To tear each other’s eyes.”
Oh! excellent and prosy Watts, doer of dull, moral platitudes into duller doggerel, co-tormentor with Pinnock and the Latin grammar of my early boyhood, would that for thy sake I had the pen of Thomas Carlyle, for then would I write thee down that which I suspect thou wast, my Watts, in most resonant un-English, nay, I would make thee the subject of a “Latter-Day Pamphlet,” and treating of thee in connection with the vexata questio of prison discipline, would by thy aid invent a new and horrible punishment for refractory felons, who in lieu of handcuffs and bread and water, hard labour, or solitary confinement, should straightway be condemned to a severe course of “Watts’ Hymns.”
Thomas Bracy, his mind being relieved from the onus of this rather serious episode in his evening’s amusement, now cast his eyes around to discover how the various schemes projected by his fertile brain might be progressing. The first group that met his eye afforded him unmixed satisfaction—Lady Lombard, seated on a low fauteuil, was listening with delighted attention to De Grandeville, who, hanging over her, was talking eagerly (about himself) with an air of the most lover-like devotion. The next pair that his glance fell upon scarcely pleased him so well, for Mrs. Brahmin had again hooked the Dace, and appeared in a fair way of landing him safely. “However,” reflected Bracy, “one comfort is that he’s such an awful fool he will bore her to death in less than a week after they’re married, and she’ll revenge herself by flirting with every man she meets, which is safe to worry him to distraction, and they’ll be a wretched, miserable couple; so I really believe there’ll be more comedy evolved by letting them alone than by interfering with them;” and consoling himself with this agreeable view of the matter, he turned his attention to the state, mental and physical, of General Gudgeon. That gallant son of Mars, as though conscious of the hopes and fears that were abroad concerning his possible behaviour, was taking the best method of neutralising the dangerous effects of his devotion to Bacchus by composing himself to sleep in a mighty arm-chair. Next him was seated Miss MacSalvo, who was engaged in a truly edifying conversation with Mrs. Dackerel, mother to the “postponed one,” on the propriety of establishing a female Missionary Society for the prevention of Polygamy amongst the Aborigines of the North-Eastern Districts of South-West Australia; an evil which both ladies agreed to be mainly owing to the fact that the women did not know how to conduct themselves like the women of civilised nations; a fact to which Bracy assented by observing “that was self-evident, or the men would find one wife quite enough;” on which Miss MacSalvo turned up the whites, or more properly speaking, the yellows of her eyes, and ejaculated, “Ah, yes indeed!” with much unction, though it is to be doubted whether after all she perceived the full force of the remark.
“Why, General,” exclaimed Bracy quickly, “you have been in Australia; you’re the very man we want; rouse up, my dear sir, and enlighten our darkness.”
“Pray, sir,” observed Miss MacSalvo, addressing General Gudgeon, “pray, sir, can you give me any insight into the habits and customs of those interesting, but, alas! misguided individuals, the Aborigines of South Australia; more particularly with reference to the female portion of the population—any little anecdotes which may occur to you now?”
“By Jo-o-ove, ma’am,” returned the General, whose English had not yet ‘suffered a recovery’, “you’ve come to—you’ve come to the right, eh—to the, the right, what-is-it?”
“Shop,” suggested Bracy.
“Ye-es, to the right sho-op, if that’s what you want, ma’am. I should think there ain’t a man—there ain’t a man—eh? yes, breathing—that can tell you more—eh? more about larks——”
“It is scarcely with a view to the ornithology of the country that I am anxious to gain information,” interrupted Miss MacSalvo; “the facts I require regard the general behaviour and moral conduct of the female population of the north-eastern district.”
“Eh! oh, yes—yes, I under—I understand what you’re up to, eh?” resumed the General, with what he intended for a significant wink at Bracy; “there was Tom Slasher and me—a rare wild young, eh? yes, a wild young dog was Tom; well, ma’am, there was a gal over there—she wasn’t one of the natives, though—they’re taw-taw—yes, tawny coloured—but this gal was a nigger—reg’lar darkie—Black-hide Susan, Tom used to call her—witty chap was Tom.”