"On descending, my guide showed me the remains of a vaulted chamber, in which, according to tradition, Edward II., the first Prince of Wales, was born. The Welsh, in consequence of the oppressions of English governors in the earlier times of partial and momentary conquest, had declared to the king that they would obey none but a prince of their own nation. Edward therefore sent for his wife Eleanor in the depth of winter, that she might lie-in in Caernarvon Castle. She bore a prince; upon which the king summoned the nobles and chiefs of the land, and asked them solemnly whether they would submit to the rule of a prince who was born in Wales, and could not speak a word of English. On their giving a joyful and surprised assent, he presented to them his newborn son, exclaiming in broken Welsh, _Eich dyn!_ _i.e._, 'This is your man!' which has been corrupted into the present motto of the English arms, _Ich Dien_." It seems hardly worth while detailing the true history of this motto, since every child knows it--yet to prove, on the spot, the deplorable ignorance of this pretender, every child does know that the distinguishing device of the Prince of Wales (having nothing to do with the English arms), viz., the plume of three ostrich feathers, with the motto Ich Dien, which, in Prince Puckler's own mother-tongue, signifies 'I serve,' was assumed by Edward the Second's grandson, the Black Prince, in memory of the death of John, king of Bohemia, the lawful owner of the said device, in the battle of Cressy. One might have expected a little heraldry at least from the Château of Thonderdentronck. Ten pages of stupid blasphemy bring us to page 88, where the baser propensities of his mind give place to its overweening passion--personal vanity. The hero of "moral manifestations" thus confides to his dear princess the conquest he has made of a bar-maid at Bangor:-- "I had read thus far when the little Eliza appeared with my breakfast, and with an arch good-nature bid me good morning 'after my long sleep.' She had just been to church, had all the consciousness of being well dressed, and was waiting upon a foreigner; three things which greatly incline women to be tender-hearted. She accordingly seemed almost embarrassed when I inquired about my departure early the following morning.... After dinner I went, under her guidance, to visit the walks round the town. One of these is most romantically placed on a large rock. We saw from hence Snowdon, in almost transparent clearness, undimmed by a single cloud.... After this pastoral walk, tender mutton closed the day." Who is not inclined to exclaim with the Welsh, according to his highness's version, "Eich dyn!" This is your man! Skipping some more blasphemies, we find ourselves at Kennell Park, the seat of Colonel Hughes.