"A policeman doon in Manchester; I thought I kenned his face fra the first.
And when the rascal saw he'd let out too much, he wanted to make out that
he'd been a' along a spy for the Chartists, while he was makin' believe to
be a spy o' the goovernment's. Sae when he came that far, I just up wi' the
het water, and bleezed awa at him; an' noo I maun gang and het some mair
for my drap toddy."
Sandy had a little vitriol in the house, so we took the combustible down
into the cellar, and tried it. It blazed up: but burnt the stone as much as
the reader may expect. We next tried it on a lump of wood. It just scorched
the place where it lay, and then went out; leaving poor Kelly perfectly
frantic with rage, terror, and disappointment. He dashed up-stairs, and out
into the street, on a wild-goose chase after the rascal, and we saw no more
of him that night.
I relate a simple fact. I am afraid--perhaps, for the poor workmen's sake,
I should say I am glad, that it was not an unique one. Villains of this
kind, both in April and in June, mixed among the working men, excited
their worst passions by bloodthirsty declamations and extravagant promises
of success, sold them arms; and then, like the shameless wretch on whose
evidence Cuffy and Jones were principally convicted, bore witness against
their own victims, unblushingly declaring themselves to have been all
along the tools of the government.
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