If you enter, you pass under the metal scrollwork of the iron gates, and, above, the gilded circle of a coronet glistens in the sunshine.

These are the private demesnes of a prince and ruler of Hodge--the very highest and most powerful of his masters in that part of the country.

The vast wall encloses his pleasure-grounds and mansion; the broad iron gates give access to mile after mile of park and wood, and the decorated warden or pensioner has but to open them for the free entry of all Fleeceborough and her citizens.

Of course the position of the barrack is a mere accident, yet it gives an air of power and authority--the place is really as open, the beautiful park as common and accessible as the hill-top under the sky.

A peer only at Westminster, here he is a prince, whose dominions are almost co-extensive with the horizon; and this, the capital city, is for the most part his.
Far away stretches that little kingdom, with its minor towns of villages, hamlets, and farms.