upon his family; and finding nothing left to wish for, but that the whole city had been witness to his felicity. Even the cook came in for some distant rays and emanations of the princely countenance; for the Count Fitz-Hum condescended to express his entire approbation of the supper, and signified his pleasure to Von Hoax that the cook should be remembered on the next vacancy which occurred in the palace establishment.
“Tears such as tender fathers shed” had already on this night bedewed the cheeks of the Commissioner; but before he retired to bed, he was destined to shed more and still sweeter tears; for after supper he was honoured by a long private interview with the Count, in which that personage expressed his astonishment (indeed he must say, his indignation) that merit so distinguished as that of Mr. Pig should so long have remained unknown at court. “I now see more than ever,” said he, “the necessity there was that I should visit my states incognito.” And he then threw out pretty plain intimations that a place, and even a title, would soon be conferred on his host. Upon this Pig wept copiously: and, upon retiring, being immediately honoured by an interview with Mr. Von Hoax, who assured him that he was much mistaken if he thought that his highness ever did these things by halves or would cease to watch over the fortunes of a family whom he had once taken into his special grace; the good man absolutely sobbed like a child, and could neither utter a word, nor get a wink of sleep that night.
All night the workmen pursued their labours, and by morning the state apartments were in complete preparation. By this time it was universally known throughout the city who was sleeping at the Commissioner’s. As soon, therefore, as it could be supposed agreeable to him, the trained bands of the town marched down to pay their respects by a morning salute. The drums awoke the Count, who rose immediately, and in a few minutes presented himself at the window—bowing repeatedly and in the most gracious manner. A prodigious roar of “Vivat Serenissimus!” ascended from the mob; amongst whom the Count had some difficulty in descrying the martial body who were parading below; that gallant corps mustering in fact fourteen strong, of whom nine were reported fit for service; the “balance of five,” as their commercial leader observed, being either on the sick-list—or, at least, not ready for “all work,” though too loyal to decline a labour of love like the present. The Count received the report of the commanding officer; and declared (addressing himself to Von Hoax, but loud enough to be overheard by the officer) that he had seldom seen a more soldierly body of men or who had more the air of veteran troops. The officer’s honest face burned with
