The Romany Rye
by George Borrow
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

by

George Borrow

CHAPTER I

The Making of the Linch-pin - The Sound Sleeper - Breakfast -
The Postillion's Departure.

I AWOKE at the first break of day, and, leaving the
postillion fast asleep, stepped out of the tent. The dingle
was dank and dripping. I lighted a fire of coals, and got my
forge in readiness. I then ascended to the field, where the
chaise was standing as we had left it on the previous
evening. After looking at the cloud-stone near it, now cold,
and split into three pieces, I set about prying narrowly into
the condition of the wheel and axletree - the latter had
sustained no damage of any consequence, and the wheel, as far
as I was able to judge, was sound, being only slightly
injured in the box. The only thing requisite to set the
chaise in a travelling condition appeared to be a linch-pin,
which I determined to make. Going to the companion wheel, I
took out the linch-pin, which I carried down with me to the
dingle, to serve as a model.

I found Belle by this time dressed, and seated near the
forge: with a slight nod to her like that which a person
gives who happens to see an acquaintance when his mind is
occupied with important business, I forthwith set about my
work. Selecting a piece of iron which I thought would serve
my purpose, I placed it in the fire, and plying the bellows
in a furious manner, soon made it hot; then seizing it with
the tongs, I laid it on my anvil, and began to beat it with
my hammer, according to the rules of my art. The dingle
resounded with my strokes. Belle sat still, and occasionally
smiled, but suddenly started up, and retreated towards her
encampment, on a spark which I purposely sent in her
direction alighting on her knee. I found the making of a
linch-pin no easy matter; it was, however, less difficult
than the fabrication of a pony-shoe; my work, indeed, was
much facilitated by my having another pin to look at. In
about three-quarters of an hour I had succeeded tolerably
well, and had produced a linch-pin which I thought would
serve. During all this time, notwithstanding the noise which
I was making, the postillion never showed his face. His non-
appearance at first alarmed me: I was afraid he might be
dead, but, on looking into the tent, I found him still buried
in the soundest sleep. "He must surely be descended from one
of the seven sleepers," said I, as I turned away, and resumed
my work. My work finished, I took a little oil, leather, and
sand, and polished the pin as well as I could; then,
summoning Belle, we both went to the chaise, where, with her
assistance, I put on the wheel. The linch-pin which I had
made fitted its place very well, and having replaced the
other, I gazed at the chaise for some time with my heart full
of that satisfaction which results from the consciousness of
having achieved a great action; then, after looking at Belle
in the hope of obtaining a compliment from her lips, which
did not come, I returned to the dingle, without saying a
word, followed by her. Belle set about making preparations
for breakfast; and I taking the kettle, went and filled it at
the spring. Having hung it over the fire, I went to the tent
in which the postillion was still sleeping, and called upon
him to arise. He awoke with a start, and stared around him
at first with the utmost surprise, not unmixed, I could
observe, with a certain degree of fear. At last, looking in
my face, he appeared to recollect himself. "I had quite
forgot," said he, as he got up, "where I was, and all that
happened yesterday. However, I remember now the whole
affair, thunder-storm, thunder-bolt, frightened horses, and
all your kindness. Come, I must see after my coach and
horses; I hope we shall be able to repair the damage."  "The
damage is already quite repaired," said I, "as you will see,
if you come to the field above."  "You don't say so," said
the postillion, coming out of the tent; "well, I am mightily
beholden to you. Good morning, young gentle-woman," said he,
addressing Belle, who, having finished her preparations, was
seated near the fire. "Good morning, young man," said Belle,
"I suppose you would be glad of some breakfast; however, you
must wait a little, the kettle does not boil."  "Come and
look at your chaise," said I; "but tell me how it happened
that the noise which I have been making did not awake you;
for three-quarters of an hour at least I was hammering close
at your ear."  "I heard you all the time," said the
postillion, "but your hammering made me sleep all the
sounder; I am used to hear hammering in my morning sleep.
There's a forge close by the room where I sleep when I'm at
home, at my inn; for we have all kinds of conveniences at my
inn - forge, carpenter's shop, and wheel-wright's, - so that
when I heard you hammering I thought, no doubt, that it was
the old noise, and that I was comfortable in my bed at my own
inn."  We now ascended to the field, where I showed the
postillion his chaise. He looked at the pin attentively,
rubbed his hands, and gave a loud laugh. "Is it not well
done?" said I. "It will do till I get home," he replied.
"And that is all you have to say?" I demanded. "And that's a
good deal," said he, "considering who made it. But don't be
offended," he added, "I shall prize it all the more for its
being made by a gentleman, and no blacksmith; and so will my
governor, when I show it to him. I shan't let it remain
where it is, but will keep it, as a remembrance of you, as
long as I live."  He then again rubbed his hands with great
glee, and said, "I will now go and see after my horses, and
then to breakfast, partner, if you please."  Suddenly,
however, looking at his hands, he said, "Before sitting down
to breakfast I am in the habit of washing my hands and face:
I suppose you could not furnish me with a little soap and
water."  "As much water as you please," said I, "but if you
want soap, I must go and trouble the young gentle-woman for
some."  "By no means," said the postillion, "water will do at
a pinch."  "Follow me," said I, and leading him to the pond
of the frogs and newts, I said, "this is my ewer; you are
welcome to part of it - the water is so soft that it is
scarcely necessary to add soap to it;" then lying down on the
bank, I plunged my head into the water, then scrubbed my
hands and face, and afterwards wiped them with some long
grass which grew on the margin of the pond. "Bravo," said
the postillion, "I see you know how to make a shift:" he then
followed my example, declared he never felt more refreshed in
his life, and, giving a bound, said, "he would go and look
after his horses."

We then went to look after the horses, which we found not
much the worse for having spent the night in the open air.
My companion again inserted their heads in the corn-bags,
and, leaving the animals to discuss their corn, returned with
me to the dingle, where we found the kettle boiling. We sat
down, and Belle made tea and did the honours of the meal.
The postillion was in high spirits, ate heartily, and, to
Belle's evident satisfaction, declared that he had never
drank better tea in his life, or indeed any half so good.
Breakfast over, he said that he must now go and harness his
horses, as it was high time for him to return to his inn.
Belle gave him her hand and wished him farewell: the
postillion shook her hand warmly, and was advancing close up
to her - for what purpose I cannot say - whereupon Belle,
withdrawing her hand, drew herself up with an air which
caused the postillion to retreat a step or two with an
exceedingly sheepish look. Recovering himself, however, he
made a low bow, and proceeded up the path. I attended him,
and helped to harness his horses and put them to the vehicle;
he then shook me by the hand, and taking the reins and whip,
mounted to his seat; ere he drove away he thus addressed me:
"If ever I forget your kindness and that of the young woman
below, dash my buttons. If ever either of you should enter
my inn you may depend upon a warm welcome, the best that can
be set before you, and no expense to either, for I will give
both of you the best of characters to the governor, who is
the very best fellow upon all the road. As for your linch-
pin, I trust it will serve till I get home, when I will take
it out and keep it in remembrance of you all the days of my
life:" then giving the horses a jerk with his reins, he
cracked his whip and drove off.

I returned to the dingle, Belle had removed the breakfast
things, and was busy in her own encampment: nothing occurred,
worthy of being related, for two hours, at the end of which
time Belle departed on a short expedition, and I again found
myself alone in the dingle.

CHAPTER II

The Man in Black - The Emperor of Germany - Nepotism - Donna
Olympia - Omnipotence - Camillo Astalli - The Five
Propositions.

IN the evening I received another visit from the man in
black. I had been taking a stroll in the neighbourhood, and
was sitting in the dingle in rather a listless manner,
scarcely knowing how to employ myself; his coming, therefore,
was by no means disagreeable to me. I produced the hollands
and glass from my tent, where Isopel Berners had requested me
to deposit them, and also some lump sugar, then taking the
gotch I fetched water from the spring, and, sitting down,
begged the man in black to help himself; he was not slow in
complying with my desire, and prepared for himself a glass of
hollands and water with a lump of sugar in it. After he had
taken two or three sips with evident satisfaction, I,
remembering his chuckling exclamation of "Go to Rome for
money," when he last left the dingle, took the liberty, after
a little conversation, of reminding him of it, whereupon,
with a he! he! he! he replied, "Your idea was not quite so
original as I supposed. After leaving you the other night, I
remembered having read of an Emperor of Germany who conceived
the idea of applying to Rome for money, and actually put it
into practice.

"Urban the Eighth then occupied the papal chair, of the
family of the Barbarini, nicknamed the Mosche, or Flies, from
the circumstance of bees being their armorial bearing. The
Emperor having exhausted all his money in endeavouring to
defend the church against Gustavus Adolphus, the great King
of Sweden, who was bent on its destruction, applied in his
necessity to the Pope for a loan of money. The Pope,
however, and his relations, whose cellars were at that time
full of the money of the church, which they had been
plundering for years, refused to lend him a scudo; whereupon
a pasquinade picture was stuck up at Rome, representing the
church lying on a bed, gashed with dreadful wounds, and beset
all over with flies, which were sucking her, whilst the
Emperor of Germany was kneeling before her with a miserable
face, requesting a little money towards carrying on the war
against the heretics, to which the poor church was made to
say: 'How can I assist you, O my champion, do you not see
that the flies have sucked me to the very bones?'  Which
story," said he, "shows that the idea of going to Rome for
money was not quite so original as I imagined the other
night, though utterly preposterous.

"This affair," said he, "occurred in what were called the
days of nepotism. Certain popes, who wished to make
themselves in some degree independent of the cardinals,
surrounded themselves with their nephews and the rest of
their family, who sucked the church and Christendom as much
as they could, none doing so more effectually than the
relations of Urban the Eighth, at whose death, according to
the book called the 'Nipotismo di Roma,' there were in the
Barbarini family two hundred and twenty-seven governments,
abbeys and high dignities; and so much hard cash in their
possession, that threescore and ten mules were scarcely
sufficient to convey the plunder of one of them to
Palestrina."  He added, however, that it was probable that
Christendom fared better whilst the popes were thus
independent, as it was less sucked, whereas before and after
that period it was sucked by hundreds instead of tens, by the
cardinals and all their relations, instead of by the pope and
his nephews only.

Then, after drinking rather copiously of his hollands, he
said that it was certainly no bad idea of the popes to
surround themselves with nephews, on whom they bestowed great
church dignities, as by so doing they were tolerably safe
from poison, whereas a pope, if abandoned to the cardinals,
might at any time be made away with by them, provided they
thought that he lived too long, or that he seemed disposed to
do anything which they disliked; adding, that Ganganelli
would never have been poisoned provided he had had nephews
about him to take care of his life, and to see that nothing
unholy was put into his food, or a bustling stirring
brother's wife like Donna Olympia. He then with a he! he!
he! asked me if I had ever read the book called the
"Nipotismo di Roma"; and on my replying in the negative, he
told me that it was a very curious and entertaining book,
which he occasionally looked at in an idle hour, and
proceeded to relate to me anecdotes out of the "Nipotismo di
Roma," about the successor of Urban, Innocent the Tenth, and
Donna Olympia, showing how fond he was of her, and how she
cooked his food, and kept the cardinals away from it, and how
she and her creatures plundered Christendom, with the
sanction of the Pope, until Christendom, becoming enraged,
insisted that he should put her away, which he did for a
time, putting a nephew - one Camillo Astalli - in her place,
in which, however, he did not continue long; for the Pope,
conceiving a pique against him, banished him from his sight,
and recalled Donna Olympia, who took care of his food, and
plundered Christendom until Pope Innocent died.

I said that I only wondered that between pope and cardinals
the whole system of Rome had not long fallen to the ground,
and was told, in reply, that its not having fallen was the
strongest proof of its vital power, and the absolute
necessity for the existence of the system. That the system,
notwithstanding its occasional disorders, went on. Popes and
cardinals might prey upon its bowels, and sell its interests,
but the system survived. The cutting off of this or that
member was not able to cause Rome any vital loss; for, as
soon as she lost a member, the loss was supplied by her own
inherent vitality; though her popes had been poisoned by
cardinals, and her cardinals by popes; and though priests
occasionally poisoned popes, cardinals, and each other, after
all that had been, and might be, she had still, and would
ever have, her priests, cardinals, and pope.

Finding the man in black so communicative and reasonable, I
determined to make the best of my opportunity, and learn from
him all I could with respect to the papal system, and told
him that he would particularly oblige me by telling me who
the Pope of Rome was; and received for answer, that he was an
old man elected by a majority of cardinals to the papal
chair; who, immediately after his election, became omnipotent
and equal to God on earth. On my begging him not to talk
such nonsense, and asking him how a person could be
omnipotent who could not always preserve himself from poison,
even when fenced round by nephews, or protected by a bustling
woman, he, after taking a long sip of hollands and water,
told me that I must not expect too much from omnipotence; for
example, that as it would be unreasonable to expect that One
above could annihilate the past - for instance, the Seven
Years' War, or the French Revolution - though any one who
believed in Him would acknowledge Him to be omnipotent, so
would it be unreasonable for the faithful to expect that the
Pope could always guard himself from poison. Then, after
looking at me for a moment stedfastly, and taking another
sip, he told me that popes had frequently done
impossibilities; for example, Innocent the Tenth had created
a nephew; for, not liking particularly any of his real
nephews, he had created the said Camillo Astalli his nephew;
asking me, with a he! he! "What but omnipotence could make a
young man nephew to a person to whom he was not in the
slightest degree related?"  On my observing that of course no
one believed that the young fellow was really the Pope's
nephew, though the Pope might have adopted him as such, the
man in black replied, "that the reality of the nephewship of
Camillo Astalli had hitherto never become a point of faith;
let, however, the present pope, or any other pope, proclaim
that it is necessary to believe in the reality of the
nephewship of Camillo Astalli, and see whether the faithful
would not believe in it. Who can doubt that," he added,
"seeing that they believe in the reality of the five
propositions of Jansenius? The Jesuits, wishing to ruin the
Jansenists, induced a pope to declare that such and such
damnable opinions, which they called five propositions, were
to be found in a book written by Jansen, though, in reality,
no such propositions were to be found there; whereupon the
existence of these propositions became forthwith a point of
faith to the faithful. Do you then think," he demanded,
"that there is one of the faithful who would not swallow, if
called upon, the nephewship of Camillo Astalli as easily as
the five propositions of Jansenius?"  "Surely, then," said I,
"the faithful must be a pretty pack of simpletons!"  
Whereupon the man in black exclaimed, "What! a Protestant,
and an infringer of the rights of faith! Here's a fellow,
who would feel himself insulted if any one were to ask him
how he could believe in the miraculous conception, calling
people simpletons who swallow the five propositions of
Jansenius, and are disposed, if called upon, to swallow the
reality of the nephewship of Camillo Astalli."

