"How ye came among us, in your cruel armed blindness, ye unspeakable County Yeomanry, sabres flourishing, hoofs prancing, and slashed us down at your brute pleasure; deaf, blind to all _our_ claims and woes and wrongs; of quick sight and sense to your own claims only! There lie poor sallow workworn weavers, and complain no more now; women themselves are slashed and sabred, howling terror fills the air; and ye ride prosperous, very victorious,--ye unspeakable: give us sabres too, and then come-on a little!" Such are Peterloos.

In all hearts that witnessed Peterloo, stands written, as in fire-characters, or smoke-characters prompt to become fire again, a legible balance-account of grim vengeance; very unjustly balanced, much exaggerated, as is the way with such accounts; but payable readily at sight, in full with compound interest! Such things should be avoided as the very pestilence.

For men's hearts ought not to be set against one another; but set _with_ one another, and all against the Evil Thing only.

Men's souls ought to be left to see clearly; not jaundiced, blinded, twisted all awry, by revenge, mutual abhorrence, and the like.

An Insurrection that can announce the disease, and then retire with no such balance-account opened anywhere, has attained the highest success possible for it.
And this was what these poor Manchester operatives, with all the darkness that was in them and round them, did manage to perform.
They put their huge inarticulate question, "What do you mean to do with us ?" in a manner audible to every reflective soul in this kingdom; exciting deep pity in all good men, deep anxiety in all men whatever; and no conflagration or outburst of madness came to cloud that feeling anywhere, but everywhere it operates unclouded.