SPEECH, &c.

I Am extremely pleaſed at the appearance of this large and reſpectable meeting. The ſteps I may be obliged to take will want the ſanction of a conſiderable authority; and in ex⯑plaining any thing which may appear doubtful in my public conduct, I muſt naturally deſire a very full audience.

I have been backward to begin my canvaſs. The diſſolution of the Parliament was uncertain; and it did not become me, by an unſeaſonable importunity, to appear diffident of the effect of my ſix years endeavours to pleaſe you. I had ſerved the city of Briſtol honourably; and the city of Briſtol had no reaſon to think, that the means of honourable ſervice to the public, were become indifferent to me.

I found on my arrival here, that three gen⯑tlemen had been long in eager purſuit of an object which but two of us can obtain. I found, that they had all met with encouragement. A conteſted election in ſuch a city as this, is no light thing. I pauſed on the brink of the precipice. Theſe three gentlemen, by various [2] merits, and on various titles, I made no doubt, were worthy of your favour. I ſhall never attempt to raiſe myſelf by depreciating the merits of my competitors. In the complexity and confuſion of theſe croſs purſuits, I wiſhed to take the authentic public ſenſe of my friends upon a buſineſs of ſo much delicacy. I wiſhed to take your opinion along with me; that if I ſhould give up the conteſt at the very beginning, my ſurrender of my poſt may not ſeem the effect of inconſtancy, or timidity, or anger, or diſguſt, or indolence, or any other temper un⯑becoming a man who has engaged in the public ſervice. If, on the contrary, I ſhould under⯑take the election, and fail of ſucceſs, I was full as anxious, that it ſhould be manifeſt to the whole world, that the peace of the city had not been broken by my raſhneſs, preſumption, or fond conceit of my own merit.

I am not come, by a falſe and counterfeit ſhew of deference to your judgment, to ſeduce it in my favour. I aſk it ſeriouſly and un⯑affectedly. If you wiſh that I ſhould retire, I ſhall not conſider that advice as a cen⯑ſure upon my conduct, or an alteration in your ſentiments; but as a rational ſubmiſſion to the circumſtances of affairs. If, on the contrary, you ſhould think it proper for me to proceed on my canvaſs, if you will riſque the trouble on your part, I will riſque it on mine. My pre⯑tenſions are ſuch as you cannot be aſhamed of, whether they ſucceed or fail.

[3] If you call upon me, I ſhall ſolicit the favour of the city upon manly ground. I come before you with the plain confidence of an honeſt ſer⯑vant in the equity of a candid and diſcerning maſter. I come to claim your approbation not to amuſe you with vain apologies, or with profeſ⯑ſions ſtill more vain and ſenſeleſs. I have lived too long to be ſerved by apologies, or to ſtand in need of them. The part I have acted has been in open day; and to hold out to a con⯑duct, which ſtands in that clear and ſteady light for all its good and all its evil, to hold out to that conduct the paltry winking tapers of excuſes and promiſes—I never will do it.—They may obſcure it with their ſmoke; but they never can illumine ſunſhine by ſuch a flame as theirs.

I am ſenſible that no endeavours have been left untried to injure me in your opinion. But the uſe of character is to be a ſhield againſt ca⯑lumny. I could wiſh, undoubtedly (if idle wiſhes were not the moſt idle of all things) to make every part of my conduct agreeable to every one of my conſtituents. But in ſo great a city, and ſo greatly divided as this, it is weak to expect it.

In ſuch a diſcordancy of ſentiments, it is better to look to the nature of things than to the humours of men. The very attempt towards pleaſing every body, diſcovers a temper always flaſhy, and often falſe and inſincere. Therefore, as I have proceeded ſtrait onward in my conduct, [4] ſo I will proceed in my account of thoſe parts of it which have been moſt excepted to. But I muſt firſt beg leave juſt to hint to you, that we may ſuffer very great detriment by being open to every talker. It is not to be imagined, how much of ſervice is loſt from ſpirits full of activity and full of energy, who are preſſ⯑ing, who are ruſhing forward, to great and ca⯑pital objects, when you oblige them to be conti⯑nually looking back. Whilſt they are defend⯑ing one ſervice, they defraud you of an hundred. Applaud us when we run; conſole us when we fall; cheer us when we recover; but let us paſs on—for God's ſake, let us paſs on.

Do you think, Gentlemen, that every public act in the ſix years ſince I ſtood in this place be⯑fore you—that all the arduous things which have been done in this eventful period, which has crowded into a few years ſpace the revolutions of an age, can be opened to you on their fair grounds in half an hour's converſation?

But it is no reaſon, becauſe there is a bad mode of enquiry, that there ſhould be no exa⯑mination at all. Moſt certainly it is our duty to examine; it is our intereſt too.—But it muſt be with diſcretion; with an attention to all the circumſtances, and to all the motives; like ſound judges, and not like cavilling pettyfoggers and quibbling pleaders, prying into flaws and hunt⯑ing for exceptions. Look, Gentlemen, to the whole tenour of your member's conduct. Try [5] whether his ambition or his avarice have juſtled him out of the ſtrait line of duty; or whether that grand foe of the offices of active life, that maſter-vice in men of buſineſs, a degenerate and inglorious ſloth, has made him flag and languiſh in his courſe? This is the object of our enquiry. If our member's conduct can bear this touch, mark it for ſterling. He may have fallen into errors; he muſt have faults; but our error is greater, and our fault is radically ruinous to ourſelves, if we do not bear, if we do not even applaud, the whole compound and mixed maſs of ſuch a character. Not to act thus is folly; I had almoſt ſaid it is impiety. He cenſures God, who quarrels with the imperfections of man.

Gentlemen, we muſt not be peeviſh with thoſe who ſerve the people. For none will ſerve us whilſt there is a court to ſerve, but thoſe who are of a nice and jealous honour. They who think every thing, in compariſon of that honour, to be duſt and aſhes, will not bear to have it ſoiled and impaired by thoſe, for whoſe ſake they make a thouſand ſacrifices, to preſerve it immaculate and whole. We ſhall either drive ſuch men from the public ſtage, or we ſhall ſend them to the court for protection; where, if they muſt ſacrifice their reputation, they will at leaſt ſecure their intereſt. Depend upon it, that the lovers of freedom will be free. None will violate their conſcience to pleaſe us, in order afterwards to diſcharge that conſcience, which they [6] have violated, by doing us faithful and affection⯑ate ſervice. If we degrade and deprave their minds by ſervility, it will be abſurd to expect, that they who are creeping and abject toward us, will ever be bold and uncorruptible aſſertors of our freedom, againſt the moſt ſeducing and the moſt formidable of all powers. No! human na⯑ture is not ſo formed; nor ſhall we improve the faculties, or better the morals of public men, by our poſſeſſion of the moſt infallible receipt in the world for making cheats and hypocrites.

Let me ſay with plainneſs, I who am no longer in a public character, that if by a fair, by an in⯑dulgent, by a gentlemanly behaviour to our re⯑preſentatives, we do not give confidence to their minds, and a liberal ſcope to their underſtand⯑ings; if we do not permit our members to act upon a very enlarged view of things; we ſhall at length infallibly degrade our national repre⯑ſentation into a confuſed and ſcuffling buſtle of local agency. When the popular member is narrowed in his ideas, and rendered timid in his proceedings, the ſervice of the crown will be the ſole nurſery of ſtateſmen. Among the frolics of the court, it may at length take that of attending to its buſineſs. Then the monopoly of mental power will be added to the power of all other kinds it poſſeſſes. On the ſide of the people there will be nothing but impotence: for ig⯑norance is impotence; narrowneſs of mind is impotence; timidity is itſelf impotence, and [7] makes all other qualities that go along with it, impotent and uſeleſs.

At preſent, it is the plan of the court to make its ſervants inſignificant. If the people ſhould fall into the ſame humour, and ſhould chooſe their ſervants on the ſame principles of mere obſequiouſneſs, and flexibility, and total vacancy or indifference of opinion in all public matters, then no part of the ſtate will be ſound; and it will be in vain to think of ſaving of it.

I thought it very expedient at this time to give you this candid counſel; and with this counſel I would willingly cloſe, if the matters which at various times have been objected to me in this city concerned only myſelf, and my own election. Theſe charges, I think, are four in number;—my neglect of a due attention to my conſtituents; the not paying more frequent viſits here;—my conduct on the affairs of the firſt Iriſh trade acts;—my opinion and mode of proceed⯑ing on Lord Beauchamp's Debtors Bills;—and my votes on the late affairs of the Roman Ca⯑tholics. All of theſe (except perhaps the firſt) relate to matters of very conſiderable public concern; and it is not leſt you ſhould cenſure me improperly, but leſt you ſhould form im⯑proper opinions on matters of ſome moment to you, that I trouble you at all upon the ſub⯑ject. My conduct is of ſmall importance.

With regard to the firſt charge, my friends have ſpoken to me of it in the ſtyle of amicable expoſtulation; not ſo much blaming the thing, [8] as lamenting the effects.—Others, leſs partial to me, were leſs kind in aſſigning the motives. I admit, there is a decorum and propriety in a member of parliament's paying a reſpectful court to his conſtituents. If I were conſcious to my⯑ſelf that pleaſure or diſſipation, or low unworthy occupations, had detained me from perſonal attendance on you, I would readily admit my fault, and quietly ſubmit to the penalty. But, Gentlemen, I live at an hundred miles diſtance from Briſtol; and at the end of a ſeſſion I come to my own houſe, fatigued in body and in mind, to a little repoſe, and to a very little attention to my family and my private concerns. A viſit to Briſtol is always a ſort of canvaſs; elſe it will do more harm than good. To paſs from the toils of a ſeſſion to the toils of a canvaſs, is the furtheſt thing in the world from repoſe. I could hardly ſerve you as I have done, and court you too. Moſt of you have heard, that I do not very remarkably ſpare myſelf in public buſineſs; and in the private buſineſs of my con⯑ſtituents I have done very near as much as thoſe who have nothing elſe to do. My canvaſs of you was not on the Change, nor in the county meetings, nor in the clubs of this city. It was in the Houſe of Commons; it was at the Cuſtom⯑houſe; it was at the Council; it was at the Trea⯑ſury; it was at the Admiralty. I canvaſſed you through your affairs, and not your perſons. I was not only your repreſentative as a body; I was the agent, the ſolicitor of individuals; I ran [9] about wherever your affairs could call me; and in acting for you I often appeared rather as a ſhip-broker, than as a member of parliament. There was nothing too laborious, or too low for me to undertake. The meanneſs of the buſineſs was raiſed by the dignity of the object. If ſome leſſer matters have ſlipped through my fingers, it was becauſe I filled my hands too full; and in my eagerneſs to ſerve you, took in more than any hands could graſp. Several gentlemen ſtand round me who are my willing witneſſes; and there are others who, if they were here, would be ſtill better; becauſe they would be unwilling witneſſes to the ſame truth. It was in the mid⯑dle of a ſummer reſidence in London, and in the middle of a negociation at the Admiralty for your trade, that I was called to Briſtol; and this late viſit, at this late day, has been poſſibly in prejudice to your affairs.

