"This," said the King, as he motioned Mr. Punch and Father TIME into his state carriage, and vaulted in after them with as much agility as his sword and boots would permit, "is the uniform of the Baratarian Die-hards, of which regiment I am honorary Colonel."
Thus they drove to the balloon station, at which the Imperial guest was expected. After a few minutes, a sound of cheering was heard.
"He's coming," observed the King. "Have I got my kissing face on?"
Mr. Punch reassured him. A moment afterwards the state-balloon of BARATARIA soared up to the platform, and a young man, gorgeously attired in the uniform of the Tenth (Jupiter's Own) Lancers, sprang lightly from it.
Loud pealed the loyal anthem, and rattled all the drums,
And, as the guard presented, the cry went up, "He comes!"
He steps upon the platform, and, while the plaudits ring,
A King hangs round an Emperor's neck, an Emperor hugs a King;
And, with impartial kisses on both cheeks duly pressed,
The guest does homage to his host, the host salutes his guest.