'It was taught to me that the religion of Jesus cherished kindness, that it promoted our best affections, and reclaimed the erring in love. But how is this accomplished in gaol? The man who goes there must leave his affections, his feelings, and his sensibilities behind him—for in gaol all are blighted, deadened, and destroyed. There no appeals are made but to coward fears, and no antidote applied to error but misery. Indeed, I cannot dwell upon Christianity's treatment of what she considers my errors, without wishing, with Themistocles, that I could learn the art of forgetting. With regard to the cause of my prosecution, I admit that I might be wrong in the sentiments which I held, but I could not be wrong in frankly avowing them. And I may answer to Christians, as did Aristides to the tyrant Dionysius—"I am sorry for what you have done, but I am not sorry for what I have said." Despite all that has succeeded, I still prefer integrity to liberty. My resolution has long been taken, to speak nothing or to speak what I think—for
Who dares think one thing and another tell,
My heart detests him as the gates of hell.
'Christians speak what they think useful, and the same privilege ought to be conceded to me. A difference in faith ought not to make a difference in right. But while it does so, those who cannot pronounce the required Shibboleth must arm themselves to bear. Those are poor principles for which a man is unwilling to suffer when they are in danger. It is an encouraging reflection, that though a man's fate may be at others' disposal, his character is ever at his own—and that no enemy can dishonour him who will not dishonour himself.
'Yours respectfully,
'Gloucester, Feb. 7, 1843.
'G. J. Holyoake.'
The Commissioners referred to in this letter asked me, when I was first taken before them, whether I had any complaint to make?
I said I had.
Did I wish to give it as evidence?
I said I did.