Since I have touched upon this matter, let me ſay, Gentlemen, that if I had a diſpoſition, or a right to complain, I have ſome cauſe of complaint on my ſide. With a petition of this city in my hand, paſſed through the corporation without a diſſenting voice, a petition in uniſon with almoſt the whole voice of the kingdom, (with whoſe formal thanks I was covered over) whilſt I la⯑boured on no leſs than five bills for a public re⯑form, and fought, againſt the oppoſition of great abilities, and of the greateſt power, every clauſe, and every word of the largeſt of thoſe bills, al⯑moſt to the very laſt day of a very long ſeſſion; all this time a canvaſs in Briſtol was as calmly [10] carried on as if I were dead. I was conſidered as a man wholly out of the queſtion. Whilſt I watched, and faſted, and ſweated in the Houſe of Commons—by the moſt eaſy and ordinary arts of election, by dinners and viſits, by "How do you do's," and, "My worthy friends," I was to be quietly moved out of my ſeat—and pro⯑miſes were made, and engagements entered into, without any exception or reſerve, as if my labo⯑rious zeal in my duty had been a regular abdi⯑cation of my truſt.

To open my whole heart to you on this ſub⯑ject, I do confeſs, however, that there were other times beſides the two years in which I did viſit you, when I was not wholly without leiſure for repeating that mark of my reſpect. But I could not bring my mind to ſee you. You remem⯑ber, that in the beginning of this American war (that aera of calamity, diſgrace and downfall, an aera which no feeling mind will ever mention with⯑out a tear for England) you were greatly divided; and a very ſtrong body, if not the ſtrongeſt, op⯑poſed itſelf to the madneſs which every art and every power were employed to render popular, in order that the errors of the rulers might be loſt in the general blindneſs of the nation. This oppoſition continued until after our great, but moſt unfortunate victory at Long Iſland. Then all the mounds and banks of our conſtancy were borne down at once; and the phrenſy of the American war broke in upon us like a deluge. This victory, which ſeemed to put an immediate end to all difficulties, perfected us in that ſpirit [11] of domination, which our unparalleled proſperity had but too long nurtured. We had been ſo very powerful, and ſo very proſperous, that even the humbleſt of us were degraded into the vices and follies of kings. We loſt all meaſure between means and ends; and our headlong deſires be⯑came our politics and our morals. All men who wiſhed for peace, or retained any ſentiments of moderation, were overborne or ſilenced; and this city was led by every artifice (and probably with the more management, becauſe I was one of your members) to diſtinguiſh itſelf by its zeal for that fatal cauſe. In this temper of yours and of my mind, I ſhould ſooner have fled to the ex⯑tremities of the earth, than have ſhewn myſelf here. I, who ſaw in every American victory (for you have had a long ſeries of theſe misfortunes) the germ and ſeed of the naval powers of France and Spain, which all our heat and warmth a⯑gainſt America was only hatching into life,—I ſhould not have been a welcome viſitant with the brow and the language of ſuch feelings. When afterwards, the other face of your cala⯑mity was turned upon you, and ſhewed itſelf in defeat and diſtreſs, I ſhunned you full as much. I felt ſorely this variety in our wretchedneſs; and I did not wiſh to have the leaſt appearance of inſulting you with that ſhew of ſuperiority, which, though it may not be aſſumed, is gene⯑rally ſuſpected in a time of calamity, from thoſe whoſe previous warnings have been deſpiſed. I [12] could not bear to ſhew you a repreſentative whoſe face did not reflect that of his conſtituents; a face that could not joy in your joys, and ſorrow in your ſorrows. But time at length has made us all of one opinion; and we have all opened our eyes on the true nature of the American war, to the true nature of all its ſucceſſes and all its failures.

In that public ſtorm too I had my private feelings. I had ſeen blown down and proſtrate on the ground ſeveral of thoſe houſes to whom I was chiefly indebted for the honour this city has done me. I confeſs, that whilſt the wounds of thoſe I loved were yet green, I could not bear to ſhew myſelf in pride and triumph in that place into which their partiality had brought me, and to appear at feaſts and rejoicings, in the midſt of the grief and calamity of my warm friends, my zealous ſupporters, my generous benefactors. This is a true, unvarniſhed, un⯑diſguiſed ſtate of the affair. You will judge of it.

This is the only one of the charges in which I am perſonally concerned. As to the other matters objected againſt me, which in their turn I ſhall mention to you, remember once more I do not mean to extenuate or excuſe. Why ſhould I, when the things charged are among thoſe upon which I found all my reputation? What would be left to me, if I myſelf was the man, who ſoftened, and blended, and diluted, and weakened, all the diſtinguiſhing colours of my life, ſo as [13] to leave nothing diſtinct and determinate in my whole conduct?

It has been ſaid, and it is the ſecond charge, that in the queſtions of the Iriſh trade, I did not conſult the intereſt of my conſtituents, or, to ſpeak out ſtrongly, that I rather acted as a na⯑tive of Ireland, than as an Engliſh member of parliament.

I certainly have very warm good wiſhes for the place of my birth. But the ſphere of my duties is my true country. It was, as a man attached to your intereſts, and zealous for the conſervation of your power and dignity, that I acted on that occaſion, and on all occaſions. You were involved in the American war. A new world of policy was opened, to which it was neceſſary we ſhould conform whether we would or not; and my only thought was how to con⯑form to our ſituation in ſuch a manner as to unite to this kingdom, in proſperity and in affection, whatever remained of the empire. I was true to my old, ſtanding, invariable principle, that all things, which came from Great Britain, ſhould iſſue as a gift of her bounty and beneficence, ra⯑ther than as claims recovered againſt a ſtruggling litigant; or at leaſt, that if your beneficence ob⯑tained no credit in your conceſſions, yet that they ſhould appear the ſalutary proviſions of your wiſdom and foreſight; not as things wrung from you with your blood, by the cruel gripe of a rigid neceſſity. The firſt conceſſions, by being (much againſt my will) mangled and ſtripped of [14] the parts which were neceſſary to make out their juſt correſpondence and connection in trade, were of no uſe. The next year a feeble attempt was made to bring the thing into better ſhape. This attempt (countenanced by the miniſter) on the very firſt appearance of ſome popular uneaſineſs, was, after a conſiderable progreſs through the houſe, thrown out by him.

What was the conſequence? The whole king⯑dom of Ireland was inſtantly in a flame. Threat⯑ened by foreigners, and, as they thought, inſulted by England, they reſolved at once to reſiſt the power of France, and to caſt off yours. As for us, we were able neither to protect nor to reſtrain them. Forty thouſand men were raiſed and diſ⯑ciplined without commiſſion from the crown. Two illegal armies were ſeen with banners diſ⯑played at the ſame time, and in the ſame coun⯑try. No executive magiſtrate, no judicature, in Ireland, would acknowledge the legality of the army which bore the king's commiſſion; and no law, or appearance of law, authoriſed the army commiſſioned by itſelf. In this unexampled ſtate of things, which the leaſt error, the leaſt treſpaſs on the right or left, would have hurried down the precipice into an abyſs of blood and confuſion, the people of Ireland demand a freedom of trade with arms in their hands. They interdict all com⯑merce between the two nations. They deny all new ſupply in the Houſe of Commons, although in time of war. They ſtint the truſt of the old revenue, given for two years to all the king's [15] predeceſſors, to ſix months. The Britiſh Parliament, in a former ſeſſion frightened into a limited con⯑ceſſion by the menaces of Ireland, frightened out of it by the menaces of England, was again frightened back again, and made an univerſal ſurrender of all that had been thought the pe⯑culiar, reſerved, uncommunicable rights of Eng⯑land;—The excluſive commerce of America, of Africa, of the Weſt-Indies—all the enumerations of the acts of navigation—all the manufactures,—iron, glaſs, even the laſt pledge of jealouſy and pride, the intereſt hid in the ſecret of our hearts, the inveterate prejudice moulded into the conſtitution of our frame, even the ſacred fleece itſelf, all went together. No reſerve; no ex⯑ception; no debate; no diſcuſſion. A ſudden light broke in upon us all. It broke in, not through well-contrived and well-diſpoſed win⯑dows, but through flaws and breaches; through the yawning chaſms of our ruin. We were taught wiſdom by humiliation. No town in England preſumed to have a prejudice; or dared to mutter a petition. What was worſe, the whole Parlia⯑ment of England, which retained authority for no⯑thing but ſurrenders, was deſpoiled of every ſha⯑dow of its ſuperintendance. It was, without any qualification, denied in theory, as it had been trampled upon in practice. This ſcene of ſhame and diſgrace, has, in a manner whilſt I am ſpeaking, ended by the perpetual eſtabliſh⯑ment of a military power, in the dominions of this crown, without conſent of the Britiſh [16] legiſlature^*, contrary to the policy of the con⯑ſtitution, contrary to the declaration of right: and by this your liberties are ſwept away along with your ſupreme authority—and both, linked together from the beginning, have, I am afraid, both together periſhed for ever.

What! Gentlemen, was I not to foreſee, or foreſeeing, was I not to endeavour to ſave you from all theſe multiplied miſchiefs and diſgraces? Would the little, ſilly, canvaſs prattle of obey⯑ing inſtructions, and having no opinions but yours, and ſuch idle ſenſeleſs tales, which amuſe the vacant ears of unthinking men, have ſaved you from ‘"the pelting of that pitileſs ſtorm,"’ to which the looſe improvidence, the cowardly raſhneſs of thoſe who dare not look danger in the face, ſo as to provide againſt it in time, have expoſed this degraded nation, beat down and proſtrate on the earth, unſheltered, un⯑armed, unreſiſting? Was I an Iriſhman on that day, that I boldly withſtood our pride? or on the day that I hung down my head, and wept in ſhame and ſilence over the humiliation of Great Britain? I became unpopular in England for the one, and in Ireland for the other. What then! What obligation lay on me to be popular? I was bound to ſerve both kingdoms. To be pleaſed with my ſervice, was their affair, not mine.

I was an Iriſhman in the Iriſh buſineſs, juſt as much as I was an American, when on the ſame [17] principles, I wiſhed you to concede to America, at a time when ſhe prayed conceſſion at our feet. Juſt as much was I an American when I wiſhed Parliament to offer terms in victory, and not to wait the well-choſen hour of defeat, for making good by weakneſs, and by ſupplication, a claim of prerogative, pre-eminence, and authority.

