“She did not give satisfaction, and was dismissed carrying with her, certainly, part of a mantle and a shoe, which she had on when first found. According to her statement she quitted Blombodinga about a year ago, since which time she has been with the Spinachi family. On the very same morning the Prince Giglio, nephew to the King of Paflagonia, a young Prince whose character for _talent_ and _order_ were, to say truth, _none of the highest_, also quitted Blombodinga, and has not been since heard of!” “What an extraordinary story!” said Smith and Jones, two young students, Giglio’s especial friends. “Ha! what is this?” Giglio went on, reading— “SECOND EDITION, EXPRESS.—We hear that the troop under Baron Spinachi has been surrounded, and utterly routed, by General Hogginarmo, and the _soi-disant_ Princess is sent a prisoner to the capital. “UNIVERSITY NEWS.—Yesterday, at the Schools, the distinguished young student, Mr. Giles, read a Latin oration, and was complimented by the Chancellor of Bosforo, Dr. Prugnaro, with the highest University honor—the wooden spoon.” “Never mind that stuff,” says Giles, greatly disturbed. “Come home with me, my friends. Gallant Smith! intrepid Jones! friends of my studies—partakers of my academic toils—I have that to tell shall astonish your honest minds.” “Go it, old boy!” cried the impetuous Smith. “Talk away, my buck!” says Jones, a lively fellow. With an air of indescribable dignity, Giglio checked their natural, but no more seemly, familiarity. “Jones, Smith, my good friends,” said the Prince, “disguise is henceforth useless; I am no more the humble student Giles, I am the descendant of a royal line.” “_Atavis edite regibus_, I know, old co—,” cried Jones. He was going to say old cock, but a flash from THE ROYAL EYE again awed him. “Friends,” continued the Prince, “I am that Giglio, I am, in fact, Paflagonia. Rise, Smith, and kneel not in the public street. Jones, thou true heart! My faithless uncle, when I was a baby filched from me that brave crown my father left me, bred me, all young and careless of my rights, like unto hapless Hamlet, Prince of Denmark; and had I any thoughts about my wrongs, soothed me with promises of near redress. I should espouse his daughter, young Angelica; we two indeed should reign in Paflagonia. His words were false—false as Angelica’s heart!—false as Angelica’s hair, color, front teeth! She looked with her skew eyes upon young Bulbo, Crim Tartary’s stupid heir, and she preferred him. ’Twas then I turned my eyes upon Betsinda—Rosalba, as she now is. And I saw in her the blushing sum of all perfection; the pink of maiden modesty; the nymph that my fond heart had ever woo’d in dreams,” etc., etc. (I don’t give this speech, which was very fine, but very long; and though Smith and Jones knew nothing about the circumstances, my dear reader does, so I go on.)