Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet by Charles Kingsley

Sullen, disappointed, desperate, I strode along the streets that evening, careless whither I went. The People's Cause was lost -- the Charter a laughing-stock. That the party which monopolizes wealth, rank, and, as it is fancied, education and intelligence, should have been driven, degraded, to appeal to brute force for self-defence -- that thought gave me a savage joy; but that it should have conquered by that last, lowest resource! -- That the few should be still stronger than the many, or the many still too cold-hearted and coward to face the few -- that sickened me. I hated the well-born young special constables whom I passed, because they would have fought. I hated the gent and shop-keeper special constables, because they would have run away. I hated my own party, because they had gone too far -- because they had not gone far enough.

I hated myself, because I had not produced some marvellous effect -- though what that was to have been I could not tell -- and hated myself all the more for that ignorance.