spirits and bore himself with characteristic impudence in the presence of the police-justice, insisting upon being called Professor Bott, giving his profession as inspirational orator, his religion the divinity of humanity.  When bound over for trial, he rose and gained a round of applause from the idlers in the court-room by shouting, “I appeal from this outrage to the power of the people and the judgment of history.”

This was his last recorded oration; for we may as well say at once that, a month later, he stood his trial without help from any Brotherhood, and passed away from public life, though not entirely from public employment, as he is now usefully and unobtrusively engaged in making shoes in the State penitentiary—­and is said “to take serious views of life.”

The cases of Sleeny and the men who were taken in the street by Farnham’s policemen were also disposed of summarily through his intervention.  He could not help liking the fair-bearded carpenter, although he had been caught in such bad company, and so charged him merely with riotous conduct in the public streets, for which the penalty was a light fine and a few days’ detention.  Sleeny seemed conscious of his clemency, but gave him no look or expression of gratitude.  He was too bitter at heart to feel gratitude, and too awkward to feign it.

About noon, a piece of news arrived which produced a distinct impression of discouragement among the strikers.  It was announced in the public square that the railway blockade was broken in Clairfield, a city to the east of Buffland about a hundred miles.  The hands had accepted the terms of the employers and had gone to work again.  An orator tried to break the force of this announcement by depreciating the pluck of the Clairfield men.  “Why, gentlemen!” he screamed, “a ten-year-old boy in this town has got twice the sand of a Clairfield man.  They just leg the bosses to kick ’em.  When they are fired out of a shop door, they sneak down the chimbley and whine to be took on again.  We ain’t made of that kind of stuff.”

But this haughty style of eloquence did not avail to inspirit the crowd, especially as the orator was just then interrupted to allow another dispatch to be read, which said that the citizens of a town to the south had risen in mass and taken the station there from the hands of the strikers.  This news produced a feeling of isolation and discouragement which grew to positive panic, an hour later, on the report that a brigade of regular troops was on its way to Buffland to restore order.  The report was of course unfounded, as a brigade of regular troops could not be got together in this country in much less time than it would take to build a city; but even the name of the phantom army had its effect, and the crowds began to disperse from that time.  The final blow was struck, however, later in the day.

Farnham learned it from Mr. Temple, at whose counting-room he had called, as usual, for news.  Mr. Temple greeted him with a volley of exulting oaths.