He pressed
on, fearing that words would fail him altogether if he paused;--but
he did in truth speak very much too fast, knocking his words together
so that no reporter could properly catch them. But he had nothing to
say for the bill except what hundreds had said before, and hundreds
would say again. Still he was cheered, and still he went on; and as
he became more and more conscious of his failure there grew upon him
the idea,--the dangerous hope, that he might still save himself from
ignominy by the eloquence of his invective against the police.
He tried it, and succeeded thoroughly in making the House understand
that he was very angry,--but he succeeded in nothing else. He could
not catch the words to express the thoughts of his mind. He could not
explain his idea that the people out of the House had as much right
to express their opinion in favour of the ballot as members in the
House had to express theirs against it; and that animosity had been
shown to the people by the authorities because they had so expressed
their opinion. Then he attempted to tell the story of Mr. Bunce in a
light and airy way, failed, and sat down in the middle of it. Again
he was cheered by all around him,--cheered as a new member is usually
cheered,--and in the midst of the cheer would have blown out his
brains had there been a pistol there ready for such an operation.
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