orld. A thousand earnest looking soldiers, proud of the opportunity
to march before the little Prince--and that was all, so far as the
review was concerned.

But, alluringly provident to the welfare of this narrative, the red and
black uniformed soldiers were not the only persons on review that balmy
day in July. Truxton King had his first glimpse of the nobility of
Graustark. He changed his mind about going to Vienna on the Saturday
express. A goodly number of men before him had altered their humble
plans for the same reason, I am reliably informed.

Mr. King saw the court in all its glory, scattered along the shady
Castle Avenue--in carriages, in traps, in motors and in the saddle. His
brain whirled and his heart leaped under the pressure of a new-found
interest in life. The unexpected oasis loomed up before his eyes just as
he was abandoning all hope in the unprofitable desert of Romance. He saw
green trees and sparkling rivulets, and he sighed with a new, strange
content. No, on second thoughts, he would not go to Vienna. He would
stay in Edelweiss. He was a disciple of Micawber; and he was so much
younger and fresher than that distinguished gentleman, that perhaps he
was justified in believing that, in his case, something was bound to
"turn up."

If Truxton King had given up in disgust and fled to Vienna, this tale
would never have come to light. Instead of being the lively narrative of
a young gentleman's adventures in far-away Graustark, it might have
become a tale of the smart set in New York--for, as you know, we are
bound by tradition to follow the trail laid down by our hero, no matter
which way he elects to fare. Somewhat dismayed by his narrow escape, he
confided to his friend from Cook's that he could never have forgiven
himself if he had adhered to his resolution to leave on the following
day.

"I didn't know you'd changed your mind, sir," remarked Mr. Hobbs in
surprise.

"Of course you didn't know it," said Truxton. "How could you? I've just
changed it, this instant. I didn't know it myself two minutes ago. No,
sir, Hobbs--or is it Dobbs? Thanks--no, sir, I'm going to stop here for
a--well, a week or two. Where the dickens do these people keep
themselves? I haven't seen 'em before."

"Oh, they are the nobility--the swells. They don't hang around the
streets like tourists and rubbernecks, sir," in plain disgust.

"I thought you were an Englishman," observed King, with a quizzical
smile.

"I am,