She smiled and nodded to Aaron, who was a deuced favourite with the ladies, black, brown, and white, (I give the pas to the staple of the country—hope no offence,) as well as with every one else who ever knew him.
“How dare you, friend Bang, shave and blister my head, you dog?” said I. “You cannibal Indian, you have scalped me; you are a regular Mohawk.”
“Never mind, Tom—never mind, my boy,” said he. “Ay, you may blush, Mary Palma. Cringle there will fight, but he will have ‘Palmam qui meruit ferat’ for his motto yet, take my word for it.”
The sight of my cousin’s lovely face, and the heavenly music of her tongue, made me so forgiving, that I could be angry with no one.—At this moment a nice-looking elderly man slid into the room as noiselessly as a cat.
“How are you, Lieutenant? Why, you are positively gay this morning! Preserve me!—why have you taken off the dressing from your head?”
“Preserve me—you may say that, Doctor—why, you seem to have preserved me, and pickled me after a very remarkable fashion, certainly! Why, man, do you intend to make a mummy of me, with all your swaddlings? Now, what is that crackling on my chest? More plantain-leaves, as I live!”
“Only another blister, sir.”
“Only another blister—and my feet—Zounds! what have you been doing with my feet? The soles are as tender as if I had been bastinadoed.”
“Only cataplasms, sir; mustard and bird-pepper poultices nothing more.”
“Mustard and bird-pepper poultices!—and pray, what is that long fiddle case supported on two chairs in the piazza!”