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of Ireland in 1782. Trust me, it is no other than that which engendered the Catholic Association. Trust me, it is justice withheld, rights refused, wrongs perpetrated; the folly of believing that men can be governed against their will; the idiotcy of supposing that the inhabitants of England are to be treated like the savages of the South Sea islands,— the frenzy of assuming that you can govern men like children or like savages.

These it is which have peopled the country with these noxious growths, that have made the rank soil shoot up all these prodigious things, which scare and 'fright us from our propriety.' These things have been seen; but our fears have made us take a wrong course; and instead of making us fling away the parent, they have made us wage a futile, endless, and fatal war with her gigantic offspring. We have been going on, like those before us, in doing wrong; and our unholy husbandry it is that has induced us to sow injustice, and thence to reap disaffection.

My lords, I use no language of intimidation. We stand now on the brink of a great event. We are now on the eve of the decision of this great measure; and it behoves you to consider, when men tell you that you should not heed clamours, that there is no worse folly, that there is no meaner, baser, more despicable kind of fear, than for men of a frame of mind that allows the weight of reflection and the power of reason, to be afraid of being accused of fear.

My lords, I am now speaking in the same hall where your lordships sat in the year 1828; and in that hall, though not quite in so regular manner as this, I heard the same argument urged for the purpose of preventing your lordships from liberating the Catholics. That argument did prevent that liberation. It was said that it was a troublous time, that there was much clamour abroad;-and for fear of being thought to yield to intimidation you shut your ears to the voice of reason. The summer passed over. Autumn came on, with her fruits and her abundance; but she brought not the precious gift of domestic peace. The rage of popular feeling went on; and the election of a Catholic member to sit in a protestant House of Commons took place. Winter bound the earth in its chains, but it bound not the sea of Irish agitation; for its surge dashed more furiously than ever against the Constitution. Then spring opened its season, but unaccompanied by its wonted harmony; for it had no ethereal mildness, there being at that moment in Ireland much fiercer agitation than before, and ten thousand times more reason for fear, than in the preceding July.

And what did your lordships do, when the only change that had taken place in those seven or eight months, was increase of tumult, augmentation of danger, and great embarrassment of all contingent circumstances? What did your lordships do? Wisely, patriotically, firmly, you saved your country;-you refused any longer to listen to the senseless cuckoo-note of those who said, 'Do not emancipate them; for, if you do, it will be through intimidation.' But, at the same time, I am bound to say, that if you had not listened to these reasons, year after year, for about the twenty preceding years, that measure would have been attended with a tenfold more beneficial effect than when, blessed be God! it did pass, through the instrumentality of the noble Duke, of whom I will say, that however highly I hold his military achievements, still more highly do I think of his achievements in favour of the Catholics.

And now, my lords, to apply this branch of history,-for history it has become,-to the present time. My lords, you are now placed in this dilemma. If you refuse reform now, under the foolish notion of being afraid, you may live to see something of which wise men will really be afraid. You may have to live among the hearts of an alienated people,― you may have to live among tens of thousands who hate you, you may have to live when all men shall be leagued against you; for it is you alone that stand between them and their wishes.

EXERCISE LXII.-SCENE FROM THE ROSE OF ARRAGON.-
Knowles.

Speakers,-Ruphino, Alasco, Velasquez, Almagro and other Peasants.
[See remarks on previous dialogues, of serious character.]
Ruph. Where loitered you upon your journey home?
Six weeks you have been gone; ere one was past,
Your sister was proclaimed the Prince's wife.

Alas. I took a circuit home to see my friends,
And tell what I had done.

Ruph.

In Arragon!

Alas.

You're a great man

I number many friends!

I expect

No word yet from my sister?

Ruph.

Word by Velasquez-who is he comes yonder?

I see but dimly!

Is it Velasquez?

Alas. Yes, Velasquez 'tis,

And looks like one who has a tale to tell.

[Velasquez enters hastily,—stops short on seeing Alasco.] How now, Velasquez?

Velas.

Are you there, Alasco?

Alas. Yes, I am here the matter?

Velas.

Alas.

Nothing!
Something!

Your steps were hasty;-did you speed for nothing?
Your breath is scanty;-was it spent for nothing?
Your looks imply concern ;-concern for nothing?
Your road lay to my father;-seeing me

You stopped, as bound to any other door!
Was that for nothing? Ay, and now you stand
Like one that's balked about to take a leap
Which he felt sure to make,—with bated crest,
With vigour chilled, wan cheek, and sparkless eye!
Do all these things mean nothing?-if they do,
Then means commotion nothing!

