That the Manchester Insurrection stood still, on the streets,
with an indisposition to fire and bloodshed, was wisdom for it
even as an Insurrection. Insurrection, never so necessary, is a
most sad necessity; and governors who wait for that to instruct
them, are surely getting into the fatallest courses,--proving
themselves Sons of Nox and Chaos, of blind Cowardice, not of
seeing Valour! How can there be any remedy in insurrection? It
is a mere announcement of the disease,--visible now even to Sons
of Night. Insurrection usually 'gains' little; usually wastes
how much! One of its worst kinds of waste, to say nothing of the
rest, is that of irritating and exasperating men against each
other, by violence done; which is always sure to be injustice
done, for violence does even justice unjustly.

Who shall compute the waste and loss, the obstruction of every
sort, that was produced in the Manchester region by Peterloo
alone! Some thirteen unarmed men and women cut down,--the number
of the slain and maimed is very countable: but the treasury of
rage, burning hidden or visible in all hearts ever since, more or
less perverting the effort and aim of all hearts ever since, is
of unknown extent. "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