country can boast a more exact taste in their selection.  At each plate a silver holder stands, bearing a bouquet of delicately-arranged flowers.  A trellise of choice flowers, interspersed here and there with gorgeous bouquets in porcelain vases, range along the centre of the table; which presents the appearance of a bed of fresh flowers variegated with delicious fruits.  Her guests are to her choicer than her fruits; her fruits are choicer than her female wares.  No entertainment of this kind would be complete without Judge Sleepyhorn and Mr. Soloman.  They countenance vice in its most insidious form-they foster crime; without crime their trade would be damaged.  The one cultivates, that the other may reap the harvest and maintain his office.

“I see,” says Mr. Soloman, in reply to the old hostess, “not the slightest objection to your being a princess-not the slightest!  And, to be frank about the matter, I know of no one who would better ornament the position.”

“Your compliments are too liberally bestowed, Mr. Soloman.”

“Not at all!  ’Pon my honor, now, there is a chance for you to bring that thing about in a very short time.  There is Grouski, the Polish exile, a prince of pure blood.  Grouski is poor, wants to get back to Europe.  He wants a wife, too.  Grouski is a high old fellow-a most celebrated man, fought like a hero for the freedom of his country; and though an exile here, would be received with all the honors due to a prince in either Italy, France or England.

“A very respectable gentleman, no doubt; but a prince of pure blood, Mr. Soloman, is rather a scarce article these days.”

“Not a bit of it-why there is lots of exiled Princes all over this country.  They are modest men, you know, like me; and having got it into their heads that we don’t like royal blood, rather keep the fact of their birth to themselves.  As for Grouski! why his history is as familiar to every American who takes any interest in these things, as is the history of poor Kossuth.  I only say this, Madame Flamingo, to prove to you that Grouski is none of your mock articles.  And what is more, I have several times heard him speak most enthusiastically of you.”

“Of me!” interrupts the old hostess, blushing.  “I respect Grouski, and the more so for his being a poor prince in exile.”  Madame orders her servants, who are screwed into bright liveries, to bring on some sparkling Moselle.  This done, and the glasses filled with the sparkling beverage, Mr. Soloman rises to propose a toast; although, as he says, it is somewhat out of place, two rounds having only succeeded the soup:  “I propose the health of our generous host, to whom we owe so much for the superb manner in which she has catered for our amusement.  Here’s that we may speedily have the pleasure of paying our respects to her as the Princess Grouski.”  Madame Flamingo bows, the toast is drunk with cheers, and she begins to think there is something in it after all.