ing equivocation_,
of one of the three kinds laid down as permissible by the
blessed Alfonso da Liguori and his pupils, even when confirmed
by an oath, because 'then we do not deceive our neighbour, but
allow him to deceive himself?' ... It is admissible, therefore,
to use words and sentences which have a double signification,
and leave the hapless hearer to take which of them he may
choose. _What proof have I, then, that by 'mean it? I never said
it!' Dr. Newman does not signify_, I did not say it, but I did
mean it?"--Pp. 44, 45.

Now these insinuations and questions shall be answered in their
proper places; here I will but say that I scorn and detest
lying, and quibbling, and double-tongued practice, and slyness,
and cunning, and smoothness, and cant, and pretence, quite as
much as any Protestants hate them; and I pray to be kept from
the snare of them. But all this is just now by the bye; my
present subject is my Accuser; what I insist upon here is this
unmanly attempt of his, in his concluding pages, to cut the
ground from under my feet;--to poison by anticipation the public
mind against me, John Henry Newman, and to infuse into the
imaginations of my readers, suspicion and mistrust of everything
that I may say in reply to him. This I call _poisoning the
wells_.

"I am henceforth in _doubt and fear_," he says, "as much as any
_honest_ man can be, _concerning every word_ Dr. Newman may
write. _How can I tell that I shall not be the dupe of some
cunning equivocation?_" ...

Well, I can only say, that, if his taunt is to take effect, I am
but wasting my time in saying a word in answer to his calumnies;
and this is precisely what he knows and intends to be its fruit.
I can hardly get myself to protest against a method of
controversy so base and cruel, lest in doing so, I should be
violating my self-respect and self-possession; but most base and
most cruel it is. We all know how our imagination runs away with
us, how suddenly and at what a pace;--the saying, "Caesar's wife
should not be suspected," is an instance of what I mean. The
habitual prejudice, the humour of the moment, is the
turning-point which leads us to read a defence in a good sense
or a bad. We interpret it by our antecedent impressions.

The very same sentiments, according as our jealousy is or