I was about to speak, when I was interrupted by the arrival
of Belle. After unharnessing her donkey, and adjusting her
person a little, she came and sat down by us. In the
meantime I had helped my companion to some more hollands and
water, and had plunged with him into yet deeper discourse.

CHAPTER III

Necessity of Religion - The Great Indian One - Image-worship
- Shakespeare - The Pat Answer - Krishna - Amen.

HAVING told the man in black that I should like to know all
the truth with regard to the Pope and his system, he assured
me he should be delighted to give me all the information in
his power; that he had come to the dingle, not so much for
the sake of the good cheer which I was in the habit of giving
him, as in the hope of inducing me to enlist under the
banners of Rome, and to fight in her cause; and that he had
no doubt that, by speaking out frankly to me, he ran the best
chance of winning me over.

He then proceeded to tell me that the experience of countless
ages had proved the necessity of religion; the necessity, he
would admit, was only for simpletons; but as nine-tenths of
the dwellers upon this earth were simpletons, it would never
do for sensible people to run counter to their folly, but, on
the contrary, it was their wisest course to encourage them in
it, always provided that, by so doing, sensible people would
derive advantage; that the truly sensible people of this
world were the priests, who, without caring a straw for
religion for its own sake, made use of it as a cord by which
to draw the simpletons after them; that there were many
religions in this world, all of which had been turned to
excellent account by the priesthood; but that the one the
best adapted for the purposes of priestcraft was the popish,
which, he said, was the oldest in the world and the best
calculated to endure. On my inquiring what he meant by
saying the popish religion was the oldest in the world,
whereas there could be no doubt that the Greek and Roman
religion had existed long before it, to say nothing of the
old Indian religion still in existence and vigour; he said,
with a nod, after taking a sip at his glass, that, between me
and him, the popish religion, that of Greece and Rome, and
the old Indian system were, in reality, one and the same.

"You told me that you intended to be frank," said I; "but,
however frank you may be, I think you are rather wild."

"We priests of Rome," said the man in black, "even those
amongst us who do not go much abroad, know a great deal about
church matters, of which you heretics have very little idea.
Those of our brethren of the Propaganda, on their return home
from distant missions, not unfrequently tell us very strange
things relating to our dear mother; for example, our first
missionaries to the East were not slow in discovering and
telling to their brethren that our religion and the great
Indian one were identical, no more difference between them
than between Ram and Rome. Priests, convents, beads,
prayers, processions, fastings, penances, all the same, not
forgetting anchorites and vermin, he! he! The pope they
found under the title of the grand lama, a sucking child
surrounded by an immense number of priests. Our good
brethren, some two hundred years ago, had a hearty laugh,
which their successors have often re-echoed; they said that
helpless suckling and its priests put them so much in mind of
their own old man, surrounded by his cardinals, he! he! Old
age is second childhood."

"Did they find Christ?" said I.

"They found him too," said the man in black, "that is, they
saw his image; he is considered in India as a pure kind of
being, and on that account, perhaps, is kept there rather in
the background, even as he is here."

"All this is very mysterious to me," said I.

"Very likely," said the man in black; "but of this I am
tolerably sure, and so are most of those of Rome, that modern
Rome had its religion from ancient Rome, which had its
religion from the East."

"But how?" I demanded.

"It was brought about, I believe, by the wanderings of
nations," said the man in black. "A brother of the
Propaganda, a very learned man, once told me - I do not mean
Mezzofanti, who has not five ideas - this brother once told
me that all we of the Old World, from Calcutta to Dublin, are
of the same stock, and were originally of the same language,
and - "

"All of one religion," I put in.

"All of one religion," said the man in black; "and now follow
different modifications of the same religion."

"We Christians are not image-worshippers," said I.

"You heretics are not, you mean," said the man in black; "but
you will be put down, just as you have always been, though
others may rise up after you; the true religion is image-
worship; people may strive against it, but they will only
work themselves to an oil; how did it fare with that Greek
Emperor, the Iconoclast, what was his name, Leon the
Isaurian? Did not his image-breaking cost him Italy, the
fairest province of his empire, and did not ten fresh images
start up at home for every one which he demolished? Oh! you
little know the craving which the soul sometimes feels after
a good bodily image."

"I have indeed no conception of it," said I; "I have an
abhorrence of idolatry - the idea of bowing before a graven
figure!"

"The idea, indeed!" said Belle, who had now joined us.

"Did you never bow before that of Shakespeare?" said the man
in black, addressing himself to me, after a low bow to Belle.

"I don't remember that I ever did," said I, "but even suppose
I did?"

"Suppose you did," said the man in black; "shame on you, Mr.
Hater of Idolatry; why, the very supposition brings you to
the ground; you must make figures of Shakespeare, must you?
then why not of St. Antonio, or Ignacio, or of a greater
personage still! I know what you are going to say," he
cried, interrupting me, as I was about to speak. "You don't
make his image in order to pay it divine honours, but only to
look at it, and think of Shakespeare; but this looking at a
thing in order to think of a person is the very basis of
idolatry. Shakespeare's works are not sufficient for you; no
more are the Bible or the legend of Saint Anthony or Saint
Ignacio for us, that is for those of us who believe in them;
I tell you, Zingara, that no religion can exist long which
rejects a good bodily image."

"Do you think," said I, "that Shakespeare's works would not
exist without his image?"

"I believe," said the man in black, "that Shakespeare's image
is looked at more than his works, and will be looked at, and
perhaps adored, when they are forgotten. I am surprised that
they have not been forgotten long ago; I am no admirer of
them."

"But I can't imagine," said I, "how you will put aside the
authority of Moses. If Moses strove against image-worship,
should not his doing so be conclusive as to the impropriety
of the practice: what higher authority can you have than that
of Moses?"

"The practice of the great majority of the human race," said
the man in black, "and the recurrence to image-worship where
image-worship has been abolished. Do you know that Moses is
considered by the church as no better than a heretic, and
though, for particular reasons, it has been obliged to adopt
his writings, the adoption was merely a sham one, as it never
paid the slightest attention to them? No, no, the church was
never led by Moses, nor by one mightier than he, whose
doctrine it has equally nullified - I allude to Krishna in
his second avatar; the church, it is true, governs in his
name, but not unfrequently gives him the lie, if he happens
to have said anything which it dislikes. Did you never hear
the reply which Padre Paolo Segani made to the French
Protestant Jean Anthoine Guerin, who had asked him whether it
was easier for Christ to have been mistaken in his Gospel,
than for the Pope to be mistaken in his decrees?"

"I never heard their names before," said I.

"The answer was pat," said the man in black, "though he who
made it was confessedly the most ignorant fellow of the very
ignorant order to which he belonged, the Augustine. 'Christ
might err as a man,' said he, 'but the Pope can never err,
being God.'  The whole story is related in the Nipotismo."

"I wonder you should ever have troubled yourself with Christ
at all," said I.

"What was to be done?" said the man in black; "the power of
that name suddenly came over Europe, like the power of a
mighty wind; it was said to have come from Judea, and from
Judea it probably came when it first began to agitate minds
in these parts; but it seems to have been known in the remote
East, more or less, for thousands of years previously. It
filled people's minds with madness; it was followed by books
which were never much regarded, as they contained little of
insanity; but the name! what fury that breathed into people!
the books were about peace and gentleness, but the name was
the most horrible of war-cries - those who wished to uphold
old names at first strove to oppose it, but their efforts
were feeble, and they had no good war-cry; what was Mars as a
war-cry compared with the name of . . . ? It was said that
they persecuted terribly, but who said so? The Christians.
The Christians could have given them a lesson in the art of
persecution, and eventually did so. None but Christians have
ever been good persecutors; well, the old religion succumbed,
Christianity prevailed, for the ferocious is sure to prevail
over the gentle."

"I thought," said I, "you stated a little time ago that the
Popish religion and the ancient Roman are the same?"

"In every point but that name, that Krishna and the fury and
love of persecution which it inspired," said the man in
black. "A hot blast came from the East, sounding Krishna; it
absolutely maddened people's minds, and the people would call
themselves his children; we will not belong to Jupiter any
longer, we will belong to Krishna, and they did belong to
Krishna; that is in name, but in nothing else; for who ever
cared for Krishna in the Christian world, or who ever
regarded the words attributed to him, or put them in
practice?"

"Why, we Protestants regard his words, and endeavour to
practise what they enjoin as much as possible."

"But you reject his image," sad the man in black; "better
reject his words than his image: no religion can exist long
which rejects a good bodily image. Why, the very negro
barbarians of High Barbary could give you a lesson on that
point; they have their fetish images, to which they look for
help in their afflictions; they have likewise a high priest,
whom they call - "

"Mumbo Jumbo," said I; "I know all about him already."

"How came you to know anything about him?" said the man in
black, with a look of some surprise.

"Some of us poor Protestants tinkers," said I, "though we
live in dingles, are also acquainted with a thing or two."

"I really believe you are," said the man in black, staring at
me; "but, in connection with this Mumbo Jumbo, I could relate
to you a comical story about a fellow, an English servant, I
once met at Rome."

"It would be quite unnecessary," said I; "I would much sooner
hear you talk about Krishna, his words and image."

"Spoken like a true heretic," said the man in black; "one of
the faithful would have placed his image before his words;
for what are all the words in the world compared with a good
bodily image!"

"I believe you occasionally quote his words?" said I.

"He! he!" said the man in black; "occasionally."

"For example," said I, "upon this rock I will found my
church."

"He! he!" said the man in black; "you must really become one
of us."

"Yet you must have had some difficulty in getting the rock to
Rome?"

"None whatever," said the man in black; "faith can remove
mountains, to say nothing of rocks - ho! ho!"

"But I cannot imagine," said I, "what advantage you could
derive from perverting those words of Scripture in which the
Saviour talks about eating his body."

"I do not know, indeed, why we troubled our heads about the
matter at all," said the man in black; "but when you talk
about perverting the meaning of the text, you speak
ignorantly, Mr. Tinker; when he whom you call the Saviour
gave his followers the sop, and bade them eat it, telling
them it was his body, he delicately alluded to what it was
incumbent upon them to do after his death, namely, to eat his
body."

"You do not mean to say that he intended they should actually
eat his body?"

"Then you suppose ignorantly," said the man in black; "eating
the bodies of the dead was a heathenish custom, practised by
the heirs and legatees of people who left property; and this
custom is alluded to in the text."

"But what has the New Testament to do with heathen customs,"
said I, "except to destroy them?"

"More than you suppose," said the man in black. "We priests
of Rome, who have long lived at Rome, know much better what
the New Testament is made of than the heretics and their
theologians, not forgetting their Tinkers; though I confess
some of the latter have occasionally surprised us - for
example, Bunyan. The New Testament is crowded with allusions
to heathen customs, and with words connected with pagan
sorcery. Now, with respect to words, I would fain have you,
who pretend to be a philologist, tell me the meaning of
Amen."

I made no answer.

"We of Rome," said the man in black, "know two or three
things of which the heretics are quite ignorant; for example,
there are those amongst us - those, too, who do not pretend
to be philologists - who know what Amen is, and, moreover,
how we got it. We got it from our ancestors, the priests of
ancient Rome; and they got the word from their ancestors of
the East, the priests of Buddh and Brahma."

"And what is the meaning of the word?" I demanded.

"Amen," said the man in black, "is a modification of the old
Hindoo formula, Omani batsikhom, by the almost ceaseless
repetition of which the Indians hope to be received finally
to the rest or state of forgetfulness of Buddh or Brahma; a
foolish practice you will say, but are you heretics much
wiser, who are continually sticking Amen to the end of your
prayers, little knowing when you do so, that you are
consigning yourselves to the repose of Buddh! Oh, what
hearty laughs our missionaries have had when comparing the
eternally-sounding Eastern gibberish of Omani batsikhom,
Omani batsikhom, and the Ave Maria and Amen Jesus of our own
idiotical devotees."

"I have nothing to say about the Ave Marias and Amens of your
superstitious devotees," said I; "I dare say that they use
them nonsensically enough, but in putting Amen to the end of
a prayer, we merely intend to express, 'So let it be.'"

"It means nothing of the kind," said the man in black; "and
the Hindoos might just as well put your national oath at the
end of their prayers, as perhaps they will after a great many
thousand years, when English is forgotten, and only a few
words of it remembered by dim tradition without being
understood. How strange if, after the lapse of four thousand
years, the Hindoos should damn themselves to the blindness so
dear to their present masters, even as their masters at
present consign themselves to the forgetfulness so dear to
the Hindoos; but my glass has been empty for a considerable
time; perhaps, Bellissima Biondina," said he, addressing
Belle, "you will deign to replenish it?"

"I shall do no such thing," said Belle, "you have drunk quite
enough, and talked more than enough, and to tell you the
truth I wish you would leave us alone."

"Shame on you, Belle," said I; "consider the obligations of
hospitality."

"I am sick of that word," said Belle, "you are so frequently
misusing it; were this place not Mumpers' Dingle, and
consequently as free to the fellow as ourselves, I would lead
him out of it."

"Pray be quiet, Belle," said I. "You had better help
yourself," said I, addressing myself to the man in black,
"the lady is angry with you."

"I am sorry for it," said the man in black; "if she is angry
with me, I am not so with her, and shall be always proud to
wait upon her; in the meantime, I will wait upon myself."

CHAPTER IV

The Proposal - The Scotch Novel - Latitude - Miracles -
Pestilent Heretics - Old Fraser - Wonderful Texts - No
Armenian.

