my six-oared boat, streamers flying, and piper playing like mad--for I would not have you be coming like a banished man, but in all glory, to Cornelius O’Shane, commonly called King _Corny_--but no _king_ to you, only your hearty old friend.” “Heaven bless Cornelius O’Shane!” said Harry Ormond to himself, as he finished this letter. “King or no king, the most warm-hearted man on earth, let the other be who he will.” Then pressing this letter to his heart, he put it up carefully, and rising in haste, he dropped the list of his faults. That train of associations was completely broken, and for the present completely forgotten; nor was it likely to be soon renewed at the Black Islands, especially in the palace, where he was now going to take up his residence. Moriarty was laid on a bed; and was transported, with Ormond, in the six-oared boat, streamers flying, and piper playing, across the lake to the islands. Moriarty’s head ached terribly, but he nevertheless enjoyed the playing of the pipes in his ear, because of the air of triumph it gave Master Harry, to go away in this grandeur, in the face of the country. King Corny ordered the discharge of twelve guns on his landing, which popped one after another gloriously--the _hospitable echoes_, as Moriarty called them, repeating the sound. A horse, decked with ribands, waited on the shore, with King Corny’s compliments for _Prince_ Harry, as the boy, who held the stirrup for Ormond to mount, said he was instructed to call him, and to proclaim him “_Prince Harry_” throughout the island, which he did by sound of horn, the whole way they proceeded to the palace--very much to the annoyance of the horse, but all for the greater glory of the prince, who managed his steed to the admiration of the shouting ragged multitude, and of his majesty, who sat in state in his gouty chair at the palace door. He had had himself rolled out to welcome the coming guest. “By all that’s princely,” cried he, “then, that young Harry Ormond was intended for a prince, he sits ahorse so like myself; and that horse requires a master hand to manage him.” Ormond alighted. The gracious, cordial, fatherly welcome, with which he was received, delighted his heart. “Welcome, prince, my adopted son, welcome to Corny _castle--palace_, I would have said, only for the constituted authorities of the post-office, that might take exceptions, and not be sending me my letters right. As I am neither bishop nor arch, I have, in their blind eyes or conceptions, no right--Lord help them!--to a temporal palace. Be that as it may, come you in with me, here into the big room--and see! there’s the bed in the corner for your first object, my boy--your wounded chap; and I’ll visit his wound, and fix it and him the first thing for ye, the minute he comes up.”