Page 370 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

‘Hear, hear, hear!’ says Maurice. ‘‘Her Majesty the
Queen’!’
Having drunk this loyal toast with due fervour, Vickers
proposed, ‘His Excellency Sir John Franklin’, which toast
was likewise duly honoured.
‘Here’s a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you,
sir,’ said Frere, with the letter still in his hand. ‘God bless
us all.’
‘Amen!’ says Meekin piously. ‘Let us hope He will; and
now, leddies, the letter. I will read you the Confession af-
terwards.’ Opening the packet with the satisfaction of a
Gospel vineyard labourer who sees his first vine sprouting,
the good creature began to read aloud:
‘‘Hobart Town, ‘‘December 27, 1838. ‘‘My Dear Father,—
Through all the chances, changes, and vicissitudes of my
chequered life, I never had a task so painful to my man-
gled feelings as the present one, of addressing you from this
doleful spot—my sea-girt prison, on the beach of which I
stand a monument of destruction, driven by the adverse
winds of fate to the confines of black despair, and into the
vortex of galling misery.’’
‘Poetical!’ said Frere.
‘‘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