'Well, but the Baron Von Koeldwethout of Grogzwig! He was a fine swarthy
fellow, with dark hair and large moustachios, who rode a-hunting in
clothes of Lincoln green, with russet boots on his feet, and a bugle
slung over his shoulder like the guard of a long stage. When he blew
this bugle, four-and-twenty other gentlemen of inferior rank, in Lincoln
green a little coarser, and russet boots with a little thicker soles,
turned out directly: and away galloped the whole train, with spears in
their hands like lacquered area railings, to hunt down the boars, or
perhaps encounter a bear: in which latter case the baron killed him
first, and greased his whiskers with him afterwards.

'This was a merry life for the Baron of Grogzwig, and a merrier still
for the baron's retainers, who drank Rhine wine every night till they
fell under the table, and then had the bottles on the floor, and called
for pipes. Never were such jolly, roystering, rollicking, merry-making
blades, as the jovial crew of Grogzwig.

'But the pleasures of the table, or the pleasures of under the table,
require a little variety; especially when the same five-and-twenty
people sit daily down to the same board, to discuss the same subjects,
and tell the same stories. The baron grew weary, and wanted excitement.
He took to quarrelling with his gentlemen, and tried kicking two or
three of them every day after dinner. This was a pleasant change at
first; but it became monotonous after a week or so, and the baron felt
quite out of sorts, and cast about, in despair, for some new amusement.

'One night, after a day's sport in which he had outdone Nimrod or
Gillingwater, and slaughtered "another fine bear," and brought him home
in triumph, the Baron Von Koeldwethout sat moodily at the head of his