THE man in black having helped himself to some more of his
favourite beverage, and tasted it, I thus addressed him: "The
evening is getting rather advanced, and I can see that this
lady," pointing to Belle, "is anxious for her tea, which she
prefers to take cosily and comfortably with me in the dingle:
the place, it is true, is as free to you as to ourselves,
nevertheless, as we are located here by necessity, whilst you
merely come as a visitor, I must take the liberty of telling
you that we shall be glad to be alone, as soon as you have
said what you have to say, and have finished the glass of
refreshment at present in your hand. I think you said some
time ago that one of your motives for coming hither was to
induce me to enlist under the banner of Rome. I wish to know
whether that was really the case?"

"Decidedly so," said the man in black; "I come here
principally in the hope of enlisting you in our regiment, in
which I have no doubt you could do us excellent service."

"Would you enlist my companion as well?" I demanded.

"We should be only too proud to have her among us, whether
she comes with you or alone," said the man in black, with a
polite bow to Belle.

"Before we give you an answer," I replied, "I would fain know
more about you; perhaps you will declare your name?"

"That I will never do," said the man in black; "no one in
England knows it but myself, and I will not declare it, even
in a dingle; as for the rest, SONO UN PRETE CATTOLICO
APPOSTOLICO - that is all that many a one of us can say for
himself, and it assuredly means a great deal."

"We will now proceed to business," said I. "You must be
aware that we English are generally considered a self-
interested people."

"And with considerable justice," said the man in black,
drinking. "Well, you are a person of acute perception, and I
will presently make it evident to you that it would be to
your interest to join with us. You are at present,
evidently, in very needy circumstances, and are lost, not
only to yourself, but to the world; but should you enlist
with us, I could find you an occupation not only agreeable,
but one in which your talents would have free scope. I would
introduce you in the various grand houses here in England, to
which I have myself admission, as a surprising young
gentleman of infinite learning, who by dint of study has
discovered that the Roman is the only true faith. I tell you
confidently that our popish females would make a saint, nay,
a God of you; they are fools enough for anything. There is
one person in particular with whom I would wish to make you
acquainted, in the hope that you would be able to help me to
perform good service to the holy see. He is a gouty old
fellow, of some learning, residing in an old hall, near the
great western seaport, and is one of the very few amongst the
English Catholics possessing a grain of sense. I think you
could help us to govern him, for he is not unfrequently
disposed to be restive, asks us strange questions -
occasionally threatens us with his crutch; and behaves so
that we are often afraid that we shall lose him, or, rather,
his property, which he has bequeathed to us, and which is
enormous. I am sure that you could help us to deal with him;
sometimes with your humour, sometimes with your learning, and
perhaps occasionally with your fists."

"And in what manner would you provide for my companion?" said
I.

"We would place her at once," said the man in black, "in the
house of two highly respectable Catholic ladies in this
neighbourhood, where she would be treated with every care and
consideration till her conversion should be accomplished in a
regular manner; we would then remove her to a female monastic
establishment, where, after undergoing a year's probation,
during which time she would be instructed in every elegant
accomplishment, she should take the veil. Her advancement
would speedily follow, for, with such a face and figure, she
would make a capital lady abbess, especially in Italy, to
which country she would probably be sent; ladies of her hair
and complexion - to say nothing of her height - being a
curiosity in the south. With a little care and management
she could soon obtain a vast reputation for sanctity; and who
knows but after her death she might become a glorified saint
- he! he! Sister Maria Theresa, for that is the name I
propose you should bear. Holy Mother Maria Theresa -
glorified and celestial saint, I have the honour of drinking
to your health," and the man in black drank.

"Well, Belle," said I, "what have you to say to the
gentleman's proposal?"

"That if he goes on in this way I will break his glass
against his mouth."

"You have heard the lady's answer," said I.

"I have," said the man in black, "and shall not press the
matter. I can't help, however, repeating that she would make
a capital lady abbess; she would keep the nuns in order, I
warrant her; no easy matter! Break the glass against my
mouth - he! he! How she would send the holy utensils flying
at the nuns' heads occasionally, and just the person to wring
the nose of Satan, should he venture to appear one night in
her cell in the shape of a handsome black man. No offence,
madam, no offence, pray retain your seat," said he, observing
that Belle had started up; "I mean no offence. Well, if you
will not consent to be an abbess, perhaps you will consent to
follow this young Zingaro, and to co-operate with him and us.
I am a priest, madam, and can join you both in an instant,
CONNUBIO STABILI, as I suppose the knot has not been tied
already."

"Hold your mumping gibberish," said Belle, "and leave the
dingle this moment, for though 'tis free to every one, you
have no right to insult me in it."

"Pray be pacified," said I to Belle, getting up, and placing
myself between her and the man in black, "he will presently
leave, take my word for it - there, sit down again," said I,
as I led her to her seat; then, resuming my own, I said to
the man in black: "I advise you to leave the dingle as soon
as possible."

"I should wish to have your answer to my proposal first,"
said he.

"Well, then, here you shall have it: I will not entertain
your proposal; I detest your schemes: they are both wicked
and foolish."

"Wicked," said the man in black, "have they not - he! he! -
the furtherance of religion in view?"

"A religion," said I, "in which you yourself do not believe,
and which you contemn."

"Whether I believe in it or not," said the man in black, "it
is adapted for the generality of the human race; so I will
forward it, and advise you to do the same. It was nearly
extirpated in these regions, but it is springing up again,
owing to circumstances. Radicalism is a good friend to us;
all the liberals laud up our system out of hatred to the
Established Church, though our system is ten times less
liberal than the Church of England. Some of them have really
come over to us. I myself confess a baronet who presided
over the first radical meeting ever held in England - he was
an atheist when he came over to us, in the hope of mortifying
his own church - but he is now - ho! ho! - a real Catholic
devotee - quite afraid of my threats; I make him frequently
scourge himself before me. Well, Radicalism does us good
service, especially amongst the lower classes, for Radicalism
chiefly flourishes amongst them; for though a baronet or two
may be found amongst the radicals, and perhaps as many lords
- fellows who have been discarded by their own order for
clownishness, or something they have done - it incontestably
flourishes best among the lower orders. Then the love of
what is foreign is a great friend to us; this love is chiefly
confined to the middle and upper classes. Some admire the
French, and imitate them; others must needs be Spaniards,
dress themselves up in a zamarra, stick a cigar in their
mouth, and say, 'Carajo.'  Others would pass for Germans; he!
he! the idea of any one wishing to pass for a German! but
what has done us more service than anything else in these
regions - I mean amidst the middle classes - has been the
novel, the Scotch novel. The good folks, since they have
read the novels, have become Jacobites; and, because all the
Jacobs were Papists, the good folks must become Papists also,
or, at least, papistically inclined. The very Scotch
Presbyterians, since they have read the novels, are become
all but Papists; I speak advisedly, having lately been
amongst them. There's a trumpery bit of a half papist sect,
called the Scotch Episcopalian Church, which lay dormant and
nearly forgotten for upwards of a hundred years, which has of
late got wonderfully into fashion in Scotland, because,
forsooth, some of the long-haired gentry of the novels were
said to belong to it, such as Montrose and Dundee; and to
this the Presbyterians are going over in throngs, traducing
and vilifying their own forefathers, or denying them
altogether, and calling themselves descendants of - ho! ho!
ho! - Scottish Cavaliers!!! I have heard them myself
repeating snatches of Jacobite ditties about 'Bonnie Dundee,'
and -

"'Come, fill up my cup, and fill up my can,
And saddle my horse, and call up my man.'

There's stuff for you! Not that I object to the first part
of the ditty. It is natural enough that a Scotchman should
cry, 'Come, fill up my cup!' more especially if he's drinking
at another person's expense - all Scotchmen being fond of
liquor at free cost: but 'Saddle his horse!!!' - for what
purpose, I would ask? Where is the use of saddling a horse,
unless you can ride him? and where was there ever a Scotchman
who could ride?"

"Of course you have not a drop of Scotch blood in your
veins," said I, "otherwise you would never have uttered that
last sentence."

"Don't be too sure of that," said the man in black; "you know
little of Popery if you imagine that it cannot extinguish
love of country, even in a Scotchman. A thorough-going
Papist - and who more thorough-going than myself? - cares
nothing for his country; and why should he? he belongs to a
system, and not to a country."

"One thing," said I, "connected with you, I cannot
understand; you call yourself a thorough-going Papist, yet
are continually saying the most pungent things against
Popery, and turning to unbounded ridicule those who show any
inclination to embrace it."

"Rome is a very sensible old body," said the man in black,
"and little cares what her children say, provided they do her
bidding. She knows several things, and amongst others, that
no servants work so hard and faithfully as those who curse
their masters at every stroke they do. She was not fool
enough to be angry with the Miquelets of Alba, who renounced
her, and called her 'puta' all the time they were cutting the
throats of the Netherlanders. Now, if she allowed her
faithful soldiers the latitude of renouncing her, and calling
her 'puta' in the market-place, think not she is so
unreasonable as to object to her faithful priests
occasionally calling her 'puta' in the dingle."

"But," said I, "suppose some one were to tell the world some
of the disorderly things which her priests say in the
dingle?"

"He would have the fate of Cassandra," said the man in black;
"no one would believe him - yes, the priests would: but they
would make no sign of belief. They believe in the Alcoran
des Cordeliers - that is, those who have read it; but they
make no sign."

"A pretty system," said I, "which extinguishes love of
country and of everything noble, and brings the minds of its
ministers to a parity with those of devils, who delight in
nothing but mischief."

"The system," said the man in black, "is a grand one, with
unbounded vitality. Compare it with your Protestantism, and
you will see the difference. Popery is ever at work, whilst
Protestantism is supine. A pretty church, indeed, the
Protestant! Why, it can't even work a miracle."

"Can your church work miracles?" I demanded.

"That was the very question," said the man in black, "which
the ancient British clergy asked of Austin Monk, after they
had been fools enough to acknowledge their own inability.
'We don't pretend to work miracles; do you?'  'Oh! dear me,
yes,' said Austin; 'we find no difficulty in the matter. We
can raise the dead, we can make the blind see; and to
convince you, I will give sight to the blind. Here is this
blind Saxon, whom you cannot cure, but on whose eyes I will
manifest my power, in order to show the difference between
the true and the false church;' and forthwith, with the
assistance of a handkerchief and a little hot water, he
opened the eyes of the barbarian. So we manage matters! A
pretty church, that old British church, which could not work
miracles - quite as helpless as the modern one. The fools!
was birdlime so scarce a thing amongst them? - and were the
properties of warm water so unknown to them, that they could
not close a pair of eyes and open them?"

"It's a pity," said I, "that the British clergy at that
interview with Austin, did not bring forward a blind
Welshman, and ask the monk to operate upon him."

"Clearly," said the man in black; "that's what they ought to
have done; but they were fools without a single resource."  
Here he took a sip at his glass.

"But they did not believe in the miracle?" said I.

"And what did their not believing avail them?" said the man
in black. "Austin remained master of the field, and they
went away holding their heads down, and muttering to
themselves. What a fine subject for a painting would be
Austin's opening the eyes of the Saxon barbarian, and the
discomfiture of the British clergy! I wonder it has not been
painted! - he! he!"

"I suppose your church still performs miracles occasionally!"
said I.

"It does," said the man in black. "The Rev. - has lately
been performing miracles in Ireland, destroying devils that
had got possession of people; he has been eminently
successful. In two instances he not only destroyed the
devils, but the lives of the people possessed - he! he! Oh!
there is so much energy in our system; we are always at work,
whilst Protestantism is supine."

"You must not imagine," said I, "that all Protestants are
supine; some of them appear to be filled with unbounded zeal.
They deal, it is true, not in lying miracles, but they
propagate God's Word. I remember only a few months ago,
having occasion for a Bible, going to an establishment, the
object of which was to send Bibles all over the world. The
supporters of that establishment could have no self-
interested views; for I was supplied by them with a noble-
sized Bible at a price so small as to preclude the idea that
it could bring any profit to the vendors."

The countenance of the man in black slightly fell. "I know
the people to whom you allude," said he; "indeed, unknown to
them, I have frequently been to see them, and observed their
ways. I tell you frankly that there is not a set of people
in this kingdom who have caused our church so much trouble
and uneasiness. I should rather say that they alone cause us
any; for as for the rest, what with their drowsiness, their
plethora, their folly and their vanity, they are doing us
anything but mischief. These fellows are a pestilent set of
heretics, whom we would gladly see burnt; they are, with the
most untiring perseverance, and in spite of divers minatory
declarations of the holy father, scattering their books
abroad through all Europe, and have caused many people in
Catholic countries to think that hitherto their priesthood
have endeavoured, as much as possible, to keep them blinded.
There is one fellow amongst them for whom we entertain a
particular aversion; a big, burly parson, with the face of a
lion, the voice of a buffalo, and a fist like a sledge-
hammer. The last time I was there, I observed that his eye
was upon me, and I did not like the glance he gave me at all;
I observed him clench his fist, and I took my departure as
fast as I conveniently could. Whether he suspected who I
was, I know not; but I did not like his look at all, and do
not intend to go again."

"Well, then," said I, "you confess that you have redoubtable
enemies to your plans in these regions, and that even amongst
the ecclesiastics there are some widely different from those
of the plethoric and Platitude schools?"

"It is but too true," said the man in black; "and if the rest
of your church were like them we should quickly bid adieu to
all hope of converting these regions, but we are thankful to
be able to say that such folks are not numerous; there are,
moreover, causes at work quite sufficient to undermine even
their zeal. Their sons return at the vacations, from Oxford
and Cambridge, puppies, full of the nonsense which they have
imbibed from Platitude professors; and this nonsense they
retail at home, where it fails not to make some impression,
whilst the daughters scream - I beg their pardons - warble
about Scotland's Montrose and Bonny Dundee, and all the
Jacobs; so we have no doubt that their papas' zeal about the
propagation of such a vulgar book as the Bible will in a very
little time be terribly diminished. Old Rome will win, so
you had better join her."

And the man in black drained the last drop in his glass.

"Never," said I, "will I become the slave of Rome."

"She will allow you latitude," said the man in black; "do but
serve her, and she will allow you to call her 'puta' at a
decent time and place, her popes occasionally call her
'puta.'  A pope has been known to start from his bed at
midnight and rush out into the corridor, and call out 'puta'
three times in a voice which pierced the Vatican; that pope
was - "

"Alexander the Sixth, I dare say," said I; "the greatest
monster that ever existed, though the worthiest head which
the pope system ever had - so his conscience was not always
still. I thought it had been seared with a brand of iron."

