tingly, half fondly, "pooh, Lucy,
blushes are garden flowers, and ought never to be found wild in the
woods:" then changing his tone, he said, "come, put some fresh straw
in the corner, this stranger honours our palace to-night; Mim, unload
thyself of our royal treasures; watch without and vanish from within!"

Depositing on his majesty's floor the appurtenances of the regal
supper-table, Mim made his respectful adieus and disappeared; meanwhile
the queen scattered some fresh straw over a mattress in the narrow
chamber, and, laying over all a sheet of singularly snowy hue, made
her guest some apology for the badness of his lodging; this King Cole
interrupted by a most elaborately noisy yawn and a declaration of
extreme sleepiness. "Now, Lucy, let us leave the gentleman to what he
will like better than soft words even from a queen. Good night, sir, we
shall be stirring at daybreak;" and with this farewell King Cole took
the lady's arm, and retired with her into an inner compartment of the
caravan.

Left to himself, our hero looked round with surprise at the exceeding
neatness which reigned over the whole apartment. But what chiefly
engrossed the attention of one to whose early habits books had always
been treasures were several volumes, ranged in comely shelves, fenced
with wirework, on either side of the fireplace. "Courage," thought
he, as he stretched himself on his humble couch, "my adventures have
commenced well: a gypsy tent, to be sure, is nothing very new; but a
gypsy who quotes poetry, and enjoys a modest wife, speaks better than
books do for the improvement of the world!"

CHAPTER III.

Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp?--As You Like It.

The sun broke cheerfully through the small lattice of the caravan, as
the youth opened his eyes and saw the good-humoured countenance of his
gypsy host bending over him complacently.

"You slept so soundly, sir, that I did not like to disturb you; but my
good wife only waits your rising to have all ready for breakfast."

"It were a thousand pities," cried the guest, leaping from his bed,
"that so pretty a face should look cross on my account, so I will not
keep her waiting an instant."

The gypsy smiled, as he answered, "I require no professional help from
the devil, sir, to foretell your fortune."

"No!--and what is it?"

"Honour, reputation, success: all that are ever won by a soft tongue, if
it be backed by a bold