The Baron then proceeded to enlarge upon his position and prospects, entered into discussion on his rights, and pronounced himself a sterling king, in spite of Lord Stanley, the British Queen, or the English Ministry. “I would make these islanders,” said he, “the best-dressed people out of France,—and if they could but acknowledge my principles, I would myself furnish them with paletots; but they denounce my tyranny, and laugh at me when I offer to put them into the dignity of trousers.” To hear this mock potentate speak of his people, his dominions, religious toleration, the rights of man, and the duties of monarchs, one might have concluded that he really was a recognized sovereign, with an actual kingdom, a people to protect, parties to reconcile, a faith to uphold, and responsibilities to oppress him. Beyond his musical instruments, his solitary instrumental duet, his fish-kettle, an old ‘Journal des Modes,’ and some needles, he can scarcely be said to have had at this moment a single possession incontestably his own. As the party of travellers, after sleeping in the hut, proceeded on the following morning to their boat, they were accompanied to the beach by their entertainer, who expressed his hopes of meeting with them again. But this was not to be. THE EPILOGUE. Four years afterwards, a solitary English traveller, named Chalton, was standing in the centre of a wide district, near to where the last-mentioned guests had spent a summer night in 1839. He was apparently in search of some locality, and two chiefs were closely watching him. A couple of Wesleyan natives were not far off. They were assisting him in making a survey for a road. “There used to be a hut on that hill in the distance,” said he to one of the chiefs. “King Thierry’s hut,” answered both the chiefs at once. “True,” rejoined the inquirer; “why is it no longer there?” “Zealanders’ gods are not sleeping,” replied one of the chiefs. “Thierry and his priests were cruel to his people. The island spirits told us, in our dreams, to punish him. We burned the hut down last moon.” “And Thierry and his wife?” asked the astounded engineer. “The good lady perished in the flames. The people from the other side of the island saved King Thierry.” “Ah!” exclaimed Chalton, partly relieved; “what are they going to do with him?” “Oh, nothing!” cried the chiefs, somewhat eagerly. “The Government will not let the people keep him a captive.” “The Government can’t get him,” said one of the chiefs. “And the tribe haven’t got him,” said the other. “Why, what have they done to him?” “Hem!” growled somewhat unctuously the elder chief of the two, “they have eaten him!”