“What then?” said I.
“What then?” said the man in black, “why, she will be true to herself. Let Dissenters, whether they be Church of England, as perhaps they may still call themselves, Methodist, or Presbyterian, presume to grumble, and there shall be bruising of lips in pulpits, tying up to whipping-posts, cutting off ears and noses—he! he! the farce of King Log has been acted long enough; the time for Queen Stork’s tragedy is drawing nigh;” and the man in black sipped his gin and water in a very exulting manner.
“And this is the Church which, according to your assertion in the public-house, never persecutes?”
“I have already given you an answer,” said the man in black, “with respect to the matter of the public-house; it is one of the happy privileges of those who belong to my Church to deny in the public-house what they admit in the dingle; [{156}] we have high warranty for such double speaking. Did not the foundation-stone of our Church, St. Peter, deny in the public house what he had previously professed in the valley?”
“And do you think,” said I, “that the people of England, who have shown aversion to anything in the shape of intolerance, will permit such barbarities as you have described?”
“Let them become Papists,” said the man in black; “only let the majority become Papists, and you will see.”
“They will never become so,” said I; “the good sense of the people of England will never permit them to commit such an absurdity.”
“The good sense of the people of England?” said the man in black, filling himself another glass.
“Yes,” said I; “the good sense of not only the upper, but the middle and lower classes.”
“And of what description of people are the upper class?” said the man in black, putting a lump of sugar into his gin and water.