sought oblivion, the demoniac malice of her enemies would have followed? who could have thought that any human form which had a heart, would have skulked after the mourner in her wanderings, to note and con every unconscious gesture? Yet such a man there was; who on the classic shores of Como, even in the land of the illustrious Roman; where every stone entombed a hero, and every scene was redolent of genius, forgot his name, his country, and his calling, to hoard such coinable and rabble slander! Oh, sacred shades of our departed sages! avert your eyes from this unhallowed spectacle; the spotless ermine is unsullied still; the ark yet stands untainted in the temple, and should unconsecrated hand assail it, there is a lightning still, which would not slumber! No, no; the judgment-seat of British law is to be soared, not crawled to; it must be sought on an eagle's pinion and gazed at by an eagle's eye; there is a radiant purity about it, to blast the glance of grovelling speculation. His labor was vain. Sir, the people of England will not listen to Italian witnesses, nor ought they. Send back, then, to Italy, those alien adventurers; away with them anywhere from us: they cannot live in England: they will die in the purity of its moral atmosphere.

Meanwhile during this accursed scrutiny, even while the legal blood hounds were on the scent, the last dear stay which bound her to the world, parted, the princess Char

The

lotte died. What must have been that hapless mother's misery, when the first dismal tidings came upon her? darling child over whose cradle she had shed so many tears -whose lightest look was treasured in her memory—who. amid the world's frown, still smiled upon her-the fair and lovely flower, which, when her orb was quenched in tears, lost not its filial, its divine fidelity! It was blighted in its blossom-its verdant stem was withered, and in a foreign land she heard it, and alone-no, no, not quite alone. The myrmidons of British hate were around her, and when her heart's salt tears were blinding her, a German nobleman was plundering her letters. Bethink you, sire, if that fair paragon of daughters lived, would England's heart be wrung with this inquiry! Oh! she would have torn the diamonds from her brow, and dashed each royal mockery to the earth, and rushed before the people, not in a monarch's, but in nature's majesty-a child appealing for her persecuted mother! and God would bless the sight, and man would hallow it, and every little infant in the land who felt a mother's warm tear upon her cheek, would turn by instinct to that sacred summons. Your daughter in her shroud is yet alive, sireher spirit is amongst us-it rose untombed when her poor mother landed-it walks amid the people—it has left the angels to protect a parent.

XXV.-IN DEFENCE OF MR. FINNERTY.

CURRAN.

GENTLEMEN, in order to bring this charge of insolence and vulgarity to the test, let me ask you, whether you know of any language which could have adequately described the idea of mercy denied, when it ought to have been granted, or of any phrase vigorous enough to convey the indignation which an honest man would have felt upon such a subject? Let me suppose that you had seen the respite given, and that contrite and honest recommendation transmitted to that seat where mercy was presumed to dwell; that new and before unheard of crimes are discovered against the informer; that the royal mercy seems to relent, and that a new respite is sent to the prisoner; that time is taken, as the learned coun

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sel for the crown has expressed it, to see whether mercy could be extended or not! that, after that period of lingering deliberation passed, a third respite is transmitted; that the unhappy captive himself feels the cheering hope of being restored to a family he adored, to a character that he had never stained, and to a country that he had ever loved; that you had seen his wife and children upon their knees, giving those tears to gratitude, which their locked and frozen hearts could not give to anguish and despair, and imploring the blessings of eternal Providence upon his head, who had graciously spared the father and restored him to his children; that you had seen the olive branch sent into his little ark, but no sign that the waters had subsided. Alas! nor wife, nor children more shall he behold, nor friends, nor sacred home!" No seraph mercy unbars his dungeon, and leads him forth to light and life; but the minister of death hurries him to the scene of suffering and of shame; where unmoved by the hostile array of artillery and armed men collected together, to secure, or to insult, or to disturb him, he dies with a solemn declaration of his innocence, and utters his last breath in a prayer for the liberty of his country. Let me now ask you, if any of you had addressed the public ear upon so foul and monstrous a subject, in what language would you have conveyed the feelings of horror and indignation ?-would you have stooped to the meanness of qualified complaint?—would you have been mean enough ?-but I entreat your forgiveness-I do not think meanly of you; had I thought so meanly of you, I could not suffer my mind to commune with you as it has done; had I thought you that vile and base instrument, attuned by hope and by fear into discord and falsehood, from whose vulgar string no groan of suffering could vibrate, no voice of integrity or honor could speak, let me honestly tell you, I should scorn to string my hand across it; I should have left it to a fitter minstrel if I do not therefore grossly err in my opinion of you, I could use no language upon such a subject as this, that must not lag behind the rapidity of your feelings, and that would not disgrace those feelings, if I attempted to describe them.

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XXVI-THE EVIDENCE OF MR. O'BRIEN.

CURRAN.

WHAT is the evidence of O'Brien? what has he stated? Here, gentlemen, let me claim the benefits of that great privilege, which distinguished trial by jury in this country from all the world. Twelve men, not emerging from the must and cobwebs of a study, abstracted from human nature, or only acquainted with its extravagances; but twelve men, conversant with life, and practised in those feelings which mark the common and necessary intercourse between man and man. Such are you, gentlemen; how, then, does Mr. O'Brien's tale hang together? Look to its commencement. He walks along Thomas street, in the open day (a street not the least populous in the city), and is accosted by a man, who, without any preface, tells him, he'll be murdered before he goes half the street, unless he becomes a United Irishman! Do you think this a probable story? Suppose any of you, gentlemen, be a United Irishman, or a freemason, or a friendly brother, and that you met me walking innocently along, just like Mr. O'Brien, and meaning no harm, would you say, "Stop, sir, don't go further, you'll be murdered before you go half the street, if you do not become a United Irishman, a freemason, or a friendly brother?" Did you ever hear so coaxing an invitation to felony as this? "Sweet Mr. James O'Brien, come in and save your precious life; come in and take an oath, or you'll be murdered before you go half the street! Do, sweetest, dearest Mr. James O'Brien, come in and do not risk your valuable existence.” What a loss had he been to his king, whom he loves so marvellously! Well, what does poor Mr. O'Brien do? Poor, dear man, he stands petrified with the magnitude of his danger—all his members refuse their office--he can neither run from the danger, nor call for assistance; his tongue cleaves to his mouth! and his feet incorporate with the paving stones-it is in vain that his expressive eye silently implores protection of the passenger; he yields at length, as greater men have done, and resignedly submits to his fate: he then enters the house, and being led into a room, a parcel of men make faces at him: but mark the metamorphosis— well may it be said, that "miracles will never cease,"-he who feared to resist in the open air, and in the face of the