some more sugar!'

'Sire, I am afraid if we wait till after breakfast it will be too late,'
says Glumboso. 'He--he--he'll be hanged at half-past nine.'

'Don't talk about hanging and spoil my breakfast, you unkind, vulgar
man you,' cries the Princess. 'John, some mustard. Pray who is to be
hanged?'

'Sire, it is the Prince,' whispers Glumboso to the King.

'Talk about business after breakfast, I tell you!' says His Majesty,
quite sulky.

'We shall have a war, Sire, depend on it,' says the Minister. 'His
father, King Padella. . .'

'His father, King WHO?' says the King. 'King Padella is not Giglio's
father. My brother, King Savio, was Giglio's father.'

'It's Prince Bulbo they are hanging, Sire, not Prince Giglio,' says the
Prime Minister.

'You told me to hang the Prince, and I took the ugly one,' says Hedzoff.
'I didn't, of course, think Your Majesty intended to murder your own
flesh and blood!'

The King for all reply flung the plate of sausages at Hedzoff's head.
The Princess cried out 'Hee-kareekaree!' and fell down in a fainting
fit.

'Turn the cock of the urn upon Her Royal Highness,' said the King,
and the boiling water gradually revived her. His Majesty looked at
his watch, compared it by the clock in the parlour, and by that of the
church in the square opposite; then he wound it up; then he looked at it
again. 'The great question is,' says he, 'am I fast or am I slow? If I'm
slow, we may as well go on with breakfast. If I'm fast, why, there
is just the possibility of saving Prince Bulbo. It's a doosid awkward
mistake, and upon my word, Hedzoff, I have the greatest mind to have you
hanged too.'

'Sire, I did but my duty; a soldier has but his orders. I didn't expect
after forty-seven years of faithful service that my sovereign would
think of putting me to a felon's death!'

'A hundred thousand plagues upon you! Can't you see that while you are
talking my Bulbo is being hung?' screamed the Princess.

'By Jove! she's always right, that girl, and I'm so absent,' says the
King, looking at his watch again. 'Ha! there go the drums! What a doosid
awkward thing though!'

'Oh, papa, you goose! Write the reprieve, and let me run with it,' cries
the Princess--and she got a sheet of paper, and pen and ink, and laid
them before the King.

'Confound it! where are my spectacles?' the Monarch exclaimed.
'Angelica! go up into my bedroom, look under my pillow, not your
mamma's; there you'll see my keys. Brin