Inſtead of requiring it from me, as a point of duty, to kindle with your paſſions, had you all been as cool as I was, you would have been ſaved diſgraces and diſtreſſes that are unutterable. Do you remember our commiſſion? We ſent out a ſolemn embaſſy acroſs the Atlantic ocean, to lay the Crown, the Peerage, the Commons of Great Britain, at the feet of the American Congreſs. That our diſgrace might want no ſort of brighten⯑ing and burniſhing, obſerve who they were that compoſed this famous embaſſy. My Lord Car⯑liſle is among the firſt ranks of our nobility. He is the identical man who but two years be⯑fore, had been put forward, at the opening of a ſeſſion in the Houſe of Lords, as the mover of an haughty and rigorous addreſs againſt America. He was put in the front of the embaſſy of ſub⯑miſſion. Mr. Eden was taken from the of⯑fice of Lord Suffolk, to whom he was then un⯑der ſecretary of ſtate; from the office of that Lord Suffolk, who but a few weeks before, in his place in parliament, did not deign to enquire where a Congreſs of vagrants was to be found. This Lord Suffolk ſent Mr. Eden to find theſe vagrants, without knowing where his King's [18] Generals were to be found, who were joined in the ſame commiſſion of ſupplicating thoſe whom they were ſent to ſubdue. They enter the capi⯑tal of America only to abandon it; and theſe aſſertors and repreſentatives of the dignity of England, at the tail of a flying army, let fly their Parthian ſhafts of memorials and remon⯑ſtrances at random behind them. Their pro⯑miſes and their offers, their flatteries, their menaces, were all deſpiſed; and we were ſaved the diſgrace of their formal reception, only becauſe the Congreſs ſcorned to receive them; whilſt the State-houſe of independent Phila⯑delphia opened her doors to the public entry of the ambaſſador of France. From war and blood, we went to ſubmiſſion; and from ſub⯑miſſion plunged back again to war and blood; to deſolate and be deſolated, without mea⯑ſure, hope, or end. I am a Royaliſt, I bluſh⯑ed for this degradation of the Crown. I am a Whig, I bluſhed for the diſhonour of Parlia⯑ment. I am a true Engliſhman, I felt to the quick for the diſgrace of England. I am a Man, I felt for the melancholy reverſe of human af⯑fairs, in the fall of the firſt power in the world.

To read what was approaching in Ireland, in the black and bloody characters of the Ameri⯑can war, was a painful, but it was a neceſſary part of my public duty. For, Gentlemen, it is not your fond deſires or mine that can alter the nature of things; by contending againſt which what have we got, or ſhall ever get, but defeat [19] and ſhame? I did not obey your inſtructions: No. I conformed to the inſtructions of truth and nature, and maintained your intereſt, againſt your opinions, with a conſtancy that became me. A repreſentative worthy of you, ought to be a per⯑ſon of ſtability. I am to look, indeed, to your opinions; but to ſuch opinions as you and I muſt have five years hence. I was not to look to the flaſh of the day. I knew that you choſe me, in my place, along with others, to be a pillar of the ſtate, and not a weathercock on the top of the edifice, exalted for my levity and ver⯑ſatility, and of no uſe but to indicate the ſhift⯑ings of every faſhionable gale. Would to God, the value of my ſentiments on Ireland and on America had been at this day a ſubject of doubt and diſcuſſion! No matter what my ſufferings had been, ſo that this kingdom had kept the authority I wiſhed it to maintain, by a grave foreſight, and by an equitable temperance in the uſe of its power.

The next article of charge on my public conduct, and that which I find rather the moſt prevalent of all, is Lord Beauchamp's bill. I mean his bill of laſt ſeſſion for reforming the law⯑proceſs concerning impriſonment. It is ſaid, to aggravate the offence, that I treated the petition of this city with contempt even in preſenting it to the Houſe, and expreſſed myſelf in terms of marked diſreſpect. Had this latter part of the charge been true, no merits on the ſide of the queſtion which I took, could poſſibly excuſe [20] me. But I am incapable of treating this city with diſreſpect. Very fortunately, at this minute (if my bad eyeſight does not deceive me) ^*the worthy gentleman deputed on this buſineſs ſtands directly before me. To him I appeal, whether I did not, though it militated with my oldeſt and my moſt recent public opinions, deliver the pe⯑tition with a ſtrong, and more than uſual recom⯑mendation to the conſideration of the Houſe, on account of the character and conſequence of thoſe who ſigned it. I believe the worthy gentleman will tell you, that the very day I received it, I applied to the Solicitor, now the Attorney Ge⯑neral, to give it an immediate conſideration; and he moſt obligingly and inſtantly conſented to em⯑ploy a great deal of his very valuable time, to write an explanation of the bill. I attended the Committee with all poſſible care and diligence, in order that every objection of yours might meet with a ſolution; or produce an alteration. I en⯑treated your learned Recorder (always ready in buſineſs in which you take a concern) to attend. But what will you ſay to thoſe who blame me for ſupporting Lord Beauchamp's bill, as a diſre⯑ſpectful treatment of your petition, when you hear, that out of reſpect to you, I myſelf was the cauſe of the loſs of that very bill? for the no⯑ble Lord who brought it in, and who, I muſt ſay, has much merit for this and ſome other meaſures, at my requeſt conſented to put it off for a week, which the Speaker's illneſs lengthened to a fort⯑night; and then the frantic tumult about Popery, [21] drove that and every rational buſineſs from the Houſe. So that if I choſe to make a de⯑fence of myſelf, on the little principles of a culprit pleading in his exculpation, I might not only ſecure my acquittal, but make merit with the oppoſers of the bill. But I ſhall do no ſuch thing. The truth is, that I did occaſion the loſs of the bill, and by a delay cauſed by my reſpect to you. But ſuch an event was never in my contemplation. And I am ſo far from taking credit for the defeat of that meaſure, that I cannot ſufficiently lament my misfortune, if but one man, who ought to be at large, has paſſed a year in priſon by my means. I am a debtor to the debtors. I confeſs judgment. I owe, what, if ever it be in my power, I ſhall moſt certainly pay,—ample atonement, and uſu⯑rious amends to liberty and humanity for my unhappy lapſe. For, Gentlemen, Lord Beau⯑champ's bill was a law of juſtice and policy, as far as it went; I ſay as far as it went, for its fault was its being, in the remedial part, miſera⯑bly defective.

There are two capital faults in our law with relation to civil debts. One is, that every man is preſumed ſolvent. A preſumption, in innume⯑rable caſes, directly againſt truth. Therefore the debtor is ordered, on a ſuppoſition of ability and fraud, to be coerced his liberty until he makes payment. By this means, in all caſes of civil in⯑ſolvency, without a pardon from his creditor, he is to be impriſoned for life:—and thus a [22] miſerable miſtaken invention of artificial ſcience, operates to change a civil into a criminal judg⯑ment, and to ſcourge misfortune or indiſcretion with a puniſhment which the law does not in⯑flict on the greateſt crimes.

The next fault is, that the inflicting of that puniſhment is not on the opinion of an equal and public judge; but is referred to the arbitrary diſcretion of a private, nay intereſted, and irri⯑tated, individual. He, who formally is, and ſubſtantially ought to be, the judge, is in rea⯑lity no more than miniſterial, a mere executive inſtrument of a private man, who is at once judge and party. Every idea of judicial order is ſubverted by this procedure. If the inſolvency be no crime, why is it puniſhed with arbitrary impriſonment? If it be a crime, why is it deli⯑vered into private hands to pardon without diſ⯑cretion, or to puniſh without mercy and with⯑out meaſure?

To theſe faults, groſs and cruel faults in our law, the excellent principle of Lord Beau⯑champ's bill applied ſome ſort of remedy. I know that credit muſt be preſerved; but equity muſt be preſerved too; and it is impoſſible, that any thing ſhould be neceſſary to commerce, which is inconſiſtent with juſtice. The principle of credit was not weakened by that bill. God forbid! The enforcement of that credit was only put into the ſame public judicial hands on which we depend for our lives, and all that makes life dear to us. But, indeed, this buſineſs was taken [23] up too warmly both here and elſewhere. The bill was extremely miſtaken. It was ſuppoſed to enact what it never enacted; and complaints were made of clauſes in it as novelties, which exiſted before the noble Lord that brought in the bill was born. There was a fallacy that run through the whole of the objections. The gentlemen who oppoſed the bill, always argued, as if the option lay between that bill and the antient law.—But this is a grand miſtake. For practically, the option is between, not that bill and the old law, but between that bill and thoſe occaſional laws called acts of grace. For the operation of the old law is ſo ſavage, and ſo inconvenient to ſociety, that for a long time paſt, once in every parliament, and lately twice, the legiſlature has been obliged to make a general arbitrary jail-delivery, and at once to ſet open, by its ſovereign authority, all the priſons in England.

Gentlemen, I never reliſhed acts of grace; nor ever ſubmitted to them but from deſpair of bet⯑ter. They are a diſhonourable invention, by which, not from humanity, not from policy, but merely becauſe we have not room enough to hold theſe victims of the abſurdity of our laws, we turn looſe upon the public three or four thouſand naked wretches, corrupted by the habits, debaſed by the ignominy of a priſon. If the creditor had a right to thoſe carcaſes as a na⯑tural ſecurity for his property, I am ſure we have no right to deprive him of that ſecurity. [24] But if the few pounds of fleſh were not neceſ⯑ſary to his ſecurity, we had not a right to detain the unfortunate debtor, without any benefit at all to the perſon who confined him.—Take it as you will, we commit injuſtice. Now Lord Beau⯑champ's bill intended to do deliberately, and with great caution and circumſpection, upon each ſeveral caſe, and with all attention to the juſt claimant, what acts of grace do in a much greater meaſure, and with very little care, cau⯑tion, or deliberation.

I ſuſpect that here too, if we contrive to op⯑poſe this bill, we ſhall be found in a ſtruggle againſt the nature of things. For as we grow enlightened, the public will not bear, for any length of time, to pay for the maintenance of whole armies of priſoners; nor, at their own ex⯑pence, ſubmit to keep jails as a ſort of garriſons, merely to fortify the abſurd principle of making men judges in their own cauſe. For credit has little or no concern in this cruelty. I ſpeak in a commercial aſſembly. You know, that credit is given, becauſe capital muſt be employed; that men calculate the chances of inſolvency; and they either withhold the credit, or make the debtor pay the riſque in the price. The count⯑ing-houſe has no alliance with the jail. Hol⯑land underſtands trade as well as we, and ſhe has done much more than this obnoxious bill intended to do. There was not, when Mr. Howard viſited Holland, more than one priſoner for debt in the great city of Rotterdam. Although [25] Lord Beauchamp's act (which was previous to this bill, and intended to feel the way for it) has already preſerved liberty to thouſands; and though it is not three years ſince the laſt act of grace paſſed, yet by Mr. Howard's laſt account, there were near three thouſand again in jail. I cannot name this gentleman without re⯑marking, that his labours and writings have done much to open the eyes and hearts of mankind. He has viſited all Europe,—not to ſurvey the ſump⯑tuouſneſs of palaces, or the ſtatelineſs of temples; not to make accurate meaſurements of the re⯑mains of ancient grandeur, nor to form a ſcale of the curioſity of modern art; not to collect me⯑dals, or collate manuſcripts:—but to dive into the depths of dungeons; to plunge into the in⯑fection of hoſpitals; to ſurvey the manſions of ſorrow and pain; to take the gage and dimen⯑ſions of miſery, depreſſion, and contempt; to re⯑member the forgotten, to attend to the neglect⯑ed, to viſit the forſaken, and to compare and col⯑late the diſtreſſes of all men in all countries. His plan is original; and it is as full of genius as it is of humanity. It was a voyage of diſcovery; a circumnavigation of charity. Already the benefit of his labour is felt more or leſs in every country: I hope he will anticipate his final reward, by ſeeing all its effects fully rea⯑lized in his own. He will receive, not by retail but in groſs, the reward of thoſe who viſit the pri⯑ſoner; and he has ſo foreſtalled and monopolized this branch of charity, that there will be, I [26] truſt, little room to merit by ſuch acts of be⯑nevolence hereafter.

