“I never heard of the Rev. Hugh Hutton.”
“I dare say not, Father. He is an Unitarian minister; for it is only the Unitarians that will pray with, or pray for, Radicals. I should not quite say that. There is a Roman Catholic priest who is a member of the Birmingham Union,–a splendid-looking man, a fine orator, and full of the noblest public spirit; but a Birmingham meeting would never think of asking him to pray. They would not believe a Catholic could get a blessing down from heaven if he tried.”[[3]]
This intolerance, general and common in the England of that day, is now happily much mitigated.
“What of O’Connell?” said the Squire; “he interests me most.”
“O’Connell outdid himself. About four hundred women in one body had been allowed to stand near the platform, and the moment his eyes rested on them his quick instinct decided the opening sentence of his address. He bowed to them, and said, ‘Surrounded as I am by the fair, the good, and the gentle.’ They cheered at these words; and then the men behind them cheered, and the crowds behind cheered, because the crowds before cheered; and then he launched into such an arraignment of the English Government as human words never before compassed. And in it he was guilty of one delightful bull. It was in this way. Among other grave charges, he referred to the fact that births had decreased in Dublin five thousand every year for the last four years, and then passionately exclaimed, ‘I charge the British Government with the murder of those twenty thousand infants!’ and really, for a few moments, the audience did not see the delightful absurdity.”
“Twenty thousand infants who were never born,” laughed the Squire. “That is worthy of O’Connell. It is worthy of Ireland.”
“And did he really manage that immense crowd?” asked Piers. “I see the Times gives him this credit.”
“Sir Bulwer Lytton in a few lines has painted him for all generations at this meeting. Listen!” and Edgar took out of his pocket a slip of paper, and read them:–