"I did not allude to him, but to a much more modern pope,"
said the man in black; "it is true he brought the word, which
is Spanish, from Spain, his native country, to Rome. He was
very fond of calling the church by that name, and other popes
have taken it up. She will allow you to call her by it, if
you belong to her."

"I shall call her so," said I, "without belonging to her, or
asking her permission."

"She will allow you to treat her as such, if you belong to
her," said the man in black; "there is a chapel in Rome,
where there is a wondrously fair statue - the son of a
cardinal - I mean his nephew - once - Well, she did not cut
off his head, but slightly boxed his cheek and bade him go."

"I have read all about that in 'Keysler's Travels,'" said I;
"do you tell her that I would not touch her with a pair of
tongs, unless to seize her nose."

"She is fond of lucre," said the man in black; "but does not
grudge a faithful priest a little private perquisite," and he
took out a very handsome gold repeater.

"Are you not afraid," said I, "to flash that watch before the
eyes of a poor tinker in a dingle?"

"Not before the eyes of one like you," said the man in black.

"It is getting late," said I; "I care not for perquisites."

"So you will not join us?" said the man in black.

"You have had my answer," said I.

"If I belong to Rome," said the man in black, "why should not
you?"

"I may be a poor tinker," said I; "but I may never have
undergone what you have. You remember, perhaps, the fable of
the fox who had lost his tail?"

The man in black winced, but almost immediately recovering
himself, he said, "Well, we can do without you, we are sure
of winning."

"It is not the part of wise people," said I, "to make sure of
the battle before it is fought: there's the landlord of the
public-house, who made sure that his cocks would win, yet the
cocks lost the main, and the landlord is little better than a
bankrupt."

"People very different from the landlord," said the man in
black, "both in intellect and station, think we shall surely
win; there are clever machinators among us who have no doubt
of our success."

"Well," said I, "I will set the landlord aside, and will
adduce one who was in every point a very different person
from the landlord, both in understanding and station; he was
very fond of laying schemes, and, indeed, many of them turned
out successful. His last and darling one, however,
miscarried, notwithstanding that by his calculations he had
persuaded himself that there was no possibility of its
failing - the person that I allude to was old Fraser - "

"Who?" said the man in black, giving a start, and letting his
glass fall.

"Old Fraser, of Lovat," said I, "the prince of all
conspirators and machinators; he made sure of placing the
Pretender on the throne of these realms. 'I can bring into
the field so many men,' said he; 'my son-in-law Cluny, so
many, and likewise my cousin, and my good friend;' then
speaking of those on whom the government reckoned for
support, he would say, 'So and so are lukewarm, this person
is ruled by his wife, who is with us, the clergy are anything
but hostile to us, and as for the soldiers and sailors, half
are disaffected to King George, and the rest cowards.'  Yet
when things came to a trial, this person whom he had
calculated upon to join the Pretender did not stir from his
home, another joined the hostile ranks, the presumed cowards
turned out heroes, and those whom he thought heroes ran away
like lusty fellows at Culloden; in a word, he found himself
utterly mistaken, and in nothing more than in himself; he
thought he was a hero, and proved himself nothing more than
an old fox; he got up a hollow tree, didn't he, just like a
fox?

"'L'opere sue non furon leonine, ma di volpe.'"

The man in black sat silent for a considerable time, and at
length answered in rather a faltering voice, "I was not
prepared for this; you have frequently surprised me by your
knowledge of things which I should never have expected any
person of your appearance to be acquainted with, but that you
should be aware of my name is a circumstance utterly
incomprehensible to me. I had imagined that no person in
England was acquainted with it; indeed, I don't see how any
person should be, I have revealed it to no one, not being
particularly proud of it. Yes, I acknowledge that my name is
Fraser, and that I am of the blood of that family or clan, of
which the rector of our college once said, that he was firmly
of opinion that every individual member was either rogue or
fool. I was born at Madrid, of pure, OIME, Fraser blood. My
parents, at an early age, took me to -, where they shortly
died, not, however, before they had placed me in the service
of a cardinal, with whom I continued for some years, and who,
when he had no further occasion for me, sent me to the
college, in the left-hand cloister of which, as you enter,
rest the bones of Sir John -; there, in studying logic and
humane letters, I lost whatever of humanity I had retained
when discarded by the cardinal. Let me not, however, forget
two points, - I am a Fraser, it is true, but not a Flannagan;
I may bear the vilest name of Britain, but not of Ireland; I
was bred up at the English house, and there is at - a house
for the education of bogtrotters; I was not bred up at that;
beneath the lowest gulf, there is one yet lower; whatever my
blood may be, it is at least not Irish; whatever my education
may have been, I was not bred at the Irish seminary - on
those accounts I am thankful - yes, PER DIO! I am thankful.
After some years at college - but why should I tell you my
history? you know it already perfectly well, probably much
better than myself. I am now a missionary priest, labouring
in heretic England, like Parsons and Garnet of old, save and
except that, unlike them, I run no danger, for the times are
changed. As I told you before, I shall cleave to Rome - I
must; NO HAY REMEDIO, as they say at Madrid, and I will do my
best to further her holy plans - he! he! - but I confess I
begin to doubt of their being successful here - you put me
out; old Fraser, of Lovat! I have heard my father talk of
him; he had a gold-headed cane, with which he once knocked my
grandfather down -he was an astute one, but, as you say,
mistaken, particularly in himself. I have read his life by
Arbuthnot, it is in the library of our college. Farewell! I
shall come no more to this dingle - to come would be of no
utility; I shall go and labour elsewhere, though - how you
came to know my name, is a fact quite inexplicable -
farewell! to you both."

He then arose; and without further salutation departed from
the dingle, in which I never saw him again. "How, in the
name of wonder, came you to know that man's name?" said
Belle, after he had been gone some time.

"I, Belle? I knew nothing of the fellow's name, I assure
you."

"But you mentioned his name."

"If I did, it was merely casually, by way of illustration. I
was saying how frequently cunning people were mistaken in
their calculations, and I adduced the case of old Fraser, of
Lovat, as one in point; I brought forward his name, because I
was well acquainted with his history, from having compiled
and inserted it in a wonderful work, which I edited some
months ago, entitled 'Newgate Lives and Trials,' but without
the slightest idea that it was the name of him who was
sitting with us; he, however, thought that I was aware of his
name. Belle! Belle! for a long time I doubted the truth of
Scripture, owing to certain conceited individuals, but now I
begin to believe firmly; what wonderful texts are in
Scripture, Belle; 'The wicked trembleth where - where - '"

"'They were afraid where no fear was; thou hast put them to
confusion, because God hath despised them,'" said Belle; "I
have frequently read it before the clergyman in the great
house of Long Melford. But if you did not know the man's
name, why let him go away supposing that you did?"

"Oh, if he was fool enough to make such a mistake, I was not
going to undeceive him - no, no! Let the enemies of old
England make the most of all their blunders and mistakes,
they will have no help from me; but enough of the fellow,
Belle; let us now have tea, and after that - "

"No Armenian," said Belle; "but I want to ask a question:
pray are all people of that man's name either rogues or
fools?"

"It is impossible for me to say, Belle, this person being the
only one of the name I have ever personally known. I suppose
there are good and bad, clever and foolish, amongst them, as
amongst all large bodies of people; however, after the tribe
had been governed for upwards of thirty years, by such a
person as old Fraser, it were no wonder if the greater part
had become either rogues or fools: he was a ruthless tyrant,
Belle, over his own people, and by his cruelty and
rapaciousness must either have stunned them into an apathy
approaching to idiotcy, or made them artful knaves in their
own defence. The qualities of parents are generally
transmitted to their descendants - the progeny of trained
pointers are almost sure to point, even without being taught:
if, therefore, all Frasers are either rogues or fools, as
this person seems to insinuate, it is little to be wondered
at, their parents or grandparents having been in the
training-school of old Fraser! But enough of the old tyrant
and his slaves. Belle, prepare tea this moment, or dread my
anger. I have not a gold-headed cane like old Fraser of
Lovat, but I have, what some people would dread much more, an
Armenian rune-stick."

CHAPTER V

Fresh Arrivals - Pitching the Tent - Certificated Wife -
High-flying Notions.

ON the following morning, as I was about to leave my tent, I
heard the voice of Belle at the door, exclaiming, "Sleepest
thou, or wakest thou?"  "I was never more awake in my life,"
said I, going out. "What is the matter?"  "He of the horse-
shoe," said she, "Jasper, of whom I have heard you talk, is
above there on the field with all his people; I went out
about a quarter of an hour ago to fill the kettle at the
spring, and saw them arriving. "It is well," said I; "have
you any objection to asking him and his wife to breakfast?"  
"You can do as you please," said she; "I have cups enough,
and have no objection to their company."  "We are the first
occupiers of the ground," said I, "and, being so, should
consider ourselves in the light of hosts, and do our best to
practise the duties of hospitality."  "How fond you are of
using that word," said Belle; "if you wish to invite the man
and his wife, do so, without more ado; remember, however,
that I have not cups enough, nor indeed tea enough, for the
whole company."  Thereupon hurrying up the ascent, I
presently found myself outside the dingle. It was as usual a
brilliant morning, the dewy blades of the rye-grass which
covered the plain sparkled brightly in the beams of the sun,
which had probably been about two hours above the horizon. A
rather numerous body of my ancient friends and allies
occupied the ground in the vicinity of the mouth of the
dingle. About five yards on the right I perceived Mr.
Petulengro busily employed in erecting his tent; he held in
his hand an iron bar, sharp at the bottom, with a kind of arm
projecting from the top for the purpose of supporting a
kettle or cauldron over the fire, and which is called in the
Romanian language "Kekauviskoe saster."  With the sharp end
of this Mr. Petulengro was making holes in the earth, at
about twenty inches distant from each other, into which he
inserted certain long rods with a considerable bend towards
the top, which constituted no less than the timber of the
tent, and the supporters of the canvas. Mrs. Petulengro, and
a female with a crutch in her hand, whom I recognised as Mrs.
Chikno, sat near him on the ground, whilst two or three
children, from six to ten years old, who composed the young
family of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro, were playing about.

"Here we are, brother," said Mr. Petulengro, as he drove the
sharp end of the bar into the ground; "here we are, and
plenty of us - Bute dosta Romany chals."

"I am glad to see you all," said I; "and particularly you,
madam," said I, making a bow to Mrs. Petulengro; "and you
also, madam," taking off my hat to Mrs. Chikno.

"Good-day to you, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro; "you look, as
usual, charmingly, and speak so, too; you have not forgot
your manners."

"It is not all gold that glitters," said Mrs. Chikno.
"However, good-morrow to you, young rye."

"I do not see Tawno," said I, looking around; "where is he?"

"Where, indeed!" said Mrs. Chikno; "I don't know; he who
countenances him in the roving line can best answer."

"He will be here anon," said Mr. Petulengro; "he has merely
ridden down a by-road to show a farmer a two-year-old colt;
she heard me give him directions, but she can't be
satisfied."

"I can't indeed," said Mrs. Chikno.

"And why not, sister?"

"Because I place no confidence in your words, brother; as I
said before, you countenances him."

"Well," said I, "I know nothing of your private concerns; I
am come on an errand. Isopel Berners, down in the dell
there, requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro's
company at breakfast. She will be happy also to see you,
madam," said I, addressing Mrs. Chikno.

"Is that young female your wife, young man?" said Mrs.
Chikno.

"My wife?" said I.

"Yes, young man; your wife, your lawful certificated wife?"

"No," said I; "she is not my wife."

"Then I will not visit with her," said Mrs. Chikno; "I
countenance nothing in the roving line."

"What do you mean by the roving line?" I demanded.

"What do I mean by the roving line? Why, by it I mean such
conduct as is not tatcheno. When ryes and rawnies live
together in dingles, without being certificated, I call such
behaviour being tolerably deep in the roving line, everything
savouring of which I am determined not to sanctify. I have
suffered too much by my own certificated husband's outbreaks
in that line to afford anything of the kind the slightest
shadow of countenance."

"It is hard that people may not live in dingles together
without being suspected of doing wrong," said I.

"So it is," said Mrs. Petulengro, interposing; "and, to tell
you the truth, I am altogether surprised at the illiberality
of my sister's remarks. I have often heard say, that it is
in good company - and I have kept good company in my time -
that suspicion is king's evidence of a narrow and
uncultivated mind; on which account I am suspicious of
nobody, not even of my own husband, whom some people would
think I have a right to be suspicious of, seeing that on his
account I once refused a lord; but ask him whether I am
suspicious of him, and whether I seek to keep him close tied
to my apron-string; he will tell you nothing of the kind; but
that, on the contrary, I always allows him an agreeable
latitude, permitting him to go where he pleases, and to
converse with any one to whose manner of speaking he may take
a fancy. But I have had the advantage of keeping good
company, and therefore - "

"Meklis," said Mrs. Chikno, "pray drop all that, sister; I
believe I have kept as good company as yourself; and with
respect to that offer with which you frequently fatigue those
who keeps company with you, I believe, after all, it was
something in the roving and uncertificated line."

"In whatever line it was," said Mrs. Petulengro, "the offer
was a good one. The young duke - for he was not only a lord,
but a duke too - offered to keep me a fine carriage, and to
make me his second wife; for it is true that he had another
who was old and stout, though mighty rich, and highly good-
natured; so much so, indeed, that the young lord assured me
that she would have no manner of objection to the
arrangement; more especially if I would consent to live in
the same house with her, being fond of young and cheerful
society. So you see - "

"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Chikno, "I see, what I before thought,
that it was altogether in the uncertificated line."

