The Fairy Blackstick, by whose means this young King and Queen had certainly won their respective crowns back, would come not unfrequently, to pay them a little visit — as they were riding in their triumphal progress towards Giglio’s capital — change her wand into a pony, and travel by their Majesties’ side, giving them the very best advice. I am not sure that King Giglio did not think the Fairy and her advice rather a bore, fancying it was his own valor and merits which had put him on his throne, and conquered Padella: and, in fine, I fear he rather gave himself airs towards his best friend and patroness. She exhorted him to deal justly by his subjects, to draw mildly on the taxes, never to break his promise when he had once given it — and in all respects to be a good King.

“A good King, my dear Fairy!” cries Rosalba. “Of course he will. Break his promise! can you fancy my Giglio would ever do anything so improper, so unlike him? No! never!” And she looked fondly towards Giglio, whom she thought a pattern of perfection.

“Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and telling me how to manage my government, and warning me to keep my word? Does she suppose that I am not a man of sense, and a man of honor?” asks Giglio testily. “Methinks she rather presumes upon her position.”

“Hush! dear Giglio,” says Rosalba. “You know Blackstick has been very kind to us, and we must not offend her.” But the Fairy was not listening to Giglio’s testy observations, she had fallen back, and was trotting on her pony now, by Master Bulbo’s side, who rode a donkey, and made himself generally beloved in the army by his cheerfulness, kindness, and good-humor to everybody. He was eager to see his darling Angelica. He thought there never was such a charming being. Blackstick did not tell him it was the possession of the magic rose that made Angelica so lovely in his eyes. She brought him the very best accounts of his little wife, whose misfortunes and humiliations had indeed very greatly improved her; and, you see, she could whisk off on her wand a hundred miles in a minute, and be back in no time, and so carry polite messages from Bulbo to Angelica, and from Angelica to Bulbo, and comfort that young man upon his journey.

When the Royal party arrived at the last stage before you reach Blombodinga, who should be in waiting, in her carriage there with her lady of honor by her side, but the Princess Angelica? She rushed into her husband’s arms, scarcely stopping to make a passing curtsey to the King and Queen. She had no eyes but for Bulbo, who appeared perfectly lovely to her on account of the fairy ring which he wore; whilst she herself, wearing the magic rose in her bonnet, seemed entirely beautiful to the enraptured Bulbo.

A splendid luncheon was served to the Royal party, of which the Archbishop, the Chancellor, Duke Hedzoff, Countess Gruffanuff, and all our friends partook, the Fairy Blackstick being seated on the left of King Giglio, with Bulbo and Angelica beside her. You could hear the joy-bells ringing in the capital, and the guns which the citizens were firing off in honor of their Majesties.

“What can have induced that hideous old Gruffanuff to dress herself up in such an absurd way? Did you ask her to be your bridesmaid, my dear?” says Giglio to Rosalba. “What a figure of fun Gruffy is!”

Gruffy was seated opposite their Majesties, between the Archbishop and the Lord Chancellor, and a figure of fun she certainly was, for she was dressed in a low white silk dress, with lace over, a wreath of white roses on her wig, a splendid lace veil, and her yellow old neck was covered with diamonds. She ogled the King in such a manner that his Majesty burst out laughing.

“Eleven o’clock!” cries Giglio, as the great Cathedral bell of Blombodinga tolled that hour. “Gentlemen and ladies, we must be starting. Archbishop, you must be at church, I think, before twelve?”

“We must be at church before twelve,” sighs out Gruffanuff in a languishing voice, hiding her old face behind her fan.

“And then I shall be the happiest man in my dominions,” cries Giglio, with an elegant bow to the blushing Rosalba.

“Oh, my Giglio! Oh, my dear Majesty!” exclaims Gruffanuff; “and can it be that this happy moment at length has arrived —”

“Of course it has arrived,” says the King.

“— and that I am about to become the enraptured bride of my adored Giglio!” continues Gruffanuff. “Lend me a smelling-bottle, somebody. I certainly shall faint with joy.”

“YOU my bride?” roars out Giglio.

“YOU marry my Prince?” cried poor little Rosalba.

“Pooh! Nonsense! The woman’s mad!” exclaims the King. And all the courtiers exhibited by their countenances and expressions, marks of surprise, or ridicule, or incredulity, or wonder.

“I should like to know who else is going to be married, if I am not?” shrieks o............