ot of sufficient rank
to merit such an honour.

After three or four young noblemen had been tossed, much to the amusement
of the queen and her ladies, the king cast his eyes on two young
Florentine nobles who had lately arrived at Naples. They were with their
tutor, and all three had been laughing heartily at the disport of the
king and his courtiers.

The monarch came up and accosted them very pleasantly, proposing that
they should take part in the game.

The wretched Tuscans had been baked in a bad oven; they were undersized,
ugly, and humpbacked.

His majesty's proposal seemed to put them on thorns. Everybody listened
for the effects of the king's eloquence; he was urging them to undress,
and saying that it would be unmannerly to refuse; there could be no
humiliation in it, he said, as he himself had been the first to submit.

The tutor felt that it would not do to give the king a refusal, and told
them that they must give in, and thereupon the two Florentines took off
their clothes.

When the company saw their figures and doleful expressions, the laughter
became general. The king took one of them by the hand, observing in an
encouraging manner that there would be no danger; and as a special honour
he held one of the corners of the blanket himself. But, for all that, big
tears rolled down the wretched young man's cheeks.

After three or four visits to the ceiling, and amusing everyone by the
display of his long thin legs, he was released, and the younger brother
went to the torture smilingly, for which he was rewarded by applause.

The governor, suspecting that his majesty destined him for the same fate,
had slipped out; and the king laughed merrily when he heard of his
departure.

Such was the extraordinary spectacle we enjoyed--a spectacle in every way
unique.

Don Pascal Latilla, who had been lucky enough to avoid his majesty's
notice, told us a number of pleasant anecdotes about the king; all shewed
him in the amiable light of a friend of mirth and an enemy to all pomp
and stateliness, by which kings are hedged in generally. He assured us
that no one could help liking him, because he always preferred to be
treated as a friend rather than a monarch.

"He is never more grieved," said Pascal, "than when his minister Tanucci
shews him that he must be severe, and his greatest joy is to grant a
favour."

Ferdinand had not the least tincture of letters, but as he was a man of
good sense he honoured lette