"Meklis," said Mrs. Petulengro; "I use your own word, madam,
which is Romany: for my own part, I am not fond of using
Romany words, unless I can hope to pass them off for French,
which I cannot in the present company. I heartily wish that
there was no such language, and do my best to keep it away
from my children, lest the frequent use of it should
altogether confirm them in low and vulgar habits. I have
four children, madam, but - "

"I suppose by talking of your four children you wish to check
me for having none," said Mrs. Chikno, bursting into tears;
"if I have no children, sister, it is no fault of mine, it is
- but why do I call you sister?" said she, angrily; "you are
no sister of mine, you are a grasni, a regular mare - a
pretty sister, indeed, ashamed of your own language. I
remember well that by your high-flying notions you drove your
own mother - "

"We will drop it," said Mrs. Petulengro; "I do not wish to
raise my voice, and to make myself ridiculous. Young
gentleman," said she, "pray present my compliments to Miss
Isopel Berners, and inform her that I am very sorry that I
cannot accept her polite invitation. I am just arrived, and
have some slight domestic matters to see to - amongst others,
to wash my children's faces; but that in the course of the
forenoon, when I have attended to what I have to do, and have
dressed myself, I hope to do myself the honour of paying her
a regular visit; you will tell her that, with my compliments.
With respect to my husband he can answer for himself, as I,
not being of a jealous disposition, never interferes with his
matters."

"And tell Miss Berners," said Mr. Petulengro, "that I shall
be happy to wait upon her in company with my wife as soon as
we are regularly settled: at present I have much on my hands,
having not only to pitch my own tent, but this here jealous
woman's, whose husband is absent on my business."

Thereupon I returned to the dingle, and, without saying
anything about Mrs. Chikno's observations, communicated to
Isopel the messages of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro; Isopel made
no other reply than by replacing in her coffer two additional
cups and saucers, which, in expectation of company, she had
placed upon the board. The kettle was by this time boiling.
We sat down, and, as we breakfasted, I gave Isopel Berners
another lesson in the Armenian language.

CHAPTER VI

The Promised Visit - Roman Fashion - Wizard and Witch -
Catching at Words - The Two Females - Dressing of Hair - The
New Roads - Belle's Altered Appearance - Herself Again.

ABOUT mid-day Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro came to the dingle to
pay the promised visit. Belle, at the time of their arrival,
was in her tent, but I was at the fire-place, engaged in
hammering part of the outer-tire, or defence, which had come
off from one of the wheels of my vehicle. On perceiving them
I forthwith went to receive them. Mr. Petulengro was dressed
in Roman fashion, with a somewhat smartly-cut sporting-coat,
the buttons of which were half-crowns - and a waistcoat,
scarlet and black, the buttons of which were spaded half-
guineas; his breeches were of a stuff half velveteen, half
corduroy, the cords exceedingly broad. He had leggings of
buff cloth, furred at the bottom; and upon his feet were
highlows. Under his left arm was a long black whalebone
riding-whip, with a red lash, and an immense silver knob.
Upon his head was a hat with a high peak, somewhat of the
kind which the Spaniards call CALANE, so much in favour with
the bravos of Seville and Madrid. Now, when I have added
that Mr. Petulengro had on a very fine white holland shirt, I
think I have described his array. Mrs. Petulengro - I beg
pardon for not having spoken of her first - was also arrayed
very much in the Roman fashion. Her hair, which was
exceedingly black and lustrous, fell in braids on either side
of her head. In her ears were rings, with long drops of
gold. Round her neck was a string of what seemed very much
like very large pearls, somewhat tarnished, however, and
apparently of considerable antiquity. "Here we are,
brother," said Mr. Petulengro; "here we are, come to see you
- wizard and witch, witch and wizard:-

"'There's a chovahanee, and a chovahano,
The nav se len is Petulengro.'"

"Hold your tongue, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro; "you make me
ashamed of you with your vulgar ditties. We are come a
visiting now, and everything low should be left behind."

"True," said Mr. Petulengro; "why bring what's low to the
dingle, which is low enough already?"

"What, are you a catcher at words?" said I. "I thought that
catching at words had been confined to the pothouse farmers
and village witty bodies."

"All fools," said Mrs. Petulengro, "catch at words, and very
naturally, as by so doing they hope to prevent the
possibility of rational conversation. Catching at words
confined to pothouse farmers, and village witty bodies! No,
not to Jasper Petulengro. Listen for an hour or two to the
discourse of a set they call newspaper editors, and if you
don't go out and eat grass, as a dog does when he is sick, I
am no female woman. The young lord whose hand I refused when
I took up with wise Jasper, once brought two of them to my
mother's tan, when hankering after my company; they did
nothing but carp at each other's words, and a pretty hand
they made of it. Ill-favoured dogs they were; and their
attempts at what they called wit almost as unfortunate as
their countenances."

"Well," said I, "madam, we will drop all catchings and
carpings for the present. Pray take your seat on this stool,
whilst I go and announce to Miss Isopel Berners your
arrival."

Thereupon I went to Belle's habitation, and informed her that
Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro had paid us a visit of ceremony, and
were awaiting her at the fire-place. "Pray go and tell them
that I am busy," said Belle, who was engaged with her needle.
"I do not feel disposed to take part in any such nonsense."  
"I shall do no such thing," said I; "and I insist upon your
coming forthwith, and showing proper courtesy to your
visitors. If you do not, their feelings will be hurt, and
you are aware that I cannot bear that people's feelings
should be outraged. Come this moment, or - "  "Or what?"
said Belle, half smiling. "I was about to say something in
Armenian," said I. "Well," said Belle, laying down her work,
"I will come."  "Stay," said I; "your hair is hanging about
your ears, and your dress is in disorder; you had better stay
a minute or two to prepare yourself to appear before your
visitors, who have come in their very best attire."  "No,"
said Belle, "I will make no alteration in my appearance; you
told me to come this moment, and you shall be obeyed."  So
Belle and I advanced towards our guests. As we drew nigh Mr.
Petulengro took off his hat, and made a profound obeisance to
Belle, whilst Mrs. Petulengro rose from the stool, and made a
profound curtsey. Belle, who had flung her hair back over
her shoulders, returned their salutations by bending her
head, and after slightly glancing at Mr. Petulengro, fixed
her large blue eyes full upon his wife. Both these females
were very handsome - but how unlike! Belle fair, with blue
eyes and flaxen hair; Mrs. Petulengro with olive complexion,
eyes black, and hair dark - as dark as could be. Belle, in
demeanour calm and proud; the gypsy graceful, but full of
movement and agitation. And then how different were those
two in stature! The head of the Romany rawnie scarcely
ascended to the breast of Isopel Berners. I could see that
Mrs. Petulengro gazed on Belle with unmixed admiration; so
did her husband. "Well," said the latter, "one thing I will
say, which is, that there is only one on earth worthy to
stand up in front of this she, and that is the beauty of the
world, as far as man flesh is concerned, Tawno Chikno; what a
pity he did not come down!"

"Tawno Chikno," said Mrs. Petulengro, flaring up; "a pretty
fellow he to stand up in front of this gentlewoman, a pity he
didn't come, quotha? not at all, the fellow is a sneak,
afraid of his wife. He stand up against this rawnie! why,
the look she has given me would knock the fellow down."

"It is easier to knock him down with a look than with a
fist," said Mr. Petulengro; "that is, if the look comes from
a woman: not that I am disposed to doubt that this female
gentlewoman is able to knock him down either one way or the
other. I have heard of her often enough, and have seen her
once or twice, though not so near as now. Well, ma'am, my
wife and I are come to pay our respects to you; we are both
glad to find that you have left off keeping company with
Flaming Bosville, and have taken up with my pal; he is not
very handsome, but a better - "

"I take up with your pal, as you call him! you had better
mind what you say," said Isopel Berners, "I take up with
nobody."

"I merely mean taking up your quarters with him," said Mr.
Petulengro; "and I was only about to say a better fellow-
lodger you cannot have, or a more instructive, especially if
you have a desire to be inoculated with tongues, as he calls
them. I wonder whether you and he have had any tongue-work
already."

"Have you and your wife anything particular to say? if you
have nothing but this kind of conversation I must leave you,
as I am going to make a journey this afternoon, and should be
getting ready."

"You must excuse my husband, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro,
"he is not overburdened with understanding, and has said but
one word of sense since he has been here, which was that we
came to pay our respects to you. We have dressed ourselves
in our best Roman way, in order to do honour to you; perhaps
you do not like it; if so, I am sorry. I have no French
clothes, madam; if I had any, madam, I would have come in
them, in order to do you more honour."

"I like to see you much better as you are," said Belle;
"people should keep to their own fashions, and yours is very
pretty."

"I am glad you are pleased to think it so, madam; it has been
admired in the great city; it created what they call a
sensation; and some of the great ladies, the court ladies,
imitated it, else I should not appear in it so often as I am
accustomed; for I am not very fond of what is Roman, having
an imagination that what is Roman is ungenteel; in fact, I
once heard the wife of a rich citizen say that gypsies were
vulgar creatures. I should have taken her saying very much
to heart, but for her improper pronunciation; she could not
pronounce her words, madam, which we gypsies, as they call
us, usually can, so I thought she was no very high purchase.
You are very beautiful, madam, though you are not dressed as
I could wish to see you, and your hair is hanging down in sad
confusion; allow me to assist you in arranging your hair,
madam; I will dress it for you in our fashion; I would fain
see how your hair would look in our poor gypsy fashion; pray
allow me, madam?" and she took Belle by the hand.

"I really can do no such thing," said Belle, withdrawing her
hand; "I thank you for coming to see me, but - "

"Do allow me to officiate upon your hair, madam," said Mrs.
Petulengro. "I should esteem your allowing me a great mark
of condescension. You are very beautiful, madam, and I think
you doubly so, because you are so fair; I have a great esteem
for persons with fair complexions and hair; I have a less
regard for people with dark hair and complexions, madam."

"Then why did you turn off the lord, and take up with me?"
said Mr. Petulengro; "that same lord was fair enough all
about him."

"People do when they are young and silly what they sometimes
repent of when they are of riper years and understandings. I
sometimes think that had I not been something of a simpleton,
I might at this time be a great court lady. Now, madam,"
said she, again taking Belle by the hand, "do oblige me by
allowing me to plait your hair a little?"

"I have really a good mind to be angry with you," said Belle,
giving Mrs. Petulengro a peculiar glance.

"Do allow her to arrange your hair," said I; "she means no
harm, and wishes to do you honour; do oblige her and me too,
for I should like to see how your hair would look dressed in
her fashion."

"You hear what the young rye says?" said Mrs. Petulengro. "I
am sure you will oblige the young rye, if not myself. Many
people would be willing to oblige the young rye, if he would
but ask them; but he is not in the habit of asking favours.
He has a nose of his own, which he keeps tolerably exalted;
he does not think small-beer of himself, madam; and all the
time I have been with him, I never heard him ask a favour
before; therefore, madam, I am sure you will oblige him. My
sister Ursula would be very willing to oblige him in many
things, but he will not ask for anything, except for such a
favour as a word, which is a poor favour after all. I don't
mean for her word; perhaps he will some day ask you for your
word. If so - "

"Why, here you are, after railing at me for catching at
words, catching at a word yourself," said Mr. Petulengro.

"Hold your tongue, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro. "Don't
interrupt me in my discourse; if I caught at a word now, I am
not in the habit of doing so. I am no conceited body; no
newspaper Neddy; no pothouse witty person. I was about to
say, madam, that if the young rye asks you at any time for
your word, you will do as you deem convenient; but I am sure
you will oblige him by allowing me to braid your hair."

"I shall not do it to oblige him," said Belle; "the young
rye, as you call him, is nothing to me."

"Well, then, to oblige me," said Mrs. Petulengro; "do allow
me to become your poor tire-woman."

"It is great nonsense," said Belle, reddening; "however, as
you came to see me, and ask the matter as a particular favour
to yourself - "

"Thank you, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, leading Belle to
the stool; "please to sit down here. Thank you; your hair is
very beautiful, madam," she continued, as she proceeded to
braid Belle's hair; "so is your countenance. Should you ever
go to the great city, among the grand folks, you would make a
sensation, madam. I have made one myself, who am dark; the
chi she is kauley, which last word signifies black, which I
am not, though rather dark. There is no colour like white,
madam; it's so lasting, so genteel. Gentility will carry the
day, madam, even with the young rye. He will ask words of
the black lass, but beg the word of the fair."

In the meantime Mr. Petulengro and myself entered into
conversation. "Any news stirring, Mr. Petulengro?" said I.
"Have you heard anything of the great religious movements?"

"Plenty," said Mr. Petulengro; "all the religious people,
more especially the Evangelicals - those that go about
distributing tracts - are very angry about the fight between
Gentleman Cooper and White-headed Bob, which they say ought
not to have been permitted to take place; and then they are
trying all they can to prevent the fight between the lion and
the dogs, which they say is a disgrace to a Christian
country. Now I can't say that I have any quarrel with the
religious party and the Evangelicals; they are always civil
to me and mine, and frequently give us tracts, as they call
them, which neither I nor mine can read; but I cannot say
that I approve of any movements, religious or not, which have
in aim to put down all life and manly sport in this here
country."

"Anything else?" said I.

"People are becoming vastly sharp," said Mr. Petulengro; "and
I am told that all the old-fashioned good-tempered constables
are going to be set aside, and a paid body of men to be
established, who are not to permit a tramper or vagabond on
the roads of England; - and talking of roads, puts me in mind
of a strange story I heard two nights ago, whilst drinking
some beer at a public-house in company with my cousin
Sylvester. I had asked Tawno to go, but his wife would not
let him. Just opposite me, smoking their pipes, were a
couple of men, something like engineers, and they were
talking of a wonderful invention which was to make a
wonderful alteration in England; inasmuch as it would set
aside all the old roads, which in a little time would be
ploughed up, and sowed with corn, and cause all England to be
laid down with iron roads, on which people would go
thundering along in vehicles, pushed forward by fire and
smoke. Now, brother, when I heard this, I did not feel very
comfortable; for I thought to myself, what a queer place such
a road would be to pitch one's tent upon, and how impossible
it would be for one's cattle to find a bite of grass upon it;
and I thought likewise of the danger to which one's family
would be exposed in being run over and severely scorched by
these same flying fiery vehicles; so I made bold to say, that
I hoped such an invention would never be countenanced,
because it was likely to do a great deal of harm. Whereupon,
one of the men, giving me a glance, said, without taking the
pipe out of his mouth, that for his part, he sincerely hoped
that it would take effect; and if it did no other good than
stopping the rambles of gypsies, and other like scamps, it
ought to be encouraged. Well, brother, feeling myself
insulted, I put my hand into my pocket, in order to pull out
money, intending to challenge him to fight for a five-
shilling stake, but merely found sixpence, having left all my
other money at the tent; which sixpence was just sufficient
to pay for the beer which Sylvester and myself were drinking,
of whom I couldn't hope to borrow anything - 'poor as
Sylvester' being a by-word amongst us. So, not being able to
back myself, I held my peace, and let the Gorgio have it all
his own way, who, after turning up his nose at me, went on
discoursing about the said invention, saying what a fund of
profit it would be to those who knew how to make use of it,
and should have the laying down of the new roads, and the
shoeing of England with iron. And after he had said this,
and much more of the same kind, which I cannot remember, he
and his companion got up and walked away; and presently I and
Sylvester got up and walked to our camp; and there I lay down
in my tent by the side of my wife, where I had an ugly dream
of having camped upon an iron road; my tent being overturned
by a flying vehicle; my wife's leg injured; and all my
affairs put into great confusion."

