letter of that sacred legend! But whose is the hand that threatens it in this town? Is it Father Rasle, who asked a right of you, and, when you refused it, asked it of the law—in a neighboring town, mark, there being no law here!—and when the law refused it, submitted in silence? Is it the few hundreds of harmless Catholics among you, not one of whom has raised a hand in violence? Or is it your brutal mobs, who have insulted both priest and people, destroyed their property, and threatened their lives? Think of this, citizens! If the laws are dear to you, keep them! If you love freedom, do not practise tyranny! If you claim to be an intelligent people, think for yourselves, and do not let demagogues do it for you! Who is he who truly loves and honors his country? Not that man who holds its constitution to be a pretty myth, fine to quote, but impossible to act upon; but he who demands that its most generous promise shall be fulfilled, and is not afraid that in sincerity will be its destruction.
“Mr. Griffeth has uttered his war-cry, ‘Down with the church!’ and you have applauded it with enthusiasm. While I have listened to-night, there has risen before my vision the possible demolition of another edifice—a demolition which is inevitable, if such counsels are to prevail. Our fathers raised in this land a temple to civil and religious liberty, and pledged to its support their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. That was no empty pledge, for the structure was cemented with their blood from corner-stone to pinnacle. And the genius whom they enthroned in the centre was no idol of wood and stone, to be used as a puppet by the designing, but a living creature. She was strong, and pure, and generous, and she had eagle’s eyes. She
opened her arms to the world. She feared no alien foe, for her strength could be shorn and her limbs manacled only by her own renegade children. It is you are her foes. These narrow and violent counsels which pretend to protect, do contradict her; the manacles which you forge for others, will fetter her; with the violence which you do to others, will her strength be shorn; and the spirit which you obey under her name will dethrone her. But do not fancy that you can blind and make sport of her with impunity. The time may come when that insulted spirit will take in her mighty arms the pillars of the nation, and pull it down in ruin on your heads. No, the foe is not the orphan she has cherished, nor the stranger within her gates, but the children she has nourished at her bosom.
“Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended.”
When Mr. Yorke went home that night, though it was late, he found his wife and Betsey waiting for him at a turn of the road. He expressed no surprise nor disapprobation, but walked slowly homeward with them.
“What have they done?” Mrs. Yorke asked. She perceived that her husband’s arm trembled.
“Nothing can stop their running but themselves,” he answered. “They must fall by their own speed.”
“They listened to you?” she asked.
“Yes, they were civil, and even applauded a little. But what of that? In spite of all that I could do, they have passed a resolve, passed it unanimously, that, if Father Rasle comes here again, they will give him a suit that is not to be bought at the tailor’s.”
“What does that mean?” was Mrs. Yorke’s wondering question.