We are not much more reassured by his Lordship's hint of the smallness of the Pope's territorial power.
"What is the danger to be apprehended from a foreign prince of no great power, compared to the danger within the gates?" &c.
But does his Lordship conceive that we are afraid of the Pope's territorial power?—that we are alarmed at an invasion of his Hundred Swiss?—or that any man ever supposed that a minister in the Pontine Marshes was to shake the Religion and State of England? The Popedom has always been a narrow territory, and yet the Papacy has been the great disturber of Europe for a thousand years. Does his Lordship doubt that its weapon was superstition, and that superstition was once universal? But, while we can feel no terror at the sickly absurdities of a few fanatics, or the low artifices of a few hunters after vulgar popularity, who have never reckoned within their ranks any one man of name, or ability, or learning, or even of station—who owe their sole publicity to what the Bishop of London calls a "poor imitation of Popery," and whose bowings and gesticulations are actually objects of national ridicule—we see a wholly different antagonist in a system, possessed of the power of the multitude, addressing itself to every weakness and pampering every passion of man, offering every prize to avarice, and stimulating every appetite for possession; unceasing in pursuit of all its objects, and making everything an object; desperately inimical to religious liberty, and perpetually labouring to establish over every people an authority fatal to the progress of mankind. We see it now with a hundred and forty millions of souls in Popish Europe, with nearly all the Continental thrones Popish, with hundreds of thousands of monks and friars devoted to all the purposes of its ambition, with its seculars mingled through every population, and with the wealth of the whole Popish community ready to be lavished in a crusade of Monkism. We must confess that we feel as much anxiety in the issue of a contest with such a power as is consistent with a feeling of courage in the performance of our duty.
We have never doubted that England, under the protection of a higher power than man, and awakened to a sense of her peril, will triumph in the most hazardous struggle. But her safety must be grounded on her vigilance. The sleeping giant is as helpless as a child.
So fully are we convinced that Rome is the real danger, that we not merely laugh at Tractarianism, in comparison, but we look with suspicion on every attempt to set it up as the danger. To compare this dwarf with the gigantic bulk of Popery seems absurd; and we must therefore reject it as argument altogether. It is also unfortunate for this bugbear that it has been so slow in its discovery, and that the Ministerial terrors have already slept so long, Tractarianism being now a well-grown peril—its siege of the Church having already lasted some years beyond the renowned siege of Troy!
The Letter, however, closes with the spirit of an enthusiast in the "good cause,"—"I will not abate a jot of heart or hope so long as the glorious principles and the immortal martyrs of the Reformation shall be held in reverence by the great mass of a nation which looks with contempt on the mummeries of superstition."
All this is what Dominie Sampson would have pronounced "prodigious!" with his loudest and longest suspiration. And all is eminently curious, in the man whose whole career has been devotion to every Popish demand, and advocacy of every Popish measure; who has risen into office by the influence of Popish voices, and who has been in the intima concilia of the imaginary Archbishop of Westminster!
Must not Protestants ask, By whose advice was Mr Wyse planted in the Greek embassy?—by whom was Mr O'Farril planted in the government of Malta?—by whom was Mr Shiel planted in the embassy to Tuscany—or rather to the whole of western and middle Italy, and in immediate approximation to Rome? Were three Papists selected for those express, and at present most important missions, without a purpose?—were they flung up merely by the diplomatic wheel?—or were those extraordinary appointments of untried men produced by a sudden, and a Papal demand, for the support of a plan?
But this is a time of wonders, and his Lordship's conversion may rank at the summit of them all. However, there is a reason for everything in art and nature; and it is said that a very high personage had a share in this rapid operation on the Ministerial understanding; that the question was asked,—"Pray, who is to be the sovereign?" and that the answer was his Lordship's letter. It concludes by giving the coup-de-grace to the character of Popery, of whose present performances it speaks with scorn, as "laborious endeavours to confine the intellect, and enslave the soul."—(Downing Street, Nov. 4.)
In the meantime "my Lord Cardinal," who had stopped in his posthaste journey, on learning John Bull's theological opinions of his Manifesto, was comforted by an emissary despatched to inform him that the bonfires of the 5th of November had all been suffered to sink into ashes, and that he would escape any severer trial of his fortitude than being burnt in effigy. But the Doctor, now fearless of his auto-da-fé, is also said to have determined on carrying the war into the enemy's quarters, and showing that every step which he has taken has been sanctioned by his denouncers; and that, instead of being the foolish and impudent intruder which the public have believed him to be, he has been actually only the submissive follower and ready agent of councils far enough removed from the Quirinal.