of the people, and he would pass as a genius and a prophet.
Few are so abstractedly and coldly intellectual as not to be mainly
governed by their tastes or passions. Even men of strong intellect
have frequently strong prejudices, and one has only to make himself
master of these, in order to lead those who are infinitely their
superiors. There is no proof that all who persecuted the Catholics in
Charles's time were either weak or ignorant. But there is evidence of
unbounded animosity, a traditional hatred, not much diminished since
the Gunpowder Plot of Guy Fawkes. The whole nation was ready to
believe any thing against the Catholics, and especially against their
church, which was supposed to be persecuting and diabolical in all its
principles and in all its practice. In this state of the popular mind,
Oates made his hideous revelations.

[Sidenote: Oates's Revelations.]

He was a broken-down clergyman of the Established Church, and had lost
caste for disgraceful irregularities. But he professed to hate the
Catholics, and such a virtue secured him friends. Among these was the
Rev. Dr. Tonge, a man very weak, very credulous, and full of fears
respecting the intrigues of the Catholics but honest in his fears.
Oates went to this clergyman, and a plan was concerted between them,
by which Oates should get a knowledge of the supposed intrigues of the
Church of Rome. He professed himself a Catholic, went to the
Continent, and entered a Catholic seminary, but was soon discharged
for his scandalous irregularities. But he had been a Catholic long
enough for his purposes. He returned to London, and revealed his
pretended discoveries, among which he declared that the Jesuits had
undertaken to restore the Catholic religion in England by force; that
they were resolved to take the king's life, and had actually offered a
bribe of fifteen thousand pounds to the queen's physician; that they
had planned to burn London, and to set fire to all the shipping in the
Thames; that they were plotting to make a general massacre of the
Protestants; that a French army was about to invade England; and that
all the horrors of St. Bartholomew were to be again acted over!
Ridiculous as were these assertions, they were believed, and without a
particle of evidence; so great was the national infatuation. The king
and the Duke of York both pronounced the whole matter a forgery, and
laughed at the credulity of the people, but had not sufficient
generosity