man on this account? We have seen Prince Czartorinski, a Catholic
Secretary of State in Russia; in former times a Greek patriarch and
an apostolic vicar acted together in the most perfect harmony in
Venice; and we have seen the Emperor of Germany in modern times
intrusting the care of his person and the command of his guard to a
Protestant Prince, Frederick of Wittenberg. But what are all these
things to Mr. Perceval? He has looked at human nature from the top
of Hampstead Hill, and has not a thought beyond the little sphere of
his own vision. "The snail," say the Hindoos, "sees nothing but his
own shell, and thinks it the grandest palace in the universe."

I now take a final leave of this subject of Ireland; the only
difficulty in discussing it is a want of resistance, a want of
something difficult to unravel, and something dark to illumine. To
agitate such a question is to beat the air with a club, and cut down
gnats with a scimitar; it is a prostitution of industry, and a waste
of strength. If a man say, I have a good place, and I do not choose
to lose it, this mode of arguing upon the Catholic question I can
well understand; but that any human being with an understanding two
degrees elevated above that of an Anabaptist preacher, should
conscientiously contend for the expediency and propriety of leaving
the Irish Catholics in their present state, and of subjecting us to
such tremendous peril in the present condition of the world, it is
utterly out of my power to conceive. Such a measure as the Catholic
question is entirely beyond the common game of politics; it is a
measure in which all parties ought to acquiesce, in order to
preserve the place where and the stake for which they play. If
Ireland is gone, where are jobs? where are reversions? where is my
brother Lord Arden? where are my dear and near relations? The game
is up, and the Speaker of the house of Commons will be sent as a