Nothing remains now to trouble you with, but the fourth charge againſt me—the buſi⯑neſs of the Roman Catholics. It is a buſineſs cloſely connected with the reſt. They are all on one and the ſame principle. My little ſcheme of conduct, ſuch as it is, is all arranged. I could do nothing but what I have done on this ſub⯑ject, without confounding the whole train of my ideas, and diſturbing the whole order of my life. Gentlemen, I ought to apologize to you, for ſeem⯑ing to think any thing at all neceſſary to be ſaid upon this matter. The calumny is fitter to be ſcrawled with the midnight chalk of incendiaries, with ‘"No Popery,"’ on walls and doors of devoted houſes, than to be mentioned in any ci⯑viliſed company. I had heard, that the ſpirit of diſcontent on that ſubject was very prevalent here. With pleaſure I find that I have been groſsly miſinformed. If it exiſts at all in this city, the laws have cruſhed its exertions, and our morals have ſhamed its appearance in day-light. I have purſued this ſpirit where-ever I could trace it; but it ſtill fled from me. It was a ghoſt, which all had heard of, but none had ſeen. None would acknowledge that he thought the public proceeding with regard to our Catho⯑lic diſſenters to be blameable; but ſeveral were ſorry it had made an ill impreſſion upon others, and that my intereſt was hurt by my ſhare in the buſineſs. I find with ſatisfaction and pride, that [27] not above four or five in this city (and I dare ſay theſe miſled by ſome groſs miſrepreſentation) have ſigned that ſymbol of deluſion and bond of ſedition, that libel on the national religion and Engliſh character, the Proteſtant Aſſociation. It is therefore, Gentlemen, not by way of cure but of prevention, and leſt the arts of wicked men may prevail over the integrity of any one amongſt us, that I think it neceſſary to open to you the me⯑rits of this tranſaction pretty much at large; and I beg your patience upon it: for, although the reaſonings that have been uſed to depreciate the act are of little force, and though the authority of the men concerned in this ill deſign is not very impoſing; yet the audaciouſneſs of theſe conſpi⯑rators againſt the national honour, and the ex⯑tenſive wickedneſs of their attempts, have raiſed perſons of little importance to a degree of evil eminence, and imparted a ſort of ſiniſter dignity to proceedings that had their origin in only the meaneſt and blindeſt malice.

In explaining to you the proceedings of Par⯑liament which have been complained of, I will ſtate to you,—firſt, the thing that was done;—next, the perſons who did it;—and laſtly, the grounds and reaſons upon which the legiſlature proceeded in this deliberate act of public juſtice and public prudence.

Gentlemen, The condition of our nature is ſuch, that we buy our bleſſings at a price. The Reformation, one of the greateſt periods of hu⯑man improvement, was a time of trouble and [28] confuſion. The vaſt ſtructure of ſuperſtition and tyranny, which had been for ages in rearing, and which was combined with the intereſt of the great and of the many; which was moulded into the laws, the manners, and civil inſtitutions of nations, and blended with the frame and policy of ſtates; could not be brought to the ground without a fearful ſtruggle; nor could it fall without a violent concuſſion of itſelf and all about it. When this great revolution was attempted in a more regular mode by government, it was oppoſed by plots and ſeditions of the people; when by popular efforts, it was repreſſed as re⯑bellion by the hand of power; and bloody exe⯑cutions (often bloodily returned) marked the whole of its progreſs through all its ſtages. The affairs of religion, which are no longer heard of in the tumult of our preſent contentions, made a principal ingredient in the wars and politics of that time; the enthuſiaſm of religion threw a gloom over the politics; and political intereſts poiſoned and perverted the ſpirit of religion upon all ſides. The Proteſtant religion in that vio⯑lent ſtruggle, infected, as the Popiſh had been before, by worldly intereſts and worldly paſſions, became a perſecutor in its turn, ſometimes of the new ſects, which carried their own principles further than it was convenient to the original reformers; and always of the body from whom they parted; and this perſecuting ſpirit aroſe, not only, from the bitterneſs of retaliation, but from the mercileſs policy of fear.

[29] It was long before the ſpirit of true piety and true wiſdom, involved in the principles of the Reformation, could be depurated from the dregs and feculence of the contention with which it was carried through. However, until this be done, the Reformation is not complete; and thoſe who think themſelves good Proteſtants, from their animoſity to others, are in that reſpect no Proteſtants at all. It was at firſt thought neceſ⯑ſary, perhaps, to oppoſe to Popery another Pope⯑ry, to get the better of it. Whatever was the cauſe, laws were made in many countries, and in this kingdom in particular, againſt Papiſts, which are as bloody as any of thoſe which had been enacted by the Popiſh princes and ſtates; and where thoſe laws were not bloody, in my opi⯑nion, they were worſe; as they were ſlow, cruel outrages on our nature, and kept men alive only to inſult in their perſons, every one of the rights and feelings of humanity. I paſs thoſe ſtatutes, becauſe I would ſpare your pious ears the repetition of ſuch ſhocking things; and I come to that parti⯑cular law, the repeal of which has produced ſo many unnatural and unexpected conſequences.

A ſtatute was fabricated in the year 1699, by which the ſaying maſs (a church-ſervice in the Latin tongue, not exactly the ſame as our Li⯑turgy, but very near it, and containing no of⯑fence whatſoever againſt the laws, or againſt good morals) was forged into a crime puniſh⯑able with perpetual impriſonment. The teach⯑ing ſchool, an uſeful and virtuous occupation, [30] even the teaching in a private family, was in every Catholic ſubjected to the ſame unpropor⯑tioned puniſhment. Your induſtry, and the bread of your children, was taxed for a pecuni⯑ary reward to ſtimulate avarice to do what na⯑ture refuſed, to inform and proſecute on this law. Every Roman Catholic was, under the ſame act, to forfeit his eſtate to his neareſt Pro⯑teſtant relation, until, through a profeſſion of what he did not believe, he redeemed by his hy⯑pocriſy, what the law had transferred to the kinſman as the recompence of his profligacy. When thus turned out of doors from his pater⯑nal eſtate, he was diſabled from acquiring any other by any induſtry, donation, or charity; but was rendered a foreigner in his native land, only becauſe he retained the religion, along with the property, handed down to him from thoſe who had been the old inhabitants of that land before him.

Does any one who hears me approve this ſcheme of things, or think there is common juſtice, common ſenſe, or common honeſty in any part of it? If any does, let him ſay it, and I am ready to diſcuſs the point with temper and candour. But inſtead of approving, I per⯑ceive a virtuous indignation beginning to riſe in your minds on the mere cold ſtating of the ſtatute.

But what will you feel, when you know from hiſtory how this ſtatute paſſed, and what were the motives, and what the mode of making it? A party in this nation, enemies to the ſyſtem of [31] the Revolution, were in oppoſition to the go⯑vernment of King William. They knew, that our glorious deliverer was an enemy to all per⯑ſecution. They knew that he came to free us from ſlavery and Popery, out of a country, where a third of the people are contented Catho⯑lics under a Proteſtant government. He came with a part of his army compoſed of thoſe very Catholics, to overſet the power of a Popiſh prince. Such is the effect of a tolerating ſpirit; and ſo much is liberty ſerved in every way, and by all perſons, by a manly adherence to its own principles. Whilſt freedom is true to itſelf, every thing becomes ſubject to it; and its very adverſaries are an inſtrument in its hands.

The party I ſpeak of (like ſome amongſt us who would diſparage the beſt friends of their coun⯑try) reſolved to make the King either violate his principles of toleration, or incur the odium of protecting Papiſts. They therefore brought in this bill, and made it purpoſely wicked and ab⯑ſurd that it might be rejected. The then court⯑party, diſcovering their game, turned the tables on them, and returned their bill to them ſtuffed with ſtill greater abſurdities, that its loſs might lie upon its original authors. They, finding their own ball thrown back to them, kicked it back again to their adverſaries. And thus this act, loaded with the double injuſtice of two parties, neither of whom intended to paſs, what they hoped the other would be perſuaded to reject, [32] went through the legiſlature, contrary to the real wiſh of all parts of it, and of all the parties that compoſed it. In this manner theſe inſolent and profligate factions, as if they were playing with balls and counters, made a ſport of the fortunes and the liberties of their fellow-crea⯑tures. Other acts of perſecution have been acts of malice. This was a ſubverſion of juſtice from wantonneſs and petulance. Look into the hiſ⯑tory of Biſhop Burnet. He is a witneſs without exception.

The effects of the act have been as miſchievous, as its origin was ludicrous and ſhameful. From that time every perſon of that communion, lay and eccleſiaſtic, has been obliged to fly from the face of day. The clergy, concealed in garrets of private houſes, or obliged to take a ſhelter (hardly ſafe to themſelves, but infinitely dangerous to their country) under the privileges of foreign miniſters, officiated as their ſervants, and under their protection. The whole body of the Catholics, condemned to beggary and to ignorance in their native land, have been obliged to learn the prin⯑ciples of letters, at the hazard of all their other principles, from the charity of your enemies. They have been taxed to their ruin at the plea⯑ſure of neceſſitous and profligate relations, and ac⯑cording to the meaſure of their neceſſity and pro⯑fligacy. Examples of this are many and affecting. Some of them are known by a friend who ſtands near me in this hall. It is but ſix or ſeven years ſince a clergyman of the name of Malony, a [33] man of morals, neither guilty nor accuſed of any thing noxious to the ſtate, was condemned to perpetual impriſonment for exerciſing the func⯑tions of his religion; and after lying in jail two or three years, was relieved by the mercy of go⯑vernment from perpetual impriſonment, on con⯑dition of perpetual baniſhment. A brother of the Earl of Shrewſbury, a Talbot, a name re⯑ſpectable in this county, whilſt its glory is any part of its concern, was hauled to the bar of the Old Bailey among common felons, and only eſcaped the ſame doom, either by ſome error in the proceſs, or that the wretch who brought him there could not correctly deſcribe his perſon; I now forget which.—In ſhort, the perſecution would never have relented for a moment, if the judges, ſuperſeding (though with an ambiguous example) the ſtrict rule of their artificial duty by the higher obligation of their conſcience, did not conſtantly throw every difficulty in the way of ſuch informers. But ſo ineffectual is the power of legal evaſion againſt legal iniquity, that it was but the other day, that a lady of condition, beyond the middle of life, was on the point of being ſtripped of her whole fortune by a near relation, to whom ſhe had been a friend and be⯑nefactor: and ſhe muſt have been totally ruined, without a power of redreſs or mitigation from the courts of law, had not the legiſlature itſelf ruſhed in, and by a ſpecial act of Parliament reſcued her from the injuſtice of its own ſta⯑tutes. One of the acts authoriſing ſuch things [34] was that which we in part repealed, knowing what our duty was; and doing that duty as men of honour and virtue, as good Proteſtants, and as good citizens. Let him ſtand forth that diſ⯑approves what we have done!

Gentlemen, Bad laws are the worſt ſort of ty⯑ranny. In ſuch a country as this, they are of all bad things the worſt, worſe by far than any where elſe; and they derive a particular malig⯑nity even from the wiſdom and ſoundneſs of the reſt of our inſtitutions. For very obvious rea⯑ſons you cannot truſt the Crown with a diſpenſ⯑ing power over any of your laws. However, a government, be it as bad as it may, will, in the exerciſe of a diſcretionary power, diſcriminate times and perſons; and will not ordinarily purſue any man, when its own ſafety is not concerned. A mercenary informer knows no diſtinction. Un⯑der ſuch a ſyſtem, the obnoxious people are ſlaves, not only to the government, but they live at the mercy of every individual; they are at once the ſlaves of the whole community, and of every part of it; and the worſt and moſt unmerciful men are thoſe on whoſe goodneſs they moſt depend.