"Now, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, "I have braided your hair
in our fashion: you look very beautiful, madam; more
beautiful, if possible, than before."  Belle now rose, and
came forward with her tire-woman. Mr. Petulengro was loud in
his applause, but I said nothing, for I did not think Belle
was improved in appearance by having submitted to the
ministry of Mrs. Petulengro's hand. Nature never intended
Belle to appear as a gypsy; she had made her too proud and
serious. A more proper part for her was that of a heroine, a
queenly heroine, - that of Theresa of Hungary, for example;
or, better still, that of Brynhilda the Valkyrie, the beloved
of Sigurd, the serpent-killer, who incurred the curse of
Odin, because, in the tumult of spears, she sided with the
young king, and doomed the old warrior to die, to whom Odin
had promised victory.

Belle looked at me for a moment in silence; then turning to
Mrs. Petulengro, she said, "You have had your will with me;
are you satisfied?"  "Quite so, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro,
"and I hope you will be so too, as soon as you have looked in
the glass."  "I have looked in one already," said Belle; "and
the glass does not flatter."  "You mean the face of the young
rye," said Mrs. Petulengro; "never mind him, madam; the young
rye, though he knows a thing or two, is not a university, nor
a person of universal wisdom. I assure you, that you never
looked so well before; and I hope that, from this moment, you
will wear your hair in this way."  "And who is to braid it in
this way?" said Belle, smiling. "I, madam," said Mrs.
Petulengro; "I will braid it for you every morning, if you
will but be persuaded to join us. Do so, madam, and I think,
if you did, the young rye would do so too."  "The young rye
is nothing to me, nor I to him," said Belle; "we have stayed
some time together; but our paths will soon be apart. Now,
farewell, for I am about to take a journey."  "And you will
go out with your hair as I have braided it," said Mrs.
Petulengro; "if you do, everybody will be in love with you."  
"No," said Belle; "hither-to I have allowed you to do what
you please, but henceforth I shall have my own way. Come,
come," said she, observing that the gypsy was about to speak,
"we have had enough of nonsense; whenever I leave this
hollow, it will be wearing my hair in my own fashion."  
"Come, wife," said Mr. Petulengro; "we will no longer intrude
upon the rye and rawnie; there is such a thing as being
troublesome."  Thereupon Mr. Petulengro and his wife took
their leave, with many salutations. "Then you are going?"
said I, when Belle and I were left alone. "Yes," said Belle;
"I am going on a journey; my affairs compel me."  "But you
will return again?" said I. "Yes," said Belle, "I shall
return once more."  "Once more," said I; "what do you mean by
once more? The Petulengros will soon be gone, and will you
abandon me in this place?"  "You were alone here," said
Belle, "before I came, and I suppose, found it agreeable, or
you would not have stayed in it."  "Yes," said I, "that was
before I knew you; but having lived with you here, I should
be very loth to live here without you."  "Indeed," said
Belle; "I did not know that I was of so much consequence to
you. Well, the day is wearing away - I must go and harness
Traveller to the cart."  "I will do that," said I, "or
anything else you may wish me. Go and prepare yourself; I
will see after Traveller and the cart."  Belle departed to
her tent, and I set about performing the task I had
undertaken. In about half-an-hour Belle again made her
appearance - she was dressed neatly and plainly. Her hair
was no longer in the Roman fashion, in which Pakomovna had
plaited it, but was secured by a comb; she held a bonnet in
her hand. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" I
demanded. "There are two or three bundles by my tent, which
you can put into the cart," said Belle. I put the bundles
into the cart, and then led Traveller and the cart up the
winding path to the mouth of the dingle, near which was Mr.
Petulengro's encampment. Belle followed. At the top, I
delivered the reins into her hands; we looked at each other
stedfastly for some time. Belle then departed, and I
returned to the dingle, where, seating myself on my stone, I
remained for upwards of an hour in thought.

CHAPTER VII

The Festival - The Gypsy Song - Piramus of Rome - The
Scotchman - Gypsy Names.

ON the following day there was much feasting amongst the
Romany chals of Mr. Petulengro's party. Throughout the
forenoon the Romany chies did scarcely anything but cook
flesh, and the flesh which they cooked was swine's flesh.
About two o'clock, the chals dividing themselves into various
parties, sat down and partook of the fare, which was partly
roasted, partly sodden. I dined that day with Mr. Petulengro
and his wife and family, Ursula, Mr. and Mrs. Chikno, and
Sylvester and his two children. Sylvester, it will be as
well to say, was a widower, and had consequently no one to
cook his victuals for him, supposing he had any, which was
not always the case, Sylvester's affairs being seldom in a
prosperous state. He was noted for his bad success in
trafficking, notwithstanding the many hints which he received
from Jasper, under whose protection he had placed himself,
even as Tawno Chikno had done, who himself, as the reader has
heard on a former occasion, was anything but a wealthy
subject, though he was at all times better off than
Sylvester, the Lazarus of the Romany tribe.

All our party ate with a good appetite, except myself, who,
feeling rather melancholy that day, had little desire to eat.
I did not, like the others, partake of the pork, but got my
dinner entirely off the body of a squirrel which had been
shot the day before by a chal of the name of Piramus, who,
besides being a good shot, was celebrated for his skill in
playing on the fiddle. During the dinner a horn filled with
ale passed frequently around; I drank of it more than once,
and felt inspirited by the draughts. The repast concluded,
Sylvester and his children departed to their tent, and Mr.
Petulengro, Tawno, and myself, getting up, went and lay down
under a shady hedge, where Mr. Petulengro, lighting his pipe,
began to smoke, and where Tawno presently fell asleep. I was
about to fall asleep also, when I heard the sound of music
and song. Piramus was playing on the fiddle, whilst Mrs.
Chikno, who had a voice of her own, was singing in tones
sharp enough, but of great power, a gypsy song:-

POISONING THE PORKER
BY MRS. CHIKNO

To mande shoon ye Romany chals
Who besh in the pus about the yag,
I'll pen how we drab the baulo,
I'll pen how we drab the baulo.

We jaws to the drab-engro ker,
Trin horsworth there of drab we lels,
And when to the swety back we wels
We pens we'll drab the baulo,
We'll have a drab at a baulo.

And then we kairs the drab opre,
And then we jaws to the farming ker,
To mang a beti habben,
A beti poggado habben.

A rinkeno baulo there we dick,
And then we pens in Romano jib;
Wust lis odoi opre ye chick,
And the baulo he will lel lis,
The baulo he will lel lis.

Coliko, coliko saulo we
Apopli to the farming ker
Will wel and mang him mullo,
Will wel and mang his truppo.

And so we kairs, and so we kairs;
The baulo in the rarde mers;
We mang him on the saulo,
And rig to the tan the baulo.

And then we toves the wendror well
Till sore the wendror iuziou se,
Till kekkeno drab's adrey lis,
Till drab there's kek adrey lis.

And then his truppo well we hatch,
Kin levinor at the kitchema,
And have a kosko habben,
A kosko Romano habben.

The boshom engro kils, he kils,
The tawnie juva gils, she gils
A puro Romano gillie,
Now shoon the Romano gillie.

Which song I had translated in the following manner, in my
younger days, for a lady's album:

Listen to me ye Romanlads, who are seated in the straw about
the fire, and I will tell how we poison the porker, I will
tell how we poison the porker.

We go to the house of the poison-monger, where we buy three
pennies' worth of bane, and when we return to our people we
say, we will poison the porker; we will try and poison the
porker.

We then make up the poison, and then we take our way to the
house of the farmer, as if to beg a bit of victuals, a little
broken victuals.

We see a jolly porker, and then we say in Roman language,
"Fling the bane yonder amongst the dirt, and the porker soon
will find it, the porker soon will find it."

Early on the morrow, we will return to the farm-house, and
beg the dead porker, the body of the dead porker.

And so we do, even so we do; the porker dieth during the
night; on the morrow we beg the porker, and carry to the tent
the porker.

And then we wash the inside well, till all the inside is
perfectly clean, till there's no bane within it, not a poison
grain within it.

And then we roast the body well, send for ale to the
alehouse, and have a merry banquet, a merry Roman banquet.

The fellow with the fiddle plays, he plays; the little lassie
sings, she sings an ancient Roman ditty; now hear the Roman
ditty.

SONG OF THE BROKEN CHASTITY
BY URSULA

Penn'd the Romany chi ke laki dye
"Miry dearie dye mi shom cambri!"
"And coin kerdo tute cambri,
Miry dearie chi, miry Romany chi?"
"O miry dye a boro rye,
A bovalo rye, a gorgiko rye,
Sos kistur pre a pellengo grye,
'Twas yov sos kerdo man cambri."
"Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny,
Tu chal from miry tan abri;
Had a Romany cwal kair'd tute cambri,
Then I had penn'd ke tute chie,
But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny
With gorgikie rat to be cambri."

"There's some kernel in those songs, brother," said Mr.
Petulengro, when the songs and music were over.

"Yes," said I; "they are certainly very remarkable songs. I
say, Jasper, I hope you have not been drabbing baulor
lately."

"And suppose we have, brother, what then?"

"Why, it is a very dangerous practice, to say nothing of the
wickedness of it."

"Necessity has no law, brother."

"That is true," said I; "I have always said so, but you are
not necessitous, and should not drab baulor."

"And who told you we had been drabbing baulor?"

"Why, you have had a banquet of pork, and after the banquet,
Mrs. Chikno sang a song about drabbing baulor, so I naturally
thought you might have lately been engaged in such a thing."

"Brother, you occasionally utter a word or two of common
sense. It was natural for you to suppose, after seeing that
dinner of pork, and hearing that song, that we had been
drabbing baulor; I will now tell you that we have not been
doing so. What have you to say to that?"

"That I am very glad of it."

"Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found that
it was sweet and tasty, which balluva that is drabbed can
hardly be expected to be. We have no reason to drab baulor
at present, we have money and credit; but necessity has no
law. Our forefathers occasionally drabbed baulor; some of
our people may still do such a thing, but only from
compulsion."

"I see," said I; "and at your merry meetings you sing songs
upon the compulsatory deeds of your people, alias, their
villainous actions; and, after all, what would the stirring
poetry of any nation be, but for its compulsatory deeds?
Look at the poetry of Scotland, the heroic part, founded
almost entirely on the villainous deeds of the Scotch nation;
cow-stealing, for example, which is very little better than
drabbing baulor; whilst the softer part is mostly about the
slips of its females among the broom, so that no upholder of
Scotch poetry could censure Ursula's song as indelicate, even
if he understood it. What do you think, Jasper?"

"I think, brother, as I before said, that occasionally you
utter a word of common sense; you were talking of the Scotch,
brother; what do you think of a Scotchman finding fault with
Romany!"

"A Scotchman finding fault with Romany, Jasper! Oh dear, but
you joke, the thing could never be."

"Yes, and at Piramus's fiddle; what do you think of a
Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus's fiddle?"

"A Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus's fiddle!
nonsense, Jasper."

"Do you know what I most dislike, brother?"

"I do not, unless it be the constable, Jasper."

"It is not the constable; it's a beggar on horseback,
brother."

"What do you mean by a beggar on horseback?"

"Why, a scamp, brother, raised above his proper place, who
takes every opportunity of giving himself fine airs. About a
week ago, my people and myself camped on a green by a
plantation in the neighbourhood of a great house. In the
evening we were making merry, the girls were dancing, while
Piramus was playing on the fiddle a tune of his own
composing, to which he has given his own name, Piramus of
Rome, and which is much celebrated amongst our people, and
from which I have been told that one of the grand gorgio
composers, who once heard it, has taken several hints. So,
as we were making merry, a great many grand people, lords and
ladies, I believe, came from the great house, and looked on,
as the girls danced to the tune of Piramus of Rome, and
seemed much pleased; and when the girls had left off dancing,
and Piramus playing, the ladies wanted to have their fortunes
told; so I bade Mikailia Chikno, who can tell a fortune when
she pleases better than any one else, tell them a fortune,
and she, being in a good mind, told them a fortune which
pleased them very much. So, after they had heard their
fortunes, one of them asked if any of our women could sing;
and I told them several could, more particularly Leviathan -
you know Leviathan, she is not here now, but some miles
distant, she is our best singer, Ursula coming next. So the
lady said she should like to hear Leviathan sing, whereupon
Leviathan sang the Gudlo pesham, and Piramus played the tune
of the same name, which as you know, means the honeycomb, the
song and the tune being well entitled to the name, being
wonderfully sweet. Well, everybody present seemed mighty
well pleased with the song and music, with the exception of
one person, a carroty-haired Scotch body; how he came there I
don't know, but there he was; and, coming forward, he began
in Scotch as broad as a barn-door to find fault with the
music and the song, saying, that he had never heard viler
stuff than either. Well, brother, out of consideration for
the civil gentry with whom the fellow had come, I held my
peace for a long time, and in order to get the subject
changed, I said to Mikailia in Romany, You have told the
ladies their fortunes, now tell the gentlemen theirs, quick,
quick, - pen lende dukkerin. Well, brother, the Scotchman, I
suppose, thinking I was speaking ill of him, fell into a
greater passion than before, and catching hold of the word
dukkerin - 'Dukkerin,' said he, 'what's dukkerin?'  
'Dukkerin,' said I, 'is fortune, a man or woman's destiny;
don't you like the word?'  'Word! d'ye ca' that a word? a
bonnie word,' said he. 'Perhaps, you'll tell us what it is
in Scotch,' said I, 'in order that we may improve our
language by a Scotch word; a pal of mine has told me that we
have taken a great many words from foreign lingos.'  'Why,
then, if that be the case, fellow, I will tell you; it is
e'en "spaeing,"' said he, very seriously. 'Well, then,' said
I, 'I'll keep my own word, which is much the prettiest -
spaeing! spaeing! why, I should be ashamed to make use of the
word, it sounds so much like a certain other word;' and then
I made a face as if I were unwell. 'Perhaps it's Scotch also
for that?'  'What do ye mean by speaking in that guise to a
gentleman?' said he; 'you insolent vagabond, without a name
or a country.'  'There you are mistaken,' said I; 'my country
is Egypt, but we 'Gyptians, like you Scotch, are rather fond
of travelling; and as for name - my name is Jasper
Petulengro, perhaps you have a better; what is it?'  'Sandy
Macraw.'  At that, brother, the gentlemen burst into a roar
of laughter, and all the ladies tittered."

