ontinental cocked-hat, from which projected a
queue of such unaccountable length that it was said nobody ever saw
the end of it. But his most atrocious feature was a great proboscis,
growing just over a little pug nose, he used for smelling, about the
size of that of an elephant, which it exactly resembled in strength
and elasticity.

"What want you here?" roared the monster, in a voice so loud and
horrible, that it set the bell tinkling, and in a most discourteous
manner peculiar to giants, who are notorious for their ill manners.

"I wish to see the far-famed and puissant enchanter, the great
Curmudgeon, with whom I have a bone to pick, an please your worship,"
replied the prince, with infinite politeness.

"You see him--what good will that do? He would not look at, much less
speak to, such a sloppy stripling as you. To the right-about--march!
or I'll make mince-meat of you in less than no time."

"Stand aside, and let me pass!" cried the enraged prince, drawing his
sword.

"Advance at your peril!" roared the giant, twirling his proboscis, and
twisting his long queue like a great black-snake.

And now commenced a battle, the like of which is not recorded in
history, tradition, or romance. The sword of the valiant prince
gleamed, and flashed, and flew about like lightning, raining such a
shower of dry blows on the monster, that had not his hide been
invulnerable to any but enchanted weapons, he would in good time have
been a gone sucker, as Sir Bruin said. The giant, on the other hand,
had managed his proboscis with admirable skill, his great object being
to entwine the prince in its folds, and squeeze him to death.
Sometimes he would stretch it out at least six yards, and at others
draw it in suddenly, in hopes the prince would be deceived as to its
length, and come within the sphere of its action. But the prince being
gloriously seconded by his gallant steed, displayed an activity fully
equal to the craft of the giant; and for an hour at least the fight
continued doubtful. The only vulnerable part of the monster was his
long queue, which the prince, in hopes that, like Sampson, his
strength might peradventure lie in his hair, by an adroit manoeuvre
cut off about six feet from his head. Thereupon he roared like ten
thousand bulls of Bashan, insomuch that the enchanter, Curmudgeon,
feared he was vanquished, and trembled in the recesses of his castle.

The giant frantic with rage at the loss of what he was more