O'Connor's courage failed him
after all. He contrived to be called away, at the critical moment, by some
problematical superintendent of police. Poor Cuffy, the honestest, if not
the wisest, speaker there, leapt off the waggon, exclaiming that we were
all "humbugged and betrayed"; and the meeting broke up pitiably piecemeal,
drenched and cowed, body and soul, by pouring rain on its way home--for
the very heavens mercifully helped to quench our folly--while the
monster-petition crawled ludicrously away in a hack cab, to be dragged to
the floor of the House of Commons amid roars of laughter--"inextinguishable
laughter," as of Tennyson's Epicurean Gods--
Careless of mankind.
For they lie beside their nectar, and their bolts are hurled
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.
There they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands,
Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,
Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, _and praying hands.
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