In this ſituation men not only ſhrink from the frowns of a ſtern magiſtrate; but they are obliged to fly from their very ſpecies. The ſeeds of deſtruction are ſown in civil intercourſe, in ſocial habitudes. The blood of wholeſome kindred is infected. Their tables and beds are ſurrounded with ſnares. All the means given by Providence to make life ſafe and comfortable, [35] are perverted into inſtruments of terror and tor⯑ment. This ſpecies of univerſal ſubſerviency, that makes the very ſervant who waits behind your chair, the arbiter of your life and fortune, has ſuch a tendency to degrade and debaſe man⯑kind, and to deprive them of that aſſured and liberal ſtate of mind, which alone can make us what we ought to be, that I vow to God I would ſooner bring myſelf to put a man to immediate death for opinions I diſliked, and ſo to get rid of the man and his opinions at once, than to fret him with a feveriſh being, tainted with the jail-diſtemper of a contagious ſervitude, to keep him above ground, an animated maſs of putre⯑faction, corrupted himſelf, and corrupting all about him.

The act repealed was of this direct tendency; and it was made in the manner which I have re⯑lated to you. I will now tell you by whom the bill of repeal was brought into Parliament. I find it has been induſtriouſly given out in this city (from kindneſs to me unqueſtionably) that I was the mover or the ſeconder. The fact is, I did not once open my lips on the ſubject dur⯑ing the whole progreſs of the bill. I do not ſay this as diſclaiming my ſhare in that meaſure. Very far from it. I inform you of this fact, leſt I ſhould ſeem to arrogate to myſelf the merits which belong to others. To have been the man choſen out to redeem our fellow-citizens from ſlavery; to purify our laws from abſurdity and injuſtice; and to cleanſe our religion from the [36] blot and ſtain of perſecution, would be an ho⯑nour and happineſs to which my wiſhes would undoubtedly aſpire; but to which nothing but my wiſhes could poſſibly have entitled me. That great work was in hands in every reſpect far bet⯑ter qualified than mine. The mover of the bill was Sir George Savile.

When an act of great and ſignal humanity was to be done, and done with all the weight and autho⯑rity that belonged to it, the world could caſt its eyes upon none but him. I hope that few things, which have a tendency to bleſs or to adorn life, have wholly eſcaped my obſervation in my paſſage through it. I have ſought the acquaintance of that gentleman, and have ſeen him in all ſitu⯑ations. He is a true genius; with an under⯑ſtanding vigorous, and acute, and refined, and diſtinguiſhing even to exceſs; and illuminated with a moſt unbounded, peculiar, and original caſt of imagination. With theſe he poſſeſſes many external and inſtrumental advantages; and he makes uſe of them all. His fortune is among the largeſt; a fortune which, wholly unincum⯑bred, as it is, with one ſingle charge from lux⯑ury, vanity, or exceſs, ſinks under the benevo⯑lence of its diſpenſer. This private benevolence, expanding itſelf into patriotiſm, renders his whole being the eſtate of the public, in which he has not reſerved a peculium for himſelf of profit, diverſion, or relaxation. During the ſeſſion, the firſt in, and the laſt out of the Houſe of Com⯑mons; he paſſes from the ſenate to the camp; [37] and, ſeldom ſeeing the ſeat of his anceſtors, he is always in Parliament to ſerve his country, or in the field to defend it. But in all well-wrought compoſitions, ſome particulars ſtand out more eminently than the reſt; and the things which will carry his name to poſterity, are his two bills; I mean that for a limitation of the claims of the crown upon landed eſtates; and this for the relief of the Roman Catholics. By the former, he has emancipated property; by the latter, he has quieted conſcience; and by both, he has taught that grand leſſon to government and ſub⯑ject,—no longer to regard each other as adverſe parties.

Such was the mover of the act that is com⯑plained of by men, who are not quite ſo good as he is; an act, moſt aſſuredly not brought in by him from any partiality to that ſect which is the object of it. For, among his faults, I really cannot help reckoning a greater degree of pre⯑judice againſt that people, than becomes ſo wiſe a man. I know that he inclines to a ſort of diſguſt, mixed with a conſiderable degree of aſperity, to the ſyſtem; and he has few, or rather no habits with any of its profeſſors. What he has done was on quite other motives. The motives were theſe, which he declared in his excellent ſpeech on his motion for the bill; namely, his extreme zeal to the Proteſtant religion, which he thought utterly diſgraced by the act of 1699; and his rooted hatred to all kind of oppreſſion, under any colour or upon any pretence whatſoever.

[38] The ſeconder was worthy of the mover, and the motion. I was not the ſeconder; it was Mr. Dunning, Recorder of this city. I ſhall ſay the leſs of him, becauſe his near relation to you makes you more particularly acquainted with his merits. But I ſhould appear little acquainted with them, or little ſenſible of them, if I could utter his name on this occaſion without expreſ⯑ſing my eſteem for his character. I am not afraid of offending a moſt learned body, and moſt jealous of its reputation for that learning, when I ſay he is the firſt of his profeſſion. It is a point ſettled by thoſe who ſettle every thing elſe; and I muſt add (what I am enabled to ſay from my own long and cloſe obſervation) that there is not a man, of any profeſſion, or in any ſitu⯑ation, of a more erect and independent ſpirit; of a more proud honour; a more manly mind; a more firm and determined integrity. Aſſure yourſelves, that the names of two ſuch men will bear a great load of prejudice in the other ſcale, before they can be entirely outweighed.

With this mover, and this ſeconder, agreed the whole Houſe of Commons; the whole Houſe of Lords; the whole Bench of Biſhops; the King; the Miniſtry; the Oppoſition; all the diſtinguiſhed Clergy of the Eſtabliſhment; all the eminent lights (for they were conſulted) of the Diſſent⯑ing churches. This according voice of national wiſdom ought to be liſtened to with reverence. To ſay that all theſe deſcriptions of Engliſh⯑men unanimouſly concurred in a ſcheme for [39] introducing the Catholic religion, or that none of them underſtood the nature and effects of what they were doing, ſo well as a few obſcure clubs of people, whoſe names you never heard of, is ſhameleſsly abſurd. Surely it is paying a miſerable compliment to the religion we pro⯑feſs, to ſuggeſt, that every thing eminent in the kingdom is indifferent, or even adverſe to that religion, and that its ſecurity is wholly aban⯑doned to the zeal of thoſe, who have nothing but their zeal to diſtinguiſh them. In weighing this unanimous concurrence of whatever the nation has to boaſt of, I hope you will recollect, that all theſe concurring parties do by no means love one another enough to agree in any point, which was not both evidently, and importantly, right.

To prove this; to prove, that the meaſure was both clearly and materially proper, I will next lay before you (as I promiſed) the political grounds and reaſons for the repeal of that pe⯑nal ſtatute; and the motives to its repeal at that particular time.

Gentlemen, America—When the Engliſh nation ſeemed to be dangerouſly, if not irreco⯑verably divided; when one, and that the moſt growing branch, was torn from the parent ſtock, and engrafted on the power of France, a great terror fell upon this kingdom. On a ſudden we awakened from our dreams of conqueſt, and ſaw ourſelves threatened with an immediate invaſion; which we were, at that time, very ill prepared to reſiſt. You remember the cloud that gloomed [40] over us all. In that hour of our diſmay, from the bottom of the hiding-places, into which the indiſcriminate rigour of our ſtatutes had driven them, came out the body of the Roman Catho⯑lics. They appeared before the ſteps of a tot⯑tering throne, with one of the moſt ſober, mea⯑ſured, ſteady, and dutiful addreſſes, that was ever preſented to the crown. It was no holiday cere⯑mony; no anniverſary compliment of parade and ſhow. It was ſigned by almoſt every gentleman of that perſuaſion, of note or property, in Eng⯑land. At ſuch a criſis, nothing but a decided reſolution to ſtand or fall with their country could have dictated ſuch an addreſs; the direct tendency of which was to cut off all retreat; and to render them peculiarly obnoxious to an in⯑vader of their own communion. The addreſs ſhewed, what I long languiſhed to ſee, that all the ſubjects of England had caſt off all foreign views and connexions, and that every man looked for his relief from every grievance, at the hands only of his own natural government.

It was neceſſary, on our part, that the natu⯑ral government ſhould ſhew itſelf worthy of that name. It was neceſſary, at the criſis I ſpeak of, that the ſupreme power of the ſtate ſhould meet the conciliatory diſpoſitions of the ſubject. To delay protection would be to reject allegiance. And why ſhould it be rejected, or even coldly and ſuſpiciouſly received? If any independent Catholic ſtate ſhould chooſe to take part with this kingdom in a war with France and Spain, that bigot (if ſuch a bigot could be found) [41] would be heard with little reſpect, who could dream of objecting his religion to an ally, whom the nation would not only receive with its freeſt thanks, but purchaſe, with the laſt remains of its exhauſted treaſure. To ſuch an ally we ſhould not dare to whiſper a ſingle ſyllable of thoſe baſe and invidious topics, upon which, ſome un⯑happy men would perſuade the ſtate, to reject the duty and allegiance of its own members. Is it then, becauſe foreigners are in a condition to ſet our malice at defiance, that with them, we are willing to contract engagements of friendſhip, and to keep them with fidelity and honour; but that, becauſe we conceive, ſome deſcriptions of our countrymen are not powerful enough to puniſh our malignity, we will not permit them to ſupport our common intereſt? Is it on that ground, that our anger is to be kindled by their offered kindneſs, and that they are to be ſubjected to penalties, becauſe they are willing, by actual merit, to purge themſelves from im⯑puted crimes? Leſt by an adherence to the cauſe of their country they ſhould acquire a title to fair and equitable treatment, are we reſolved to furniſh them with cauſes of eternal enmity; and rather ſupply them with juſt and founded motives to diſaffection, than not to have that diſaffection in exiſtence to juſtify an oppreſſion, which, not from policy but diſpoſition, we have determined to exerciſe?

What ſhadow of reaſon could be aſſigned, why, at a time, when the moſt Proteſtant part of [42] this Proteſtant empire found it for its advantage to unite with the two principal Popiſh ſtates, to unite itſelf in the cloſeſt bonds with France and Spain, for our deſtruction, that we ſhould refuſe to unite with our own Catholic countrymen for our own preſervation? Ought we, like madmen, to tear off the plaiſters, that the lenient hand of prudence had ſpread over the wounds and gaſhes, which in our delirium of ambition we had given to our own body? No perſon ever reprobated the American war more than I did, and do, and ever ſhall. But I never will conſent that we ſhould lay additional voluntary penalties on our⯑ſelves, for a fault which carries but too much of its own puniſhment in its own nature. For one, I was delighted with the propoſal of internal peace. I accepted the bleſſing with thankfulneſs and tranſport; I was truly happy, to find one good effect of our civil diſtractions, that they had put an end to all religious ſtrife and heart-burning in our own bowels. What muſt be the ſentiments of a man, who could wiſh to perpetuate domeſtic hoſtility, when the cauſes of diſpute are at an end; and who, crying out for peace with one part of the nation on the moſt humiliating terms, ſhould deny it to thoſe, who offer friendſhip without any terms at all?

