Auricular Confession and Popish Nunneries. William Hogan
a clear and full view of my duty, I have recently written a work entitled, "A Synopsis of Popery as it was, and as it is." It has been well received; it awakened Americans to a proper sense of their duty. Until then they saw not, they felt not, they dreamed not of the dangers which threatened their religion and their civil rights from the stealthy movements of the Church of Rome, and her priests and bishops, in this country. Americans have now a steady and watchful eye upon them. This was necessary, and so far, I have done my duty. The Popish presses, which, until then, had lulled Americans into fatal repose by their misrepresentations, have been, in a measure, silenced. No one, before me, dared to encounter their scurrilous abuse. I resolved to silence them; and I have done so. The very mention of my name is a terror to them now; though, until the appearance of my book, there was not a Popish press in the United States, which did not weekly, almost daily, abuse me in the most scurrilous manner; and in my apprehension, a stronger evidence cannot be given of the iniquity of Popish priests and bishops who edit those presses, than this very fact.
Protestant writers in the United States have long been kept in check by the bullying and vaporing of Popish priests, when some resolution and a little tact, might at all times have silenced them. I found no difficulty in muzzling the whole body; and the mode of doing it was suggested to me by a little incident in my own life. Will the reader allow me to relate it?
As soon as I was admitted to the practice of law, I went into partnership with a Mr. Gray, a young gentleman of promising talents and gentlemanly manners. Our office was in one of the upper districts of South Carolina, separated only by a narrow river, from the State of Georgia, where I have resided ever since. There was at the back of our office, a swamp, containing—if we may judge from the noise they made—myriads of frogs, ugly and filthy as the slime from which they sprung. As soon as the sun of heaven retired to its home in the west, and darkness covered the face of the earth and the waters, these frogs set up a most hideous chorus—just as Papists have done for more than twenty years, against myself. The noise became a perfect nuisance to me. I felt at a loss how to silence these filthy frogs. I purchased and borrowed every work I could get upon frogs, to see if any remedy had been discovered to abate this nuisance; but all to no purpose. On they went, night after night; nothing could be heard but croak, croak, croak. Finally, I became impatient, when necessity, which is properly called, "the mother of invention," suggested to me the following remedy, which, I believe, might have been tried before. I procured a well-lighted lantern, concealed it under a thick overcoat, went down to the pond, sat patiently on its bank until the frogs commenced their evening chorus; but just as they were upon their highest notes, I uncovered my lantern, and threw its full blaze of light over the whole surface of the pond. Instantly, as if by magic,
"Every frog was at rest,
And I heard not a sound."
It occurred to me, that a similar experiment might, with equal advantage, be made upon Popish priests and confessors. I knew no other living animal or creeping thing, so closely resembling these frogs in repulsiveness, as a Romish priest or bishop who hears confessions. I resolved to throw light upon them, and show them to each, other and to the world, in their native deformity. I published my book on Popery; I threw the light-of my experience as a Popish priest, upon the whole body. The result has been entirely satisfactory. Never, since then, has a Popish priest, Popish bishop, or Popish press, published a single sentence against me. How truly is it said in holy writ, "Resist the devil, and he will flee from you." I have resisted Popish priests; they have fled from me; and if the reader will do me the honor of perusing the following pages, he will see that 1 am still pursuing them in full chase; nor do I feel disposed to abandon my pursuit, until they renounce allegiance to the Pope of Rome, and become true, peaceable, moral, and well-behaved citizens of the United States.
WILLIAM HOGAN.
AURICULAR CONFESSION AND POPISH NUNNERIES.
When a writer acknowledges, in advance, that he cannot relate the whole truth, his position is far from being enviable. It augurs badly for what he writes, and so far plages him in a disadvantageous light before the public. This is, however, precisely the condition in which I now find myself. Such is the nature of the subject on which I feel it my duty to write, that I shrink with native abhorrence from relating, at least, the whole truth. It is repugnant to my feelings, to my taste, and at variance with the general tone of my conversation, ever since the God of purity enabled me to disentangle myself from the society of Romish priests and bishops—men whose private lives and conversation with each other and with their penitents in the confessional, breathe nothing but the grossest licentiousness and foetid impurities.
I do not wantonly and without provocation make any expose of the iniquities of Popery. My entire life, since I left them, is evidence of this; but they have pursued me with such persevering malignity and demoniac malice, that further silence would be criminal and disrespectful to my Protestant fellow-citizens, from whom, notwithstanding the malice of papists towards me, I have always experienced kind attentions and hospitality. Nor should I, even now, allow the subject of Popery to occupy my mind, or taint the current of my thoughts, if I did not see it striding with fearful rapidity over the fair face of this my adopted country, infusing itself into every political nerve and artery of our government, while its members are asleep and dreaming of its future glories.
It is not pleasant to me to contend with papists, who look upon it as a matter of duty, and as a fundamental article of their faith, to persecute myself and all other heretics. That they should dislike me, is not a matter of surprise; that men whose confessions I have heard, and who have heard mine, should even dread me, is not to be wondered at. Many of these men deserve (I speak of bishops and priests exclusively) not only public censure, but the gibbet, the dungeon and the gallows. I cannot blame men, under these circumstances, for detesting my very name. They are in my power—they tremble in my presence—and were I to blame them for some degree of opposition and dislike to me, I should be quarrelling with that instinct which teaches the profligate and debauchee to shun the society of a virtuous and upright man. While I live among papists they are naturally afraid that I should lift the veil, which conceals from the eyes of Americans the deformities of Popery. They are in momentary fear that I shall show to their American converts, which Bishop Fenwick of Boston says he "is daily making from the first families," the Old Lady of Rome in her dishabille. They have long hidden from them her shrivelled, diseased, distorted, and disgusting proportions, and they are unwilling that this painted harlot should be now seen by Americans. This is good policy, and hence much of their opposition to me. A curse seems to have rested upon Rome since its very foundation. Pagan, as well as modern Rome, seemed always to delight in deeds of darkness.
We are told in history of a singular practice illustrative of this in ancient Rome. I mention it merely to show the apparent natural fondness of Romanists, ancient as well as modern, for deeds of darkness. It is trifling in itself, and may be deemed, perhaps, irrelevant; but it may be interesting to the historian, whose curiosity extends further than that of theologians or moralists.
The ancient Romans were epicures. Some say they were greater gluttons than those of the present day. Poultry, of all kinds, was a favorite dish with them, and how to fatten fowl most expeditiously, became a question of vital importance with the philosophers of the Eternal City. After several experiments, it was found that the best plan was to close up the eyes of geese, turkeys, ducks, and all other kinds of poultry, and, in that condition, cram and stuff them with food. This succeeded admirably. The fowls fattened in less than half the time.
It seems that man was always, as well as now, a progressive animal, and accordingly, as soon as Popery fixed its head-quarters at Rome or at Antioch, no matter which for the present, popish bishops commenced a similar experiment upon man. Anxious for his conversion to the infallible church, they determined to close his eyes and compel him to receive from themselves, as so many turkeys and geese would from their feeders, such food as they pleased to give them. They were not to question its quality, but, like so many blinded geese, swallow-all that was given them. The practice continues