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Thou comest from the capital; and thence,

Or I mistake, thou bringest news for me.

Velas. I do; and therefore wished thy son away;

For he is rash; and galled, will take no road,

Save that his fury likes.

Ruph.

Bring'st thou me news

Would rouse the fury of my son, Velasquez?
Thou mak'st me tremble :-

O Heaven!-My daughter!
I knew no good could come of this avowal!
The Prince has used her ill! and, if he has,
Let him look to it! Let him!

I thank thee, Nature!

To have left me strength! I yet am worth a blow!
Velas. The Prince has done no wrong.

Ruph.

God bless the Prince!

And pardon me that I did wrong to him,
In thinking that he had! the gracious Prince,
That ever honourably loved my child!

How could I think that he could do her wrong!
Don't say I did so.-What's amiss, Velasquez?

1 see 't is nothing that affects my child:

Nought can do wrong, while the good Prince is near her. Velas. He is no longer near her.

Ruph.

No! not near her?

My dark surmises are at work again!

And yet thou sayest he has not wronged my child.
Velas. Thy child and he are wronged.

Ruph.

We'll right them, then!

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The prince to head his armies in the north,—

And, when his back was turned, convoked his council,
And made them pass a formal act, declaring

The marriage of thy daughter null and void.

Ruph. His right to his throne is void, if he breaks through
Religion and the laws, that fence my child!
There are men in Arragon! Alasco! Ay,-
I am a peasant, he is a king!-Great odds!-
But greater have grown even!-Why, Alasco!
Alas. [Entering.] Here, father.

Ruph. [Recollecting himself at the sight of his son.]
Oh! I called,—did I?

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Ruph. I did it without thinking,—well, Alasco?
Alas.
Well, father?

You called me, and I know you wanted me.
Speak out; and do not fear my rashness, father;
Though there be cause for heat, I can be cool.

Your poor sister, boy!

Ruph.
Alas. What of my sister?-Say, Velasquez, for
My father can't or won't.

Alma. [Enters with a number of other peasants.] Alas

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Tell it you, Velasquez!

Let it not come from him! He will heap fire

On fire.

Velas. Your sister is divorced, Alasco,

By edict of the men who guard the laws.

Alma. Who break the laws! Yes, the fair Prince Alonzo

Royal Alonzo! weary of his wife,-on pretext of command

From the King to lead his armies,-'t was contrived,
A piece of villany, at the first sight,-left her.
Ruph. Thou liest.

Alma. [Furiously.] Liest!

Alas.

Peace, Almagro! Nay,

Scowl not upon my father!—if you are angry

Brow me!

Alma. My dear Alasco!

Ruph.

Dear! how long?
The Prince did never yet a double deed!
I would that I could say as much for thee!
Alma. For me! [Furiously.]

Alas.

What he likes?

Again? May not an old man say

Ruph. I would all young men spoke as true!

Alas. Father! your child is shamed! That horrid word
Written on her brow, thou 'dst wish her dead ere read there:
Her! me! thyself! all kith and kin thou hast !
And can thy breast find room for other cause

Of hate, reviling, or revenge ?-If it can,
Mine can't.

Alma. No more can mine. I have no foes
Save those who wrong thy sister! none will I have!
Give me thy hand, Velasquez, and be friends.

Velas. I could be friends with him bespoke me foul;
I could be friends with him that gave me blows;
But with the friend who failed me in the need
He should and could have helped, I'll ne'er be friends.
Alma. By Heaven! Velasquez. [Furiously.]

Alas.

Do you rage again?

Or did I dream you do? Friends, if not friends
Among yourselves, waive jars awhile for me!
Who is the caitiff, be it not the man

Laws civil and religious cannot bind? What should be

done to such,

Ay, say he wore a crown?

Alma.
He should be stripped on't,
Caged in a mine,-yea, mulcted to the cost
Of his life!

Ruph. O no, no,-no! He should be made
To render back their rights to those from whom
He wrested them,-no more. That's justice, sir;

The rest is vengeance, which belongs to Heaven, not sin, ful things like men!

Alas.
Then deal with him.

We'll master him,

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