Two days later we reached Penguin Island. “What does that mean?” I said, on perceiving some two hundred individuals of my kind ranged as if in battle-array along the shore. “Are these troops intended to do us honour, or to prevent our landing?” “Fear nothing,” said my friend, “these Penguins are our friends. It is the custom of their country to parade the shores in flocks.” We were received with much kindness, and conducted with great ceremony towards an old _Sphemiscus_, the King of the island. This good King was seated on a stone, which served as a throne, and surrounded by his subjects, who seemed to be all known to him. {69} [Illustration] “Illustrious strangers,” he exclaimed, as soon as he perceived us approaching, “we are delighted to make your acquaintance,” and as the crowd around him barred our way, he continued: “My children, range yourselves on one side, and allow the strangers to pass.” The ladies stood on his right, and the gentlemen on his left. “You, sirs, are welcome to enjoy the freedom of our kingdom.” {70} I ventured to say, “Sire, your renown is the talk of the whole world, and the hope of seeing you alone sustained us through the perils of our journey.” “Good!” whispered my friend; “you are a courtly liar for one so young; but be careful, else you may die a diplomatist.” My speech so pleased the King, that he cast off his Phrygian cap, descended from his perch, and clasped me to his breast, saying, “You are, for one so young, a bird most fair and honest. Remain with me to aid me in my old age.” “Noble sir,” I replied, “your knowledge of Penguin character is truly worthy of your fame. I will gladly accept your generous offer, trusting that my youth and inexperience may excuse my many shortcomings.” “Stay, are you married?” “No, your Majesty, I am a bachelor.” “He is a bachelor!” cried the King, turning towards the ladies, who at once, and for the first time, overwhelmed me with their fond gaze. “A bachelor! a bachelor!” cried a chorus of voices, “what a dreadful creature!” “Hush!” said the King, “we have cured worse maladies. There is my daughter.” “But, Sire,” I protested, “my heart is lost to another.” “The remark is worthy of your modesty. You shall wed my daughter; the notion suits me; it is a question of privilege, not of heart.” I so little expected this proposal, that I remained mute with amazement. “He who says nothing, consents,” said the King. Before I had time to decide, my eyes met those of the princess. It was but for a moment. The god of love had kindled a perfect conflagration in her breast. Everything was arranged before I could say no, so engrossed was I with my own reflections. That momentary glance had evidently sealed my fate. So far as one’s after-life is concerned, it had more effect in neutralising my happiness than if I had, from my earliest infancy, set myself the task of inventing the best means of blighting my peace.