And slowly removing thy gold-rimmed glasses and assiduously rubbing them with thy ample handkerchief, in tone a bit tremulous, thou addressest the mild gentleman thy hearer. ‘The heat of this unwonted season, sir, would not be so inconvenient but for the confounded humidity dampening one’s spectacles so. But where, where now was I? Astraying I’ve been: Let me see----’ shutting thine eyes and clapping a hand to brow, ‘ah, yes, yes--patriotism of boyhood. Well, such a spluttering blunderbuss as I was speaking of a while ago, or rather such a _feu de joie in persona_ our venerable friend, Judge van Groot, inadvertently made himself as a boy, recruiting his fagged patriotism on doughnuts and cider in one of those booths which in _auld lang syne_ belted about our City Hall Park every Fourth. I hear the sharp, quick percussion even now--see the lad starting up, clapping his hands to his exploding powder-houses, and yet more rapidly withdrawing them, till the booth-keeper put him out by dashing a handy bucket of cider on his trowsers. That was--bless my soul--nigh threescore years ago!--And now? Yesterday with one foot in prunella, his Honour limped off to Saratoga, and, I dare say, sir, without so much as a single powder-cracker in his vest pocket; nay, and very likely never once recalling the circumstances that Saratoga as a great Revolutionary battlefield, or giving name to one, is signally associated with this blessed day.’ Then after a few moments of meditative silence, ‘Myndert van Groot is--let me see--yes, about mine own age. His bay-tree, though planted by the rivers of Burgundy, won’t flourish more than a hundred years longer.--Well, well--_tempus_ does _fugit_--_Memento mori!_--die we must--consign to dust--leave all!’ Here, settling back in thy chair, thine eyes fixed upon vacancy, thou murmurest from thy Horace in quite other tones than those which late rolled forth the Monterey stanza:-- ‘The purple vineyard’s luscious stores, Secured by trebly bolted doors, Excite in vain your care; Soon shall the rich and sparkling hoard Flow largely o’er the festive board Of your unsparing heir.’