"You were rather severe on the Scotchman, Jasper."

"Not at all, brother, and suppose I were, he began first; I
am the civilest man in the world, and never interfere with
anybody, who lets me and mine alone. He finds fault with
Romany, forsooth! why, L-d A'mighty, what's Scotch? He
doesn't like our songs; what are his own? I understand them
as little as he mine; I have heard one or two of them, and
pretty rubbish they seemed. But the best of the joke is, the
fellow's finding fault with Piramus's fiddle - a chap from
the land of bagpipes finding fault with Piramus's fiddle!
Why, I'll back that fiddle against all the bagpipes in
Scotland, and Piramus against all the bagpipers; for though
Piramus weighs but ten stone, he shall flog a Scotchman of
twenty."

"Scotchmen are never so fat as that," said I, "unless indeed,
they have been a long time pensioners of England. I say,
Jasper, what remarkable names your people have!"

"And what pretty names, brother; there's my own, for example,
Jasper; then there's Ambrose and Sylvester; then there's
Culvato, which signifies Claude; then there's Piramus -
that's a nice name, brother."

"Then there's your wife's name, Pakomovna; then there's
Ursula and Morella."

"Then, brother, there's Ercilla."

"Ercilla! the name of the great poet of Spain, how wonderful;
then Leviathan."

"The name of a ship, brother; Leviathan was named after a
ship, so don't make a wonder out of her. But there's
Sanpriel and Synfye."

"Ay, and Clementina and Lavinia, Camillia and Lydia, Curlanda
and Orlanda; wherever did they get those names?"

"Where did my wife get her necklace, brother?"

"She knows best, Jasper. I hope - "

"Come, no hoping! She got it from her grandmother, who died
at the age of a hundred and three, and sleeps in Coggeshall
churchyard. She got it from her mother, who also died very
old, and who could give no other account of it than that it
had been in the family time out of mind."

"Whence could they have got it?"

"Why, perhaps where they got their names, brother. A
gentleman, who had travelled much, once told me that he had
seen the sister of it about the neck of an Indian queen."

"Some of your names, Jasper, appear to be church names; your
own, for example, and Ambrose, and Sylvester; perhaps you got
them from the Papists, in the times of Popery; but where did
you get such a name as Piramus, a name of Grecian romance?
Then some of them appear to be Slavonian; for example,
Mikailia and Pakomovna. I don't know much of Slavonian; but
- "

"What is Slavonian, brother?"

"The family name of certain nations, the principal of which
is the Russian, and from which the word slave is originally
derived. You have heard of the Russians, Jasper?"

"Yes, brother; and seen some. I saw their crallis at the
time of the peace; he was not a bad-looking man for a
Russian."

"By the bye, Jasper, I'm half inclined to think that crallis
is a Slavish word. I saw something like it in a lil called
'Voltaire's Life of Charles.'  How you should have come by
such names and words is to me incomprehensible."

"You seem posed, brother."

"I really know very little about you, Jasper."

"Very little indeed, brother. We know very little about
ourselves; and you know nothing, save what we have told you;
and we have now and then told you things about us which are
not exactly true, simply to make a fool of you, brother. You
will say that was wrong; perhaps it was. Well, Sunday will
be here in a day or two, when we will go to church, where
possibly we shall hear a sermon on the disastrous
consequences of lying."

CHAPTER VIII

The Church - The Aristocratical Pew - Days of Yore - The
Clergyman - "In What Would a Man be Profited?"

WHEN two days had passed, Sunday came; I breakfasted by
myself in the solitary dingle; and then, having set things a
little to rights, I ascended to Mr. Petulengro's encampment.
I could hear church-bells ringing around in the distance,
appearing to say, "Come to church, come to church," as
clearly as it was possible for church-bells to say. I found
Mr. Petulengro seated by the door of his tent, smoking his
pipe, in rather an ungenteel undress. "Well, Jasper," said
I, "are you ready to go to church? for if you are, I am ready
to accompany you."  "I am not ready, brother," said Mr.
Petulengro, "nor is my wife; the church, too, to which we
shall go is three miles off; so it is of no use to think of
going there this morning, as the service would be three-
quarters over before we got there; if, however, you are
disposed to go in the afternoon, we are your people."  
Thereupon I returned to my dingle, where I passed several
hours in conning the Welsh Bible, which the preacher, Peter
Williams, had given me.

At last I gave over reading, took a slight refreshment, and
was about to emerge from the dingle, when I heard the voice
of Mr. Petulengro calling me. I went up again to the
encampment, where I found Mr. Petulengro, his wife, and Tawno
Chikno, ready to proceed to church. Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro
were dressed in Roman fashion, though not in the full-blown
manner in which they had paid their visit to Isopel and
myself. Tawno had on a clean white slop, with a nearly new
black beaver, with very broad rims, and the nap exceedingly
long. As for myself, I was dressed in much the same manner
as that in which I departed from London, having on, in honour
of the day, a shirt perfectly clean, having washed one on
purpose for the occasion, with my own hands, the day before,
in the pond of tepid water in which the newts and defts were
in the habit of taking their pleasure. We proceeded for
upwards of a mile, by footpaths through meadows and corn-
fields; we crossed various stiles; at last, passing over one,
we found ourselves in a road, wending along which for a
considerable distance, we at last came in sight of a church,
the bells of which had been tolling distinctly in our ears
for some time; before, however, we reached the church-yard,
the bells had ceased their melody. It was surrounded by
lofty beech-trees of brilliant green foliage. We entered the
gate, Mrs. Petulengro leading the way, and proceeded to a
small door near the east end of the church. As we advanced,
the sound of singing within the church rose upon our ears.
Arrived at the small door, Mrs. Petulengro opened it and
entered, followed by Tawno Chikno. I myself went last of
all, following Mr. Petulengro, who, before I entered, turned
round, and, with a significant nod, advised me to take care
how I behaved. The part of the church which we had entered
was the chancel; on one side stood a number of venerable old
men - probably the neighbouring poor - and on the other a
number of poor girls belonging to the village school, dressed
in white gowns and straw bonnets, whom two elegant but simply
dressed young women were superintending. Every voice seemed
to be united in singing a certain anthem, which,
notwithstanding it was written neither by Tate nor Brady,
contains some of the sublimest words which were ever put
together, not the worst of which are those which burst on our
ears as we entered:

"Every eye shall now behold Him,
Robed in dreadful majesty;
Those who set at nought and sold Him,
Pierced and nailed Him to the tree,
Deeply wailing,
Shall the true Messiah see."

Still following Mrs. Petulengro, we proceeded down the
chancel and along the aisle; notwithstanding the singing, I
could distinctly hear as we passed many a voice whispering,
"Here come the gypsies! here come the gypsies!"  I felt
rather embarrassed, with a somewhat awkward doubt as to where
we were to sit; none of the occupiers of the pews, who
appeared to consist almost entirely of farmers, with their
wives, sons, and daughters, opened a door to admit us. Mrs.
Petulengro, however, appeared to feel not the least
embarrassment, but tripped along the aisle with the greatest
nonchalance. We passed under the pulpit, in which stood the
clergyman in his white surplice, and reached the middle of
the church, where we were confronted by the sexton dressed in
long blue coat, and holding in his hand a wand. This
functionary motioned towards the lower end of the church,
where were certain benches, partly occupied by poor people
and boys. Mrs. Petulengro, however, with a toss of her head,
directed her course to a magnificent pew, which was
unoccupied, which she opened and entered, followed closely by
Tawno Chikno, Mr. Petulengro, and myself. The sexton did not
appear by any means to approve of the arrangement, and as I
stood next the door, laid his finger on my arm, as if to
intimate that myself and companions must quit our
aristocratical location. I said nothing, but directed my
eyes to the clergyman, who uttered a short and expressive
cough; the sexton looked at him for a moment, and then,
bowing his head, closed the door - in a moment more the music
ceased. I took up a prayer-book, on which was engraved an
earl's coronet. The clergyman uttered, "I will arise, and go
to my father."  England's sublime liturgy had commenced.

Oh, what feelings came over me on finding myself again in an
edifice devoted to the religion of my country! I had not
been in such a place I cannot tell for how long - certainly
not for years; and now I had found my way there again, it
appeared as if I had fallen asleep in the pew of the old
church of pretty D-. I had occasionally done so when a
child, and had suddenly woke up. Yes, surely I had been
asleep and had woke up; but no! alas, no! I had not been
asleep - at least not in the old church - if I had been
asleep I had been walking in my sleep, struggling, striving,
learning, and unlearning in my sleep. Years had rolled away
whilst I had been asleep - ripe fruit had fallen, green fruit
had come on whilst I had been asleep - how circumstances had
altered, and above all myself, whilst I had been asleep. No,
I had not been asleep in the old church! I was in a pew, it
is true, but not the pew of black leather, in which I
sometimes fell asleep in days of yore, but in a strange pew;
and then my companions, they were no longer those of days of
yore. I was no longer with my respectable father and mother,
and my dear brother, but with the gypsy cral and his wife,
and the gigantic Tawno, the Antinous of the dusky people.
And what was I myself? No longer an innocent child, but a
moody man, bearing in my face, as I knew well, the marks of
my strivings and strugglings, of what I had learnt and
unlearnt; nevertheless, the general aspect of things brought
to my mind what I had felt and seen of yore. There was
difference enough, it is true, but still there was a
similarity - at least I thought so - the church, the
clergyman, and the clerk, differing in many respects from
those of pretty D-, put me strangely in mind of them; and
then the words! - by the bye, was it not the magic of the
words which brought the dear enchanting past so powerfully
before the mind of Lavengro? for the words were the same
sonorous words of high import which had first made an
impression on his childish ear in the old church of pretty D-
.

The liturgy was now over, during the reading of which my
companions behaved in a most unexceptionable manner, sitting
down and rising up when other people sat down and rose, and
holding in their hands prayer-books which they found in the
pew, into which they stared intently, though I observed that,
with the exception of Mrs. Petulengro, who knew how to read a
little, they held the books by the top, and not the bottom,
as is the usual way. The clergyman now ascended the pulpit,
arrayed in his black gown. The congregation composed
themselves to attention, as did also my companions, who fixed
their eyes upon the clergyman with a certain strange
immovable stare, which I believe to be peculiar to their
race. The clergyman gave out his text, and began to preach.
He was a tall, gentlemanly man, seemingly between fifty and
sixty, with greyish hair; his features were very handsome,
but with a somewhat melancholy cast: the tones of his voice
were rich and noble, but also with somewhat of melancholy in
them. The text which he gave out was the following one, "In
what would a man be profited, provided he gained the whole
world, and lost his own soul?"

And on this text the clergyman preached long and well: he did
not read his sermon, but spoke it extempore; his doing so
rather surprised and offended me at first; I was not used to
such a style of preaching in a church devoted to the religion
of my country. I compared it within my mind with the style
of preaching used by the high-church rector in the old church
of pretty D-, and I thought to myself it was very different,
and being very different I did not like it, and I thought to
myself how scandalized the people of D- would have been had
they heard it, and I figured to myself how indignant the
high-church clerk would have been had any clergyman got up in
the church of D- and preached in such a manner. Did it not
savour strongly of dissent, methodism, and similar low stuff?
Surely it did; why, the Methodist I had heard preach on the
heath above the old city, preached in the same manner - at
least he preached extempore; ay, and something like the
present clergyman; for the Methodist spoke very zealously and
with great feeling, and so did the present clergyman; so I,
of course, felt rather offended with the clergyman for
speaking with zeal and feeling. However, long before the
sermon was over I forgot the offence which I had taken, and
listened to the sermon with much admiration, for the
eloquence and powerful reasoning with which it abounded.

Oh, how eloquent he was, when he talked of the inestimable
value of a man's soul, which he said endured for ever, whilst
his body, as every one knew, lasted at most for a very
contemptible period of time; and how forcibly he reasoned on
the folly of a man, who, for the sake of gaining the whole
world - a thing, he said, which provided he gained he could
only possess for a part of the time, during which his
perishable body existed - should lose his soul, that is,
cause that precious deathless portion of him to suffer
indescribable misery time without end.

There was one part of his sermon which struck me in a very
particular manner: he said, "That there were some people who
gained something in return for their souls; if they did not
get the whole world, they got a part of it - lands, wealth,
honour, or renown; mere trifles, he allowed, in comparison
with the value of a man's soul, which is destined either to
enjoy delight, or suffer tribulation time without end; but
which, in the eyes of the worldly, had a certain value, and
which afforded a certain pleasure and satisfaction. But
there were also others who lost their souls, and got nothing
for them - neither lands, wealth, renown, nor consideration,
who were poor outcasts, and despised by everybody. My
friends," he added, "if the man is a fool who barters his
soul for the whole world, what a fool he must be who barters
his soul for nothing."

The eyes of the clergyman, as he uttered these words,
wandered around the whole congregation; and when he had
concluded them, the eyes of the whole congregation were
turned upon my companions and myself.

CHAPTER IX

Return from Church - The Cuckoo and Gypsy - Spiritual
Discourse.

