vi DEDICATION. 



pack of foxhounds, knock my birds over, take my 

 day's walking, whip a stream, handle my billiard 

 cue, tell my story, sing my song, tool the drag 

 if pushed, run a hundred yards in a certain time, 

 and use my bunch of fives pretty effectively yet. 

 But Time, "Old Father Time," has changed us 

 all : grown grey is the curly-headed boy that 

 used to sit on your knee, with open mouth and 

 fixed eyes, listening to your famous story of the 

 " Baron von Bromenstine," that story that used 

 to send us ah 1 breathless and wondering to bed 

 (A fellow has just come ^in and is interrupt- 

 ing me in one of my finest passages, asking 

 for a light for his infernal pipe there it is, 

 and I may as well light my own at the same 

 time). 



Yes, time has changed, and yet I see a^ curly- 

 headed little dog sitting on your knee (I've 

 not lost the thread, I'm t coming again, like a 

 famished hunter close at home rushing to his 

 gruel) listening to that self-same story, but 

 who ? my second son tormenting grandpapa to 

 tell him that tale I was so fond of hearing; 

 whilst the eldest is wanting to know all about 

 papa's famous fight, another sturdy little urchin 



