Slowgoe. The Morning Herald, talking of the danger to the Church, says this much, that English people going to Rome, catch the Catholic religion without knowing it. Listen. “Such families were generally lodged in some portion of a vacant palace or mansion. Commonly there was soon found dwelling in some adjacent part of the same building an accomplished and agreeable priest or Jesuit. This person soon found an opportunity of rendering some service; obtaining access for the family to some gallery or museum, or an invitation to some concert.” You see, Mr Nutts, how the thing’s done?
Mrs Nutts. Taking advantage of pleasure to undermine our principles! Playing us into Popery with flutes and fiddles!
Nosebag. Well, but if folks will go to see the shows at Rome, when they’d better stay at home and be edified at their own playhouses—what’s to become on ’em?
Tickle. Why, it just strikes me that we might fight ’em with their own weapons. For instance, you say “an agreeable and accomplished priest or Jesuit” is the disturber of the peace of families. Well, before the family starts, why don’t they take with ’em—just as they take cork jackets and life-preservers—“an agreeable and accomplished” ’Stablished chaplain to battle for ’em on the other side?
Mrs Nutts. Very right, Mr Tickle; and if I was the Queen o’ England, I’d make a law that should force ’em. I thank my stars I shall never go to Rome; but if I should, I wouldn’t think myself safe with anything less than a bishop.
Slowgoe. Nor I. Not that I’d think of turning my religion for——
Nutts. Tell you what, Slowgoe, some folk’s religion’s like some folk’s coats—too poor to be worth turning.
Mrs Nutts. Never mind him, Mr Slowgoe. You know the sort o’ husband I’m blessed with. As for the Papists, I often say to Mrs Biggleswade over the way, “I wonder you can buy your cat’s-meat o’ that Biddy Maloney, when you know he’s a Papist and goes to a Catholic chapel. No wonder, my dear,” says I to Mrs Biggleswade, “that you can’t keep a linnet or canary from the claws o’ that cat. Think what she’s fed on, and who brings it her.”
Slowgoe. As for the Jesoots, Mrs Nutts, they’re swarming in every house—swarming like fleas, and we don’t know it.
Nutts. Not at all like our fleas, then! Ecod, you’d soon know them!