Turnbull and Mr. Monk, could never again meet as
friends.
In the course of the debate on Tuesday, Phineas got upon his legs.
The reader, I trust, will remember that hitherto he had failed
altogether as a speaker. On one occasion he had lacked even the
spirit to use and deliver an oration which he had prepared. On
a second occasion he had broken down,--woefully, and past all
redemption, as said those who were not his friends,--unfortunately,
but not past redemption, as said those who were his true friends.
After that once again he had arisen and said a few words which had
called for no remark, and had been spoken as though he were in the
habit of addressing the House daily. It may be doubted whether there
were half-a-dozen men now present who recognised the fact that this
man, who was so well known to so many of them, was now about to
make another attempt at a first speech. Phineas himself diligently
attempted to forget that such was the case. He had prepared for
himself a few headings of what he intended to say, and on one or
two points had arranged his words. His hope was that even though
he should forget the words, he might still be able to cling to the
thread of his discourse. When he found himself again upon his legs
amidst those crowded seats, for a few moments there came upon him
that old sensation of awe.
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