“'I am just like a gigantic tree of the forest which has stood many a wintry blast, and stormy tempest, but now, alas! I am become a withered trunk, with all my greenest and tenderest branches lopped off. Though fast attaining middle age, I am not filling an envied and honoured post with credit and respect. No—I shall be soon wearing the garb of degradation, and the badge and brand of infamy at P.A., which is, being interpreted, Port Arthur, the 'Villain's Home'.”
“Poor fellow!” said Sylvia.
“Touching, is it not?” assented Meekin, continuing—
“'I am, with heartrending sorrow and anguish of soul, ranged and mingled with the Outcasts of Society. My present circumstances and pictures you will find well and truly drawn in the 102nd Psalm, commencing with the 4th verse to the 12th inclusive, which, my dear father, I request you will read attentively before you proceed any further.'”
“Hullo!” said Frere, pulling out his pocket-book, “what's that? Read those numbers again.” Mr. Meekin complied, and Frere grinned. “Go on,” he said. “I'll show you something in that letter directly.”
“'Oh, my dear father, avoid, I beg of you, the reading of profane books. Let your mind dwell upon holy things, and assiduously study to grow in grace. Psalm lxxiii 2. Yet I have hope even in this, my desolate condition. Psalm xxxv 18. “For the Lord our God is merciful, and inclineth His ear unto pity”.'”
“Blasphemous dog!” said Vickers. “You don't believe all that, Meekin, do you?” The parson reproved him gently. “Wait a moment, sir, until I have finished.”
“'Party spirit runs very high, even in prison in Van Diemen's Land. I am sorry to say that a licentious press invariably evinces a very great degree of contumely, while the authorities are held in respect by all well-disposed persons, though it is often endeavoured by some to bring on them the hatred and contempt of prisoners. But I am glad to tell you that all their efforts are without avail; but, nevertheless, do not read in any colonial newspaper. There is so much scurrility and vituperation in their productions.'”
“That's for your benefit, Frere,” said Vickers, with a smile. “You remember what was said about your presence at the race meetings?”
“Of course,” said Frere. “Artful scoundrel! Go on, Mr. Meekin, pray.”