But if I was unable to reconcile ſuch a de⯑nial to the contracted principles of local duty, what anſwer could I give to the broad claims of general humanity? I confeſs to you freely, that the ſufferings and diſtreſſes of the people of [43] America in this cruel war, have at times af⯑fected me more deeply than I can expreſs. I felt every Gazette of triumph as a blow upon my heart, which has an hundred times ſunk and fainted within me at all the miſchiefs brought upon thoſe who bear the whole brunt of war in the heart of their country. Yet the Americans are utter ſtrangers to me; a nation, among whom I am not ſure, that I have a ſingle acquaint⯑ance. Was I to ſuffer my mind to be ſo unac⯑countably warped; was I to keep ſuch iniquitous weights and meaſures of temper and of reaſon, as to ſympathiſe with thoſe who are in open rebellion againſt an authority which I reſpect, at war with a country which by every title ought to be, and is moſt dear to me; and yet to have no feeling at all for the hardſhips and indigni⯑ties ſuffered by men, who, by their very vicinity, are bound up in a nearer relation to us; who contribute their ſhare, and more than their ſhare, to the common proſperity; who perform the common offices of ſocial life, and who obey the laws to the full as well as I do? Gentlemen, the danger to the ſtate being out of the queſtion (of which, let me tell you, ſtateſmen themſelves are apt to have but too exquiſite a ſenſe) I could aſ⯑ſign no one reaſon of juſtice, policy, or feeling, for not concurring moſt cordially, as moſt cor⯑dially I did concur, in ſoftening ſome part of that ſhameful ſervitude, under which ſeveral of my worthy fellow-citizens were groaning.

Important effects followed this act of wiſdom. They appeared at home and abroad, to the great [44] benefit of this kingdom; and, let me hope, to the advantage of mankind at large. It be⯑tokened union among ourſelves. It ſhewed ſoundneſs, even on the part of the perſecuted, which generally is the weak ſide of every com⯑munity. But its moſt eſſential operation was not in England. The act was immediately, though very imperfectly, copied in Ireland; and this im⯑perfect tranſcript of an imperfect act, this firſt faint ſketch of toleration, which did little more than diſcloſe a principle, and mark out a diſpo⯑ſition, completed in a moſt wonderful manner the re-union to the ſtate, of all the Catholics of that country. It made us, what we ought always to have been, one family, one body, one heart and ſoul, againſt the family-combination, and all other combinations of our enemies. We have indeed obligations to that people, who received ſuch ſmall benefits with ſo much gra⯑titude; and for which gratitude and attachment to us, I am afraid they have ſuffered not a little in other places.

I dare ſay, you have all heard of the privi⯑leges indulged to the Iriſh Catholics reſiding in Spain. You have likewiſe heard with what cir⯑cumſtances of ſeverity they have been lately ex⯑pelled from the ſea-ports of that kingdom; driven into the inland cities; and there detained as a ſort of priſoners of ſtate. I have good reaſon to believe, that it was the zeal to our go⯑vernment and our cauſe, (ſomewhat indiſcreetly expreſſed in one of the addreſſes of the Catholics of Ireland) which has thus drawn down on [45] their heads the indignation of the Court of Madrid; to the inexpreſſible loſs of ſeveral in⯑dividuals, and in future, perhaps, to the great detriment of the whole of their body. Now that our people ſhould be perſecuted in Spain for their attachment to this country, and perſecuted in this country for their ſuppoſed enmity to us, is ſuch a jarring reconciliation of contradictory diſtreſſes, is a thing at once ſo dreadful and ridi⯑culous, that no malice ſhort of diabolical, would wiſh to continue any human creatures in ſuch a ſituation. But honeſt men will not forget either their merit or their ſufferings. There are men, (and many, I truſt, there are) who, out of love to their country and their kind, would tor⯑ture their invention to find excuſes for the miſ⯑takes of their brethren; and who, to ſtifle diſſen⯑ſion, would conſtrue, even doubtful appearances, with the utmoſt favour: ſuch men will never per⯑ſuade themſelves to be ingenious and refined in diſcovering diſaffection and treaſon in the ma⯑nifeſt palpable ſigns of ſuffering loyalty. Per⯑ſecution is ſo unnatural to them, that they gladly ſnatch the very firſt opportunity of lay⯑ing aſide all the tricks and devices of penal po⯑litics; and of returning home, after all their irk⯑ſome and vexatious wanderings, to our natural family manſion, to the grand ſocial principle, that unites all men, in all deſcriptions, under the ſhadow of an equal and impartial juſtice.

Men of another ſort, I mean the bigotted ene⯑mies to liberty, may, perhaps, in their politics, make no account of the good or ill affection of [46] the Catholics of England, who are but an hand⯑ful of people (enough to torment, but not enough to fear) perhaps not ſo many, of both ſexes and of all ages, as fifty thouſand. But, Gentlemen, it is poſſible you may not know, that the people of that perſuaſion in Ireland, amount at leaſt to ſixteen or ſeventeen hundred thouſand ſouls. I do not at all exaggerate the number. A nation to be perſecuted! Whilſt we were maſ⯑ters of the ſea, embodied with America, and in alliance with half the powers of the continent, we might perhaps, in that remote corner of Eu⯑rope, afford to tyranniſe with impunity. But there is a revolution in our affairs, which makes it prudent to be juſt. In our late awkward con⯑teſt with Ireland about trade, had religion been thrown in, to ferment and embitter the maſs of diſcontents, the conſequences might have been truly dreadful. But very happily, that cauſe of quarrel was previouſly quieted by the wiſdom of the acts I am commending.

Even in England, where I admit the danger from the diſcontent of that perſuaſion to be leſs than in Ireland; yet even here, had we liſtened to the counſels of Fanaticiſm and Folly, we might have wounded ourſelves very deeply; and wounded ourſelves in a very tender part. You are appriſed, that the Catholics of England conſiſt moſtly of your beſt manufacturers. Had the legiſlature choſen, inſtead of returning their declarations of duty with correſpondent good-will, to drive them to deſpair, there is a country at their very door, [47] to which they would be invited; a country in all reſpects as good as ours, and with the fineſt cities in the world ready built to receive them. And thus the bigotry of a free country, and in an enlightened age, would have repeopled the cities of Flanders, which, in the darkneſs of two hun⯑dred years ago, had been deſolated by the ſu⯑perſtition of a cruel tyrant. Our manufactures were the growth of the perſecutions in the Low Countries. What a ſpectacle would it be to Eu⯑rope, to ſee us at this time of day, balancing the account of tyranny with thoſe very countries, and by our perſecutions, driving back Trade and Manufacture, as a ſort of vagabonds, to their original ſettlement! But I truſt we ſhall be ſaved this laſt of diſgraces.

So far as to the effect of the act on the intereſts of this nation. With regard to the intereſts of mankind at large, I am ſure the benefit was very conſiderable. Long before this act, indeed, the ſpi⯑rit of toleration began to gain ground in Europe. In Holland, the third part of the people are Catholics; they live at eaſe; and are a ſound part of the ſtate. In many parts of Germany, Proteſtants and Papiſts partake the ſame cities, the ſame councils, and even the ſame churches. The unbounded liberality of the king of Pruſ⯑ſia's conduct on this occaſion is known to all the world; and it is of a piece with the other grand maxims of his reign. The magnanimity of the Imperial Court, breaking through the narrow principles of its predeceſſors, has indulged its [48] Proteſtant ſubjects, not only with property, with worſhip, with liberal education; but with honours and truſts, both civil and military. A worthy Pro⯑teſtant gentleman of this country now fills, and fills with credit, an high office in the Auſtrian Netherlands. Even the Lutheran obſtinacy of Sweden has thawed at length, and opened a toleration to all religions. I know myſelf, that in France the Proteſtants begin to be at reſt. The army, which in that country is every thing, is open to them; and ſome of the mili⯑tary rewards and decorations which the laws deny, are ſupplied by others, to make the ſer⯑vice acceptable and honourable. The firſt mi⯑niſter of finance in that country, is a Proteſtant. Two years war without a tax, is among the firſt⯑fruits of their liberality. Tarniſhed as the glory of this nation is, and far as it has waded into the ſhades of an eclipſe, ſome beams of its former illu⯑mination ſtill play upon its ſurface; and what is done in England is ſtill looked to, as argument, and as example. It is certainly true, that no law of this country ever met with ſuch univerſal ap⯑plauſe abroad, or was ſo likely to produce the perfection of that tolerating ſpirit, which, as I ob⯑ſerved, has been long gaining ground in Europe; for abroad, it was univerſally thought that we had done, what, I am ſorry to ſay, we had not; they thought we had granted a full toleration. That opi⯑nion was however ſo far from hurting the Proteſtant cauſe, that I declare, with the moſt ſerious ſolemni⯑ty, my firm belief, that no one thing done for theſe [49] fifty years paſt, was ſo likely to prove deeply bene⯑ficial to our religion at large as Sir George Savile's act. In its effects it was, ‘"an act for tolerating and protecting Proteſtantiſm throughout Eu⯑rope:"’ and I hope, that thoſe who were taking ſteps for the quiet and ſettlement of our Proteſtant brethren in other countries, will even yet, rather conſider the ſteady equity of the greater and bet⯑ter part of the people of Great Britain, than the vanity and violence of a few.

I perceive, Gentlemen, by the manner of all about me, that you look with horror on the wicked clamour which has been raiſed on this ſubject; and that inſtead of an apology for what was done, you rather demand from me an ac⯑count, why the execution of the ſcheme of to⯑leration, was not made more anſwerable to the large and liberal grounds on which it was taken up. The queſtion is natural and proper; and I remember that a great and learned magiſtrateThe Chancellour., diſtinguiſhed for his ſtrong and ſyſtematic un⯑derſtanding, and who at that time was a mem⯑ber of the Houſe of Commons, made the ſame objection to the proceeding. The ſtatutes, as they now ſtand, are, without doubt, perfectly abſurd. But I beg leave to explain the cauſe of this groſs imperfection, in the tolerating plan, as well and as ſhortly as I am able. It was uni⯑verſally thought, that the ſeſſion ought not to paſs over without doing ſomething in this buſi⯑neſs. To reviſe the whole body of the penal [50] ſtatutes was conceived to be an object too big for the time. The penal ſtatute therefore which was choſen for repeal (choſen to ſhew our diſpoſition to conciliate, not to perfect a toleration) was this act of ludicrous cruelty, of which I have juſt given you the hiſtory. It is an act, which, though not by a great deal ſo fierce and bloody as ſome of the reſt, was infinitely more ready in the execution. It was the act which gave the greateſt encourage⯑ment to thoſe peſts of ſociety, mercenary infor⯑mers, and intereſted diſturbers of houſhold peace; and it was obſerved with truth, that the proſecu⯑tions, either carried to conviction or compounded, for many years, had been all commenced upon that act. It was ſaid, that whilſt we were deliberating on a more perfect ſcheme, the ſpirit of the age would never come up to the execution of the ſtatutes which remained; eſpecially as more ſteps, and a co-operation of more minds and powers, were required towards a miſchievous uſe of them, than for the execution of the act to be repealed: that it was better to unravel this texture from be⯑low than from above, beginning with the lateſt, which, in general practice, is the ſevereſt evil. It was alledged, that this ſlow proceeding would be attended with the advantage of a progreſſive expe⯑rience; and that the people would grow reconciled to toleration, when they ſhould find by the effects, that juſtice was not ſo irreconcileable an enemy to convenience as they had imagined.

