Mr. Yorke was in no mild mood, and in no measured terms did he express his opinion on the transaction of the night. Moore, the magistrates, the soldiers, the mob leaders, each and all came in for a share of his invectives; but he reserved his strongest epithets--and real racy Yorkshire Doric adjectives they were--for the benefit of the fighting parsons, the "sanguinary, demoniac" rector and curate. According to him, the cup of ecclesiastical guilt was now full indeed.
"The church," he said, "was in a bonny pickle now. It was time it came down when parsons took to swaggering amang soldiers, blazing away wi' bullet and gunpowder, taking the lives of far honester men than themselves."
"What would Moore have done if nobody had helped him?" asked Shirley.
"Drunk as he'd brewed, eaten as he'd baked."

Mr. Yorke was in no mild mood. Moore, the magistrates, the soldiers, the mob leaders, all came in for a share of invective; but he reserved his strongest terms - and real racy Yorkshire adjectives they were - for the fighting parsons, the rector and curate.
"The church," he said, "is in a bonny pickle, when parsons take to swaggering among soldiers, blazing away wi' bullet and gunpowder."
"What would Moore have done if nobody had helped him?" asked Shirley. 