When some one who had “written the Vestiges,”
And only half denied it, met his eye.
The vacant platform glared expectancy,
And held the gaze now of the impatient crowd.
Then Henslow led the conquering Bishop in.
Two rows of clerics, halfway down the hall,
Drummed for their doughty champion with their heels.
Above, in each recessed high window-seat,
Bishop-adoring ladies clapped their hands.
The rest filed in, mere adjuncts, modest foils.