Dr. Slaughtery. But he neutralized it by the amende honorable.
Capt. Killdragon. Ay, ay, neutralized it, indeed; that is, he added an alkali to his acid—such union, we know, produces froth—insipid—nay, disgusting froth. The fact is, the patching only made things worse; for the Duke was in articulo mortis, (as you would say, Doctor,) when the cold-blooded and heartless declaimer apologized for his wanton brutality. Besides, he found that he disgusted even his own partisans, and therefore feared the loss of his all—his popularity—his brief popularity.
Major Mc Rocket. By G—! yir raight, Killdragon; an' ye speak the feelings o' us a'.
Dr. Slaughtery. I do not defend the act: it certainly was bad; but I think it arose from party violence.
Several Voices. It admits of no excuse.
Col. Shell. And the Doctor thinks so too; but he loves argument as dearly as he does his country, and only wishes now to draw you out, Killdragon.
Dr. Slaughtery. Thank you, Colonel; I have drawn him out, and now I'll draw in my horns.
All the Mess. Bravo! bravo!
Capt. Ball. Gentlemen, as we are on the subject of the Commander-in-Chief's death, I beg to mention that Mr. Steel, my worthy young Sub here on my left, has written a song upon the occasion, and set it to music. You all know how he sings, and what do you say to hearing it? The band can accompany the song, for they have learnt the music of it.
[This announcement was received with enthusiasm, and Ensign Steel, although blushing under his honours and opposing “the motion,” was obliged to yield to the general request. The band having been ordered to accompany the song, now played a fine impressive symphony, and the Ensign sung with great effect the following:—