I dropped into the House of Assembly one afternoon toward the end of May, and, looking down from the gallery, saw the colonel in the full tide of wrathful declamation.
He was demanding of miserable Don Antonio when the army was to be paid.

The latter sat cowering under his scorn, and would, I verily believe, have bolted out of the House had he not been nailed to his seat by the cold eye of the President, who was looking on from his box.

The minister on rising had nothing to urge but vague promises of speedy payment; but he utterly lacked the confident effrontery of his chief, and nobody was deceived by his weak protestations.

I left the House in a considerable uproar, and strolled on to the house of a friend of mine, one Mme.

Devarges, the widow of a French gentleman who had found his way to Whittingham from New Calendonia.