A DEDICATION
TO THE
WRITERS OF FAIRY-TALE HEXAMETERS,
F. W. C., H. T., J. R. S., AND R. T. R.

The proofs of my story-book are piled upon the table by the open windows: there are records of many sunshines in these little histories, but of none more sweet than this present grace of being and existence, high perched on our fragrant height. Rose-hedges grow along our terrace, casting wild scent and fantastic branches upon the blue of the great waters; the sunshine seems to stir the uprising moors to mystic life, and a mighty measure is sounding from the beach below. In the light and the fragrance and sweetness, it seems almost a dream to incredulous eyes, when lo! a message comes from that mystic world: a robin flies into the room and perches on the table with a re-assuring flutter, and all seems real once more. It is time I leave my proofs and my fairy follies, and dispatch them to the printer in London, far away—these pages in my own and in the familiar handwritings, that have brought me (not without some protest) the stories as I asked for them, told once more, in a certain cadence. The original tunes had seemed to me lost, somehow, in my experiments and variations, and these kind musicians and another, not refusing to please me, have played them once more to the measure I asked for. To friend H—— T—— and to kinsman R—— I must write my "thank you" here; to F—— I can say it, as he stands smoking his pipe upon the terrace-walk.
Lynton, North Devon, August 6th, 1874.