his might, strive for the rescue of his late companions, still suffering?
Is he not prompt with rope, and pole, and ladder, and food, and cheering words?
No—the caitiff wanders off to seek his pleasure, and makes haste to remove from his person, and his memory too, every trace of his recent misery.
it is to be a snob.
No treason like this clings to the skirts of Horace Greeley
He has stood by his Order.
The landless, the hireling, the uninstructed—he was their Companion once—he is their Champion now.