most anxiously, expecting to see her rise and follow the Demon, but she did not move.
The Thunderer, as the Speaker of that Parliament was called, now took his seat at one end of the hall. The clerks arranged their papers at the head of a long table, the members flung themselves on their couches in easy, careless attitudes, and the sergeant-at-arms marched up and down with a drawn sword about seven feet long, in one hand, and an enormous revolver, loaded, as I understood, with thunder and lightning, in the other.
The address to the throne, in reply to His Majesty's gracious speech, was moved by the Hon. Member for the thriving suburb of Muddyhole, and seconded by the Hon. Member for the equally thriving district of Briarbank.
The Hon. the Premier caught the Thunderer's eye, and rose to speak to the question. He was received with loud cheers. He would merely say a few words before the resolution was carried. They had all listened with profound attention and respect to His Majesty's eloquent and luminous speech, which, he had no doubt, had given them all exquisite satisfaction. He was a man of few words, and would say but little. The man of few words was the best man, according to Shakespeare : he had no intention of praising himself. The hon. members, the mover and seconder of the address, had done their duty well. He cordially approved of the royal speech. The project of building a new city round the Great Lake of Tasmania met with his entire approbation. He had a guest and friend staying with him who could tell them a great deal about that delightful island, and its enchanting scenery. (Confound him, could he not let me alone!) He requested the Hon. House to allow him to introduce his friend, Mr. Oliver Ubertus, and (here, as I saw all their cat-like eyes directed to me, I thought it advisable to stand up and
