hy, our jigger [door] will need no bars;
Our sentry shall be on the owlet's tree,
And our lamps the glorious stars.

CHORUS.
So the king to his hall, and the steed to his stall,
And the cit to his bilking board;
But we are not bound to an acre of ground,
For our home is the houseless sward.

Rude as was this lawless stave, the spirit with which it was sung atoned
to the young stranger for its obscurity and quaintness; as for his host,
that curious personage took a lusty and prominent part in the chorus;
nor did the old woods refuse their share of the burden, but sent back a
merry echo to the chief's deep voice and the harsher notes of his jovial
brethren.

When the glee had ceased, King Cole rose, the whole band followed
his example, the cloth was cleared in a trice, the barrel--oh! what a
falling off was there!--was rolled into a corner of the tent, and the
crew to whom the awning belonged began to settle themselves to rest;
while those who owned the other encampment marched forth, with King Cole
at their head. Leaning with no light weight upon his guest's arm, the
lover of ancient minstrelsy poured into the youth's ear a strain of
eulogy, rather eloquent than coherent, upon the scene they had just
witnessed.

"What," cried his majesty in an enthusiastic tone, "what can be so truly
regal as our state? Can any man control us? Are we not above all laws?
Are we not the most despotic of kings? Nay, more than the kings of
earth, are we not the kings of Fairyland itself? Do we not realize the
golden dreams of the old rhymers, luxurious dogs that they were? Who
would not cry out,--

'Blest silent groves! Oh, may ye be
Forever Mirth's best nursery!
May pure Contents
Forever pitch their tents
Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains.'"

Uttering this notable extract from the thrice-honoured Sir Henry Wotton,
King Cole turned abruptly from the common, entered the wood which
skirted it, and, only attended by his guest and his minister Mim, came
suddenly, by an unexpected and picturesque opening in the trees, upon
one of those itinerant vehicles termed caravans, he ascended the few
steps which led to the entrance, opened the door, and was instantly in
the arms of a pretty and young woman. On seeing our hero (for such we
fear the youth is likely to become), she drew back with a blush not
often found upon regal cheeks.

"Pooh," said King Cole, half taun