Perceval call upon the then Ministry for measures of vigour in
Ireland. If I lived at Hampstead upon stewed meats and claret; if I
walked to church every Sunday before eleven young gentlemen of my
own begetting, with their faces washed, and their hair pleasingly
combed; if the Almighty had blessed me with every earthly comfort--
how awfully would I pause before I sent forth the flame and the
sword over the cabins of the poor, brave, generous, open-hearted
peasants of Ireland! How easy it is to shed human blood; how easy
it is to persuade ourselves that it is our duty to do so, and that
the decision has cost us a severe struggle; how much in all ages
have wounds and shrieks and tears been the cheap and vulgar
resources of the rulers of mankind; how difficult and how noble it
is to govern in kindness and to found an empire upon the everlasting
basis of justice and affection! But what do men call vigour? To
let loose hussars and to bring up artillery, to govern with lighted
matches, and to cut, and push, and prime; I call this not vigour,
but the SLOTH OF CRUELTY AND IGNORANCE. The vigour I love consists
in finding out wherein subjects are aggrieved, in relieving them, in
studying the temper and genius of a people, in consulting their
prejudices, in selecting proper persons to lead and manage them, in
the laborious, watchful, and difficult task of increasing public
happiness by allaying each particular discontent. In this way Hoche
pacified La Vendee--and in this way only will Ireland ever be
subdued. But this, in the eyes of Mr. Perceval, is imbecility and
meanness. Houses are not broken open, women are not insulted, the
people seem all to be happy; they are not rode over by horses, and
cut by whips. Do you call this vigour? Is this government?