Theſe, Gentlemen, were the reaſons why we left this good work in the rude unfiniſhed ſtate, in [51] which good works are commonly left, through the tame circumſpection with which a timid prudence ſo frequently enervates beneficence. In doing good, we are generally cold, and languid, and ſluggiſh; and of all things afraid of being too much in the right. But the works of malice and injuſtice are quite in another ſtyle. They are finiſhed with a bold maſterly hand; touched as they are with the ſpirit of thoſe vehement paſſions that call forth all our energies whenever we op⯑preſs and perſecute.

Thus this matter was left for the time, with a full determination in Parliament, not to ſuffer other and worſe ſtatutes to remain for the purpoſe of counteracting the benefits propoſed by the re⯑peal of one penal law; for nobody then dreamed of defending what was done as a benefit, on the ground of its being no benefit at all. We were not then ripe for ſo mean a ſubterfuge.

I do not wiſh to go over the horrid ſcene that was afterwards acted. Would to God it could be expunged for ever from the annals of this coun⯑try! But ſince it muſt ſubſiſt for our ſhame, let it ſubſiſt for our inſtruction. In the year 1780 there were found in this nation men deluded enough (for I give the whole to their deluſion) on pre⯑tences of zeal and piety, without any ſort of pro⯑vocation whatſoever, real or pretended, to make a deſperate attempt, which would have conſumed all the glory and power of this country in the flames of London; and buried all law, order, and re⯑ligion, under the ruins of the metropolis of the [52] Proteſtant world. Whether all this miſchief done, or in the direct train of doing, was in their original ſcheme, I cannot ſay; I hope it was not; but this would have been the unavoidable conſequence of their proceedings, had not the flames they had lighted up in their fury been extinguiſhed in their blood.

All the time that this horrid ſcene was acting, or avenging, as well as for ſome time before, and ever ſince, the wicked inſtigators of this unhappy multi⯑tude, guilty, with every aggravation, of all their crimes, and ſcreened in a cowardly darkneſs from their puniſhment, continued, without interruption, pity, or remorſe, to blow up the blind rage of the populace, with a continued blaſt of peſtilential libels, which infected and poiſoned the very air we breathed in.

The main drift of all the libels, and all the riots, was, to force Parliament (to perſuade us was hope⯑leſs) into an act of national perfidy, which has no example. For, Gentlemen, it is proper you ſhould all know what infamy we eſcaped by re⯑fuſing that repeal, for a refuſal of which, it ſeems, I, among others, ſtand ſomewhere or other accuſed. When we took away, on the motives which I had the honour of ſtating to you, a few of the innumerable penalties upon an oppreſſed and injured people, the relief was not abſolute, but given on a ſtipulation and compact between them and us; for we bound down the Roman Ca⯑tholics with the moſt ſolemn oaths, to bear true allegiance to this government; to abjure all ſort of [53] temporal power in any other; and to renounce, under the ſame ſolemn obligations, the doctrines of ſyſtematic perfidy, with which they ſtood (I con⯑ceive very unjuſtly) charged. Now our modeſt petitioners came up to us, moſt humbly praying nothing more, than that we ſhould break our faith without any one cauſe whatſoever of forfeiture aſ⯑ſigned; and when the ſubjects of this kingdom had, on their part, fully performed their engagement, we ſhould refuſe, on our part, the benefit we had ſtipu⯑lated on the performance of thoſe very conditions that were preſcribed by our own authority, and taken on the ſanction of our public faith—That is to ſay, when we had inveigled them with fair pro⯑miſes within our door, we were to ſhut it on them; and, adding mockery to outrage—to tell them, ‘"Now we have got you faſt—your conſciences are bound to a power reſolved on your deſtruc⯑tion. We have made you ſwear, that your reli⯑gion obliges you to keep your faith; fools as you are! we will now let you ſee, that our reli⯑gion enjoins us to keep no faith with you."’ They who would adviſedly call upon us to do ſuch things, muſt certainly have thought us not only a convention of treacherous tyrants, but a gang of the loweſt and dirtieſt wretches that ever diſgraced humanity. Had we done this, we ſhould have indeed proved, that there were ſome in the world whom no faith could bind; and we ſhould have convicted ourſelves of that odious principle of which Papiſts ſtood accuſed by thoſe very ſavages, [54] who wiſhed us, on that accuſation, to deliver them over to their fury.

In this audacious tumult, when our very name and character, as gentlemen, was to be cancelled for ever along with the faith and honour of the nation, I, who had exerted myſelf very little on the quiet paſſing of the bill, thought it neceſſary then to come forward. I was not alone; but though ſome diſtinguiſhed members on all ſides, and par⯑ticularly on ours, added much to their high reputa⯑tion by the part they took on that day, (a part which will be remembered as long as honour, ſpi⯑rit, and eloquence have eſtimation in the world) I may and will value myſelf ſo far, that yielding in abilities to many, I yielded in zeal to none. With warmth, and with vigour, and animated with a juſt and natural indignation, I called forth every fa⯑culty that I poſſeſſed, and I directed it in every way which I could poſſibly employ it. I laboured night and day. I laboured in Parliament: I la⯑boured out of Parliament. If therefore the reſolu⯑tion of the Houſe of Commons, refuſing to com⯑mit this act of unmatched turpitude, be a crime, I am guilty among the foremoſt. But indeed, what⯑ever the faults of that Houſe may have been, no one member was found hardy enough to propoſe ſo infamous a thing; and on full debate we paſſed the reſolution againſt the petitions with as much unanimity, as we had formerly paſſed the law of which theſe petitions demanded the repeal.

There was a circumſtance (juſtice will not ſuffer [55] me to paſs it over) which, if any thing could enforce the reaſons I have given, would fully juſtify the act of relief, and render a repeal, or any thing like a re⯑peal, unnatural, impoſſible. It was the behaviour of the perſecuted Roman Catholics under the acts of violence and brutal inſolence, which they ſuffered. I ſuppoſe there are not in London leſs than four or five thouſand of that perſuaſion from my country, who do a great deal of the moſt laborious works in the metropolis; and they chiefly inhabit thoſe quar⯑ters, which were the principal theatre of the fury of the bigotted multitude. They are known to be men of ſtrong arms, and quick feelings, and more remarkable for a determined reſolution, than clear ideas, or much foreſight. But though provoked by every thing that can ſtir the blood of men, their houſes and chapels in flames, and with the moſt atrocious profanations of every thing which they hold ſacred before their eyes, not a hand was moved to retaliate, or even to defend. Had a conflict once begun, the rage of their perſecutors would have redoubled. Thus fury encreaſing by the reverberation of outrages, houſe being fired for houſe, and church for chapel, I am con⯑vinced, that no power under heaven could have prevented a general conflagration; and at this day London would have been a tale. But I am well informed, and the thing ſpeaks it, that their clergy exerted their whole influence to keep their people in ſuch a ſtate of forbearance and quiet, as, when I look back, fills me with aſtoniſh⯑ment; but not with aſtoniſhment only. Their [56] merits on that occaſion ought not to be forgot⯑ten; nor will they, when Engliſhmen come to recollect themſelves. I am ſure it were far more proper to have called them forth, and given them the thanks of both Houſes of Parliament, than to have ſuffered thoſe worthy clergymen, and excel⯑lent citizens, to be hunted into holes and corners, whilſt we are making low-minded inquiſitions into the number of their people; as if a tolerating prin⯑ciple was never to prevail, unleſs we were very ſure that only a few could poſſibly take advantage of it. But indeed we are not yet well recovered of our fright. Our reaſon, I truſt, will return with our ſecurity; and this unfortunate temper will paſs over like a cloud.

Gentlemen, I have now laid before you a few of the reaſons for taking away the penalties of the act of 1699, and for refuſing to eſtabliſh them on the riotous requiſition of 1780. Becauſe I would not ſuffer any thing which may be for your ſatisfac⯑tion to eſcape, permit me juſt to touch on the ob⯑jections urged againſt our act and our reſolves, and intended as a juſtification of the violence offered to both Houſes. ‘"Parliament," they aſſert, "was too haſty, and they ought, in ſo eſſential and alarming a change, to have proceeded with a far greater degree of deliberation."’ The di⯑rect contrary. Parliament was too ſlow. They took fourſcore years to deliberate on the repeal of an act which ought not to have ſurvived a ſecond ſeſſion. When at length, after a procraſ⯑tination of near a century, the buſineſs was taken up, it proceeded in the moſt public manner, by [57] the ordinary ſtages, and as ſlowly as a law ſo evi⯑dently right as to be reſiſted by none, would na⯑turally advance. Had it been read three times in one day, we ſhould have ſhewn only a becoming readineſs to recogniſe by protection the undoubted dutiful behaviour of thoſe whom we had but too long puniſhed for offences of preſumption or con⯑jecture. But for what end was that bill to linger beyond the uſual period of an unoppoſed meaſure? Was it to be delayed until a rabble in Edinburgh ſhould dictate to the Church of England what meaſure of perſecution was fitting for her ſafety? Was it to be adjourned until a fanatical force could be collected in London, ſufficient to frighten us out of all our ideas of policy and juſtice? Were we to wait for the profound lectures on the rea⯑ſon of ſtate, eccleſiaſtical and political, which the Proteſtant Aſſociation have ſince condeſcended to read to us? Or were we, ſeven hundred Peers and Commoners, the only perſons ignorant of the rib⯑bald invectives which occupy the place of argu⯑ment in thoſe remonſtrances, which every man of common obſervation had heard a thouſand times over, and a thouſand times over had deſpiſed? All men had before heard what they have to ſay; and all men at this day know what they dare to do; and I truſt, all honeſt men are equally influenced by the one, and by the other.

But they tell us, that thoſe our fellow-citizens, whoſe chains we have a little relaxed, are enemies to liberty and our free conſtitution.—Not enemies, I preſume, to their own liberty. And as to the [58] conſtitution, until we give them ſome ſhare in it, I do not know on what pretence we can examine into their opinions about a buſineſs in which they have no intereſt or concern. But after all, are we equally ſure, that they are adverſe to our conſti⯑tution, as that our ſtatutes are hoſtile and deſtruc⯑tive to them? For my part, I have reaſon to be⯑lieve, their opinions and inclinations in that reſpect are various, exactly like thoſe of other men; and if they lean more to the Crown than I, and than many of you think we ought, we muſt remember, that he who aims at another's life, is not to be ſurpriſed if he flies into any ſanctuary that will receive him. The tenderneſs of the executive power is the natural aſylum of thoſe upon whom the laws have declared war; and to complain that men are inclined to favour the means of their own ſafety, is ſo abſurd, that one forgets the injuſtice in the ridicule.

