as other
disagreeable remedies, such as castor ---- which I will not name.

The King of the Greedy sought long for the means of correcting this
fatal passion for sweets, but even the faculty were puzzled.

"Your Majesty," said the great court doctor, Olibriers, at his last
audience, "your people look like putty! They are incurable; their
senseless love for good eating will bring them all to the grave."

This view of things did not suit the King. He was wise, and saw very
plainly that a monarch without subjects would be but a sorry king.

Happily, after this utter failure of the doctors, there came into the
mind of His Majesty a first-class idea: he telegraphed for Mother
Mitchel, the most celebrated of all pastry cooks. Mother Mitchel soon
arrived, with her black cat, Fanfreluche, who accompanied her
everywhere. He was an incomparable cat. He had not his equal as an
adviser and a taster of tarts.

Mother Mitchel having respectfully inquired what she and her cat could
do for His Majesty, the King demanded of the astonished pastry cook a
tart as big as the capitol--bigger even, if possible, but no smaller!
When the King uttered this astounding order, deep emotion was shown by
the chamberlains, the pages, and lackeys. Nothing but the respect due
to his presence prevented them from crying "Long live Your Majesty!"
in his very ears. But the King had seen enough of the enthusiasm of
the populace, and did not allow such sounds in the recesses of his
palace.

The King gave Mother Mitchel one month to carry out his gigantic
project. "It is enough," she proudly replied, brandishing her crutch.
Then, taking leave of the King, she and her cat set out for their
home.

On the way Mother Mitchel arranged in her head the plan of the
monument which was to immortalize her, and considered the means of
executing it. As to its form and size, it was to be as exact a copy of
the capitol as possible, since the King had willed it; but its outside
crust should have a beauty all its own. The dome must be adorned with
sugarplums of all colours, and surmounted by a splendid crown of
macaroons, spun sugar, chocolate, and candied fruits. It was no small
affair.

Mother Mitchel did not like to lose her time. Her plan of battle once
formed, she recruited on her way all the little pastry cooks of the
country, as well as all the tiny six-year-olds who had a sincere love
for the noble callings of scullion and apprentice. There were plenty
of t