in the front of his book. In short, the day approached--nay, actually
arrived, and his pockets could boast little more than the once vaunted
half-crown and a shilling. Here was a state sufficient to drive one of
less strength of mind to despair. As a friend, a subject, a man of
honour, and one who prided himself upon a tenacious adherence to his
word (when the aforesaid creditors were not concerned), he felt keenly
all the horrors of his situation.

The day arrived, and etiquette demanded that the proper officer should
examine and report upon the nature of the expected entertainment, a duty
that had been deferred until a late hour of the day. Well was it that
the confiding prince had not wholly dispensed with that form; for verily
the said officer found the colonel, with a dirty scullion for his aide
du camp, in active and zealous preparation for his royal visiter; his
shirt sleeves tucked up, while he ardently basted the identical and
solitary "leg of mutton" as it revolved upon the spit: potatoes were to
be seen delicately insinuated into the pan beneath to catch the rich
exudation of the joint; while several tankards of foaming ale, and what
the French term "bread à discretion," announced that, in quantity, if
not in quality, he had not been careless in providing for the
entertainment of his illustrious guest. Although the colonel's culinary
skill leaves no doubt that the leg of mutton would have sustained
(according to Mr. Hunt's elegant phraseology) critical discussion on its
intrinsic merits, or on its concoction; and although the dinner might
have been endured by royalty (of whose homely appetite the ample
gridiron at Alderman Combe's brewery then gave ample proof), yet his
royal highness's poodles would assuredly have perspired through every
pore at the very mention of what a certain nobleman used to term a
"jig-hot;" so the feast was dispensed with, and due acknowledgment made
for the evident proofs of hospitality which had been displayed.