I muſt fairly tell you, that ſo far as my prin⯑ciples are concerned, (principles, that I hope will only depart with my laſt breath) that I have no idea of a liberty unconnected with honeſty and juſtice. Nor do I believe, that any good conſtitutions of government or of freedom, can find it neceſſary for their ſecurity to doom any part of the people to a permanent ſlavery. Such a conſtitution of freedom, if ſuch can be, is in effect no more than another name for the tyranny of the ſtrongeſt faction; and factions in republics have been, and are, full as capable as monarchs, of the moſt cruel oppreſſion and in⯑juſtice. It is but too true, that the love, and even [59] the very idea, of genuine liberty, is extremely rare. It is but too true, that there are many, whoſe whole ſcheme of freedom, is made up of pride, perverſe⯑neſs, and inſolence. They feel themſelves in a ſtate of thraldom, they imagine that their ſouls are cooped and cabbined in, unleſs they have ſome man, or ſome body of men, dependent on their mercy. This deſire of having ſome one below them, deſcends to thoſe who are the very loweſt of all,—and a Proteſtant cobler, debaſed by his poverty, but exalted by his ſhare of the ruling church, feels a pride in knowing, it is by his generoſity alone, that the peer, whoſe footman's inſtep he meaſures, is able to keep his chaplain from a jail. This diſpoſition is the true ſource of the paſſion, which many men in very humble life, have taken to the American war. Our ſubjects in America; our colonies; our dependants. This luſt of party-power, is the liberty they hunger and thirſt for; and this Syren ſong of ambition, has charmed ears, that one would have thought were never organiſed to that ſort of muſic.

This way, of proſcribing the citizens by denomina⯑tions and general deſcriptions, dignified by the name of reaſon of ſtate, and ſecurity for conſtitutions and commonwealths, is nothing better at bottom, than the miſerable invention of an ungenerous ambition, which would fain hold the ſacred truſt of power, without any of the virtues or any of the energies, that give a title to it; a receipt of policy, made up of a deteſtable compound of ma⯑lice, cowardice, and ſloth. They would govern [60] men againſt their will; but in that government they would be diſcharged from the exerciſe of vigi⯑lance, providence, and fortitude; and therefore, that they may ſleep on their watch, they conſent to take ſome one diviſion of the ſociety into partner⯑ſhip of the tyranny over the reſt. But let govern⯑ment, in what form it may be, comprehend the whole in its juſtice, and reſtrain the ſuſpicious by its vigilance; let it keep watch and ward; let it diſco⯑ver by its ſagacity, and puniſh by its firmneſs, all delinquency againſt its power, whenever delin⯑quency exiſts in the overt acts; and then it will be as ſafe as ever God and nature intended it ſhould be. Crimes are the acts of individuals, and not of deno⯑minations; and therefore arbitrarily to claſs men under general deſcriptions, in order to proſcribe and puniſh them in the lump for a preſumed delinquency, of which perhaps but a part, perhaps none at all, are guilty, is indeed a compendious method, and ſaves a world of trouble about proof; but ſuch a method, inſtead of being law, is an act of unnatural rebellion againſt the legal dominion of reaſon and juſtice; and this vice, in any conſtitu⯑tion that entertains it, at one time or other will certainly bring on its ruin.

We are told, that this is not a religious perſe⯑cution, and its abettors are loud in diſclaiming all ſeverities on account of conſcience. Very fine indeed! then let it be ſo; they are not perſecu⯑tors; they are only tyrants. With all my heart. I am perfectly indifferent concerning the pretexts upon which we torment one another; or whether it be for the conſtitution of the Church of England, [61] or for the conſtitution of the State of England, that people chooſe to make their fellow-crea⯑tures wretched. When we were ſent into a place of authority, you that ſent us had yourſelves but one commiſſion to give. You could give us none to wrong or oppreſs, or even to ſuffer any kind of oppreſſion or wrong, on any grounds whatſoever; not on political, as in the affairs of America; not on commercial, as in thoſe of Ireland; not in civil, as in the laws for debt; not in religious, as in the ſtatutes againſt Proteſtant or Catholic Diſſenters. The diverſified but connected fabric of univerſal juſtice, is well cramped and bolted together in all its parts; and depend upon it, I never have em⯑ployed, and I never ſhall employ, any engine of power which may come into my hands, to wrench it aſunder. All ſhall ſtand, if I can help it, and all ſhall ſtand connected. After all, to complete this work, much remains to be done; much in the Eaſt, much in the Weſt. But great as the work is, if our will be ready, our powers are not deficient.

Since you have ſuffered me to trouble you ſo much on this ſubject, permit me, Gentlemen, to detain you a little longer. I am indeed moſt ſoli⯑citous to give you perfect ſatisfaction. I find there are ſome of a better and ſofter nature than the perſons with whom I have ſuppoſed myſelf in de⯑bate, who neither think ill of the act of relief, nor by any means deſire the repeal, not accuſing but lamenting what was done, on account of the con⯑ſequences, have frequently expreſſed their wiſh, [62] that the late act had never been made. Some of this deſcription, and perſons of worth, I have met with in this city. They conceive, that the prejudices, whatever they might be, of a large part of the people, ought not to have been ſhock⯑ed; that their opinions ought to have been pre⯑viouſly taken, and much attended to; and that thereby the late horrid ſcenes might have been pre⯑vented.

I confeſs, my notions are widely different; and I never was leſs ſorry for any action of my life. I like the bill the better, on account of the events of all kinds that followed it. It relieved the real ſufferers; it ſtrengthened the ſtate; and, by the diſorders that enſued, we had clear evidence, that there lurked a temper ſomewhere, which ought not to be foſtered by the laws. No ill conſequences whatever could be attributed to the act itſelf. We knew before-hand, or we were poorly inſtructed, that toleration is odious to the intolerant; freedom to oppreſſors; property to robbers; and all kinds and degrees of proſperity to the envious. We knew, that all theſe kinds of men would gladly gratify their evil diſpoſitions under the ſanction of law and religion, if they could: if they could not, yet, to make way to their objects, they would do their utmoſt to ſubvert all religion and all law. This we certainly knew. But knowing this, is there any reaſon, becauſe thieves break in and ſteal, and thus bring detriment to you, and draw ruin on themſelves, that I am to be ſorry that you are in poſſeſſion of ſhops, and of warehouſes, and of [63] wholeſome laws to protect them? Are you to build no houſes, becauſe deſperate men may pull them down upon their own heads? Or, if a malignant wretch will cut his own throat, becauſe he ſees you give alms to the neceſſitous and deſerving; ſhall his deſtruction be attributed to your charity, and not to his own deplorable madneſs? If we repent of our good actions, what, I pray you, is left for our faults and follies? It is not the beneficence of the laws, it is the unnatural temper which beneficence can fret and ſour, that is to be lamented. It is this temper which, by all rational means, ought to be ſweetened and corrected. If froward men ſhould refuſe this cure, can they vitiate any thing but themſelves? Does evil ſo react upon good, as not only to retard its motion, but to change its nature? If it can ſo operate, then good men will always be in the power of the bad; and virtue, by a dreadful reverſe of order, muſt lie un⯑der perpetual ſubjection and bondage to vice.

As to the opinion of the people, which ſome think, in ſuch caſes, is to be implicitly obeyed; near two years tranquillity, which followed the act, and its inſtant imitation in Ireland, proved abundantly, that the late horrible ſpirit was, in a great meaſure, the effect of inſidious art, and per⯑verſe induſtry, and groſs miſrepreſentation. But ſuppoſe that the diſlike had been much more delibe⯑rate, and much more general than I am perſuaded it was—When we know, that the opinions of even the greateſt multitudes, are the ſtandard of rectitude, I ſhall think myſelf obliged to make thoſe opinions [64] the maſters of my conſcience. But if it may be doubted whether Omnipotence itſelf is competent to alter the eſſential conſtitution of right and wrong, ſure I am, that ſuch things, as they and I, are poſſeſſed of no ſuch power. No man carries further than I do the policy of making govern⯑ment pleaſing to the people. But the wideſt range of this politic complaiſance is confined with⯑in the limits of juſtice. I would not only conſult the intereſt of the people, but I would chearfully gratify their humours. We are all a ſort of chil⯑dren, that muſt be ſoothed and managed. I think I am not auſtere or formal in my nature. I would bear, I would even myſelf play my part in, any innocent buffooneries, to divert them. But I ne⯑ver will act the tyrant for their amuſement. If they will mix malice in their ſports, I ſhall never conſent to throw them any living, ſentient, creature whatſoever, no not ſo much as a kitling, to tor⯑ment.

‘"But if I profeſs all this impolitic ſtubbornneſs, I may chance never to be elected into Parliament."’ It is certainly not pleaſing to be put out of the public ſervice. But I wiſh to be a member of Parliament, to have my ſhare of doing good, and reſiſting evil. It would therefore be abſurd to re⯑nounce my objects, in order to obtain my ſeat. I deceive myſelf indeed moſt groſsly, if I had not much rather paſs the remainder of my life hidden in the receſſes of the deepeſt obſcurity, feeding my mind even with the viſions and imaginations of ſuch things, than to be placed on the moſt ſplendid [65] throne of the univerſe, tantalized with a denial of the practice of all which can make the greateſt ſituation any other than the greateſt curſe. Gen⯑tlemen, I have had my day. I can never ſuffici⯑ently expreſs my gratitude to you, for having ſet me in a place, wherein I could lend the ſlighteſt help to great and laudable deſigns. If I have had my ſhare, in any meaſure giving quiet to private property, and private conſcience; if by my vote I have aided in ſecuring to families the beſt poſſeſ⯑ſion, peace; if I have joined in reconciling kings to their ſubjects, and ſubjects to their prince; if I have aſſiſted to looſen the foreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protection to the laws of his country, and for his comfort to the goodwill of his countrymen;—if I have thus taken my part with the beſt of men in the beſt of their actions, I can ſhut the book;—I might wiſh to read a page or two more—but this is enough for my meaſure.—I have not lived in vain.

And now, Gentlemen, on this ſerious day, when I come, as it were, to make up my account with you, let me take to myſelf ſome degree of honeſt pride on the nature of the charges that are againſt me. I do not here ſtand before you ac⯑cuſed of venality, or of neglect of duty. It is not ſaid, that, in the long period of my ſervice, I have, in a ſingle inſtance, ſacrificed the ſlighteſt of your intereſts to my ambition, or to my for⯑tune. It is not alledged, that to gratify any anger, or revenge of my own, or of my party, I have had a ſhare in wronging or oppreſſing [66] any deſcription of men, or any one man in any deſcription. No! the charges againſt me, are all of one kind, that I have puſhed the principles of general juſtice and benevolence too far; further than a cautious policy would warrant; and further than the opinions of many would go along with me.—In every accident which may happen through life, in pain, in ſorrow, in depreſſion, and diſtreſs—I will call to mind this accuſation; and be com⯑forted.

Gentlemen, I ſubmit the whole to your judg⯑ment. Mr. Mayor, I thank you for the trouble you have taken on this occaſion. In your ſtate of health, it is particularly obliging. If this company ſhould think it adviſeable for me to withdraw, I ſhall reſpectfully retire; if you think otherwiſe, I ſhall go directly to the Council-houſe and to the Change, and without a moment's de⯑lay, begin my canvaſs.