“Be it so, then,” said the Secretary, gayly; and at once, without hesitation, he commenced a short and most explicit statement of the Government intentions. Arguments that formed the staple of long Parliamentary harangues he condensed into a sentence or two; views that, dilated upon, sufficed to fill the columns of a newspaper, he displayed palpably and boldly, exhibiting powers of clear and rapid eloquence for which so few gave him credit in public life. Not an epithet nor an expression could have been retrenched from a detail which denoted faculties of admirable training, assisted by a memory almost miraculous. Stating in order the various objections to the measure, he answered each in turn; and wherever the reply was not sufficiently ample and conclusive, he adroitly took occasion to undervalue either the opinion or the source from which it originated, exhibiting, while restraining, considerable powers of sarcasm, and a thorough insight into the character of the public men of the period.
If the Knight was unconvinced by the arguments, he was no less astonished by the abilities of the Secretary. Up to that hour he had been a follower of the popular notion of the Opposition party, which agreed in decrying his talents, and making his displays as a speaker the touchstone of his capacity. Darcy was too clever himself to linger longer in this delusion. He saw the great and varied resources of the youthful statesman tested by a question of no common difficulty, and he could not control the temptation of telling him, as he concluded,—
“You have made me a convert to the union—”
“Have I, indeed?” cried the Secretary, in an ecstasy of pleasure.
“Hear me out, my Lord,—to the union of great political abilities with the most captivating powers of conversation. Yes, my Lord, I am old enough to make such a remark without the hazard of being deemed impertinent or a flatterer,—your success in life is certain.”
“But the Bill!” cried Lord Castlereagh, while his handsome face was flushed between delight and eagerness,—“the Bill!”
“Is an admirable Bill for England, my Lord, and were there not two sides to a contract, would be perfect,—indeed, until I heard the lucid statement you have just made, I never saw one-tenth part of the advantages it must render to your country, nor, consequently,—for we move not in parallel lines,—the great danger with which it is fraught to mine. Let me now explain more fully.”
With these words the Knight entered upon the question of the Union in all its relations to Ireland; and while never conceding, nor even extenuating, the difficulties attendant upon a double legislature, he proceeded to show the probable train of events that must result on the passing of the measure, strengthening his anticipations by facts derived from deep knowledge of the country.
Far be it from us to endeavor to recapitulate his arguments: some of them, now forgotten, were difficult enough to answer; others, treasured up, have been fashionable fallacies in our own day. Such as they were, they were the reasons why an Irish gentleman demurred to surrendering privileges that gave his own country rank, place, and preeminence, without the evidence of any certain or adequate compensation.
“Do not tell me, my Lord, that we shall hold our influence and our station in the Imperial Parliament. There are many reasons against such a belief. We shall be in the minority, a great minority; a minority branded with provincialism as our badge, and accused of prejudice and narrow-sightedness, from the very fact of our nationality. No, no; we shall occupy a very different position in your country: and who will take our places here? That's a point your Lordship has not touched upon, but I 'll tell you. The demagogue, the public disturber, the licensed hawker of small grievances, every briefless lawyer of bad fortune and worse language, every mendicant patriot that can minister to the passions of a people deserted by their natural protectors,—the day will come, my Lord, when these men will grow ambitious, their aspirings may become troublesome; if you coerce them, they are martyrs,—conciliate them, and they are privileged. What will happen then? You will be asked to repeal the Union, you will be charged with all the venality by which you carried your Bill, every injustice with which it is chargeable, and with a hundred other faults and crimes with which it is unconnected. You will be asked, I say, to repeal the Union, and make of this miserable rabble, these dregs and sweepings of party, a Parliament. You shake your head. No, no, it is by no means impossible,—nay, I don't think it even remote. I speak as an old man, and age, if it have many deficiencies as regards the past, has at least some prophetic foresight for the future. You will be asked to repeal the Union, to give a Parliament to a country which you have drained of its wealth, from which you have seduced the aristocracy; to restore a deliberative body to a land whose resources for self-legislation you have studiously and industriously ruined. Think, then, twice of a measure from which, if it fail, there is no retreat, and the opposition to which may come in a worse form than a vote in the House of Commons. I see you deem my anticipations have more gloom than truthfulness; I hope it may be so.”