Lord
Eglington had been asked to speak, and these were among his closing
words.
He had seen, as he thought, an opportunity for sensation. Politicians of
both sides, the press on all hands, were thundering denunciations upon
the city of Damascus, sitting insolent and satiated in its exquisite
bloom of pear and nectarine, and the deed itself was fading into that
blank past of Eastern life where there "are no birds in last year's
nest." If he voyaged with the crowd, his pennant would be lost in the
clustering sails! So he would move against the tide, and would startle,
even if he did not convince.
"Let us not translate an inflamed religious emotion into a war," he
continued. "To what good? Would it restore one single life in Damascus?
Would it bind one broken heart? Would it give light to one darkened home?
Let us have care lest we be called a nation of hypocrites. I will neither
support nor oppose the resolution presented; I will content myself with
pointing the way to a greater national self-respect."
Mechanically, a few people who had scarcely apprehended the full force of
his remarks began to applaud; but there came cries of "'Sh! 'Sh!" and the
clapping of hands suddenly stopped.
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