The reading of this resolution was so sweet a sarcasm on the proceedings of that occasion, that it was received with peals of laughter and deafening cheers, and as he went bitterly on, from resolution to resolution, raising his voice to overtop the jargon, the scene became too ludicrous for description.

The resolutions, which never had any sincerity in them, were such a confirmation of all that Mr.Snow had said, and such a comment on their own duplicity and moral debasement, that there was nothing left for them but to break up and go home.
The laugh did them good, and complemented the corrective which had been administered to them by the minister.

Some of them still retained their anger, as a matter of course, and when they emerged upon the street and found Mr.Belcher's effigy standing upon the ground, surrounded by fagots ready to be lighted, they yelled: "Light him up, boys!" and stood to witness the sham _auto-da-fe_ with a crowd of village urchins dancing around it.
Of course, Mr.Belcher had calculated upon indignation and anger, and rejoiced in their impotence.

He knew that those who had lost so much would not care to risk more in a suit at law, and that his property at Sevenoaks was so identified with the life of the town--that so many were dependent upon its preservation for their daily bread--that they would not be fool-hardy enough to burn it.
Forty-eight hours after the public meeting, Mr.Belcher, sitting comfortably in his city home, received from the postman a large handful of letters.

He looked them over, and as they were all blazoned with the Sevenoaks post-mark, he selected that which bore the handwriting of his agent, and read it.