THE service over, my companions and myself returned towards
the encampment, by the way we came. Some of the humble part
of the congregation laughed and joked at us as we passed.
Mr. Petulengro and his wife, however, returned their laughs
and jokes with interest. As for Tawno and myself, we said
nothing: Tawno, like most handsome fellows, having very
little to say for himself at any time; and myself, though not
handsome, not being particularly skilful at repartee. Some
boys followed us for a considerable time, making all kinds of
observations about gypsies; but as we walked at a great pace,
we gradually left them behind, and at last lost sight of
them. Mrs. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno walked together, even
as they had come; whilst Mr. Petulengro and myself followed
at a little distance.

"That was a very fine preacher we heard," said I to Mr.
Petulengro, after we had crossed the stile into the fields.

"Very fine indeed, brother," said Mr. Petulengro; "he is
talked of, far and wide, for his sermons; folks say that
there is scarcely another like him in the whole of England."

"He looks rather melancholy, Jasper."

"He lost his wife several years ago, who, they say, was one
of the most beautiful women ever seen. They say that it was
grief for her loss that made him come out mighty strong as a
preacher; for, though he was a clergyman, he was never heard
of in the pulpit before he lost his wife; since then, the
whole country has rung with the preaching of the clergyman of
M- as they call him. Those two nice young gentlewomen, whom
you saw with the female childer, are his daughters."

"You seem to know all about him, Jasper. Did you ever hear
him preach before?"

"Never, brother; but he has frequently been to our tent, and
his daughters too, and given us tracts; for he is one of the
people they call Evangelicals, who give folks tracts which
they cannot read."

"You should learn to read, Jasper."

"We have no time, brother."

"Are you not frequently idle?"

"Never, brother; when we are not engaged in our traffic, we
are engaged in taking our relaxation: so we have no time to
learn."

"You really should make an effort. If you were disposed to
learn to read, I would endeavour to assist you. You would be
all the better for knowing how to read."

"In what way, brother?"

"Why, you could read the Scriptures, and, by so doing, learn
your duty towards your fellow-creatures."

"We know that already, brother; the constables and justices
have contrived to knock that tolerably into our heads."

"Yet you frequently break the laws."

"So, I believe, do now and then those who know how to read,
brother."

"Very true, Jasper; but you really ought to learn to read,
as, by so doing, you might learn your duty towards
yourselves: and your chief duty is to take care of your own
souls; did not the preacher say, 'In what is a man profited,
provided he gain the whole world?'"

"We have not much of the world, brother."

"Very little indeed, Jasper. Did you not observe how the
eyes of the whole congregation were turned towards our pew,
when the preacher said, 'There are some people who lose their
souls, and get nothing in exchange; who are outcast,
despised, and miserable?'  Now was not what he said quite
applicable to the gypsies?"

"We are not miserable, brother."

"Well, then, you ought to be, Jasper. Have you an inch of
ground of your own? Are you of the least use? Are you not
spoken ill of by everybody? What's a gypsy?"

"What's the bird noising yonder, brother?"

"The bird! oh, that's the cuckoo tolling; but what has the
cuckoo to do with the matter?"

"We'll see, brother; what's the cuckoo?"

"What is it? you know as much about it as myself, Jasper."

"Isn't it a kind of roguish, chaffing bird, brother?"

"I believe it is, Jasper."

"Nobody knows whence it comes, brother?"

"I believe not, Jasper."

"Very poor, brother, not a nest of its own?"

"So they say, Jasper."

"With every person's bad word, brother?"

"Yes, Jasper, every person is mocking it."

"Tolerably merry, brother?"

"Yes, tolerably merry, Jasper."

"Of no use at all, brother?"

"None whatever, Jasper."

"You would be glad to get rid of the cuckoos, brother?"

"Why, not exactly, Jasper; the cuckoo is a pleasant, funny
bird, and its presence and voice give a great charm to the
green trees and fields; no, I can't say I wish exactly to get
rid of the cuckoo."

"Well, brother, what's a Romany chal?"

"You must answer that question yourself, Jasper."

"A roguish, chaffing fellow, a'n't he, brother?"

"Ay, ay, Jasper."

"Of no use at all, brother?"

"Just so, Jasper; I see - "

"Something very much like a cuckoo, brother?"

"I see what you are after, Jasper."

"You would like to get rid of us, wouldn't you?"

"Why no, not exactly."

"We are no ornament to the green lanes in spring and summer
time, are we, brother? and the voices of our chies, with
their cukkerin and dukkerin, don't help to make them
pleasant?"

"I see what you are at, Jasper."

"You would wish to turn the cuckoos into barn-door fowls,
wouldn't you?"

"Can't say I should, Jasper, whatever some people might
wish."

"And the chals and chies into radical weavers and factory
wenches, hey, brother?"

"Can't say that I should, Jasper. You are certainly a
picturesque people, and in many respects an ornament both to
town and country; painting and lil writing too are under
great obligations to you. What pretty pictures are made out
of your campings and groupings, and what pretty books have
been written in which gypsies, or at least creatures intended
to represent gypsies, have been the principal figures. I
think if we were without you, we should begin to miss you."

"Just as you would the cuckoos, if they were all converted
into barn-door fowls. I tell you what, brother; frequently,
as I have sat under a hedge in spring or summer time, and
heard the cuckoo, I have thought that we chals and cuckoos
are alike in many respects, but especially in character.
Everybody speaks ill of us both, and everybody is glad to see
both of us again."

"Yes, Jasper, but there is some difference between men and
cuckoos; men have souls, Jasper!"

"And why not cuckoos, brother?"

"You should not talk so, Jasper; what you say is little short
of blasphemy. How should a bird have a soul?"

"And how should a man?"

"Oh, we know very well that a man has a soul."

"How do you know it?"

"We know very well."

"Would you take your oath of it, brother - your bodily oath?"

"Why, I think I might, Jasper!"

"Did you ever see the soul, brother?"

"No, I never saw it."

"Then how could you swear to it? A pretty figure you would
make in a court of justice, to swear to a thing which you
never saw. Hold up your head, fellow. When and where did
you see it? Now upon your oath, fellow, do you mean to say
that this Roman stole the donkey's foal? Oh, there's no one
for cross-questioning like Counsellor P-. Our people when
they are in a hobble always like to employ him, though he is
somewhat dear. Now, brother, how can you get over the 'upon
your oath, fellow, will you say that you have a soul?'"

"Well, we will take no oaths on the subject; but you yourself
believe in the soul. I have heard you say that you believe
in dukkerin; now what is dukkerin but the soul science?"

"When did I say that I believed in it?"

"Why, after that fight, when you pointed to the bloody mark
in the cloud, whilst he you wot of was galloping in the
barouche to the old town, amidst the rain-cataracts, the
thunder, and flame of heaven."

"I have some kind of remembrance of it, brother."

"Then, again, I heard you say that the dook of Abershaw rode
every night on horseback down the wooded hill."

"I say, brother, what a wonderful memory you have!"

"I wish I had not, Jasper; but I can't help it, it is my
misfortune."

"Misfortune! well, perhaps it is; at any rate it is very
ungenteel to have such a memory. I have heard my wife say
that to show you have a long memory looks very vulgar; and
that you can't give a greater proof of gentility than by
forgetting a thing as soon as possible - more especially a
promise, or an acquaintance when he happens to be shabby.
Well, brother, I don't deny that I may have said that I
believe in dukkerin, and in Abershaw's dook, which you say is
his soul; but what I believe one moment, or say I believe,
don't be certain that I shall believe the next, or say I do."

"Indeed, Jasper, I heard you say on a previous occasion, on
quoting a piece of a song, that when a man dies he is cast
into the earth, and there's an end of him."

"I did, did I? Lor' what a memory you have, brother. But
you are not sure that I hold that opinion now."

"Certainly not, Jasper. Indeed, after such a sermon as we
have been hearing, I should be very shocked if you held such
an opinion."

"However, brother, don't be sure I do not, however shocking
such an opinion may be to you."

"What an incomprehensible people you are, Jasper."

"We are rather so, brother; indeed, we have posed wiser heads
than yours before now."

"You seem to care for so little, and yet you rove about a
distinct race."

"I say, brother!"

"Yes, Jasper."

"What do you think of our women?"

"They have certainly very singular names, Jasper."

"Names! Lavengro! However, brother, if you had been as fond
of things as of names, you would never have been a pal of
ours."

"What do you mean, Jasper?"

"A'n't they rum animals?"

"They have tongues of their own, Jasper."

"Did you ever feel their teeth and nails, brother?"

"Never, Jasper, save Mrs. Herne's. I have always been very
civil to them, so - "

"They let you alone. I say, brother, some part of the secret
is in them."

"They seem rather flighty, Jasper."

"Ay, ay, brother!"

"Rather fond of loose discourse!"

"Rather so, brother."

"Can you always trust them, Jasper?"

"We never watch them, brother."

"Can they always trust you?"

"Not quite so well as we can them. However, we get on very
well together, except Mikailia and her husband; but Mikailia
is a cripple, and is married to the beauty of the world, so
she may be expected to be jealous - though he would not part
with her for a duchess, no more than I would part with my
rawnie, nor any other chal with his."

"Ay, but would not the chi part with the chal for a duke,
Jasper?"

"My Pakomovna gave up the duke for me, brother."

"But she occasionally talks of him, Jasper."

"Yes, brother, but Pakomovna was born on a common not far
from the sign of the gammon."

"Gammon of bacon, I suppose."

"Yes, brother; but gammon likewise means - "

"I know it does, Jasper; it means fun, ridicule, jest; it is
an ancient Norse word, and is found in the Edda."

"Lor', brother! how learned in lils you are!"

"Many words of Norse are to be found in our vulgar sayings,
Jasper; for example - in that particularly vulgar saying of
ours, 'Your mother is up,' there's a noble Norse word;
mother, there, meaning not the female who bore us, but rage
and choler, as I discovered by reading the Sagas, Jasper."

"Lor', brother! how book-learned you be."

"Indifferently so, Jasper. Then you think you might trust
your wife with the duke?"

"I think I could, brother, or even with yourself."

"Myself, Jasper! Oh, I never troubled my head about your
wife; but I suppose there have been love affairs between
gorgios and Romany chies. Why, novels are stuffed with such
matters; and then even one of your own songs says so - the
song which Ursula was singing the other afternoon."

"That is somewhat of an old song, brother, and is sung by the
chies as a warning at our solemn festivals."

"Well! but there's your sister-in-law, Ursula, herself,
Jasper."

"Ursula, herself, brother?"

"You were talking of my having her, Jasper."

"Well, brother, why didn't you have her?"

"Would she have had me?"

"Of course, brother. You are so much of a Roman, and speak
Romany so remarkably well."

"Poor thing! she looks very innocent!"

"Remarkably so, brother! however, though not born on the same
common with my wife, she knows a thing or two of Roman
matters."

"I should like to ask her a question or two, Jasper, in
connection with that song."

"You can do no better, brother. Here we are at the camp.
After tea, take Ursula under a hedge, and ask her a question
or two in connection with that song."

CHAPTER X

Sunday Evening - Ursula - Action at Law - Meridiana - Married
Already.

I TOOK tea that evening with Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro and
Ursula, outside of their tent. Tawno was not present, being
engaged with his wife in his own tabernacle; Sylvester was
there, however, lolling listlessly upon the ground. As I
looked upon this man, I thought him one of the most
disagreeable fellows I had ever seen. His features were
ugly, and, moreover, as dark as pepper; and, besides being
dark, his skin was dirty. As for his dress, it was torn and
sordid. His chest was broad, and his arms seemed powerful;
but, upon the whole, he looked a very caitiff. "I am sorry
that man has lost his wife," thought I; "for I am sure he
will never get another."  What surprises me is, that he ever
found a woman disposed to unite her lot with his!

After tea I got up and strolled about the field. My thoughts
were upon Isopel Berners. I wondered where she was, and how
long she would stay away. At length becoming tired and
listless, I determined to return to the dingle, and resume
the reading of the Bible at the place where I had left off.
"What better could I do," methought, "on a Sunday evening?"  
I was then near the wood which surrounded the dingle, but at
that side which was farthest from the encampment, which stood
near the entrance. Suddenly, on turning round the southern
corner of the copse, which surrounded the dingle, I perceived
Ursula seated under a thornbush. I thought I never saw her
look prettier than then, dressed as she was, in her Sunday's
best.

"Good evening, Ursula," said I; "I little thought to have the
pleasure of seeing you here."

"Nor would you, brother," said Ursula, "had not Jasper told
me that you had been talking about me, and wanted to speak to
me under a hedge; so, hearing that, I watched your motions,
and came here and sat down."

"I was thinking of going to my quarters in the dingle, to
read the Bible, Ursula, but - "

"Oh, pray then, go to your quarters, brother, and read the
Miduveleskoe lil; you can speak to me under a hedge some
other time."

"I think I will sit down with you, Ursula; for, after all,
reading godly books in dingles at eve, is rather sombre work.
Yes, I think I will sit down with you;" and I sat down by her
side.

"Well, brother, now you have sat down with me under the
hedge, what have you to say to me?"

"Why, I hardly know, Ursula."

"Not know, brother; a pretty fellow you to ask young women to
come and sit with you under hedges, and, when they come, not
know what to say to them."

"Oh! ah! I remember; do you know, Ursula, that I take a great
interest in you?"

"Thank ye, brother; kind of you, at any rate."

"You must be exposed to a great many temptations, Ursula."

"A great many indeed, brother. It is hard, to see fine
things, such as shawls, gold watches, and chains in the
shops, behind the big glasses, and to know that they are not
intended for one. Many's the time I have been tempted to
make a dash at them; but I bethought myself that by so doing
I should cut my hands, besides being almost certain of being
grabbed and sent across the gull's bath to the foreign
country."

"Then you think gold and fine things temptations, Ursula?"

"Of course, brother, very great temptations; don't you think
them so?"

"Can't say I do, Ursula."

"Then more fool you, brother; but have the kindness to tell
me what you would call a temptation?"

"Why, for example, the hope of honour and renown, Ursula."

"The hope of honour and renown! very good, brother; but I
tell you one thing, that unless you have money in your
pocket, and good broad-cloth on your back, you are not likely
to obtain much honour and - what do you call it? amongst the
gorgios, to say nothing of the Romany chals."

"I should have thought, Ursula, that the Romany chals,
roaming about the world as they do, free and independent,
were above being led by such trifles."

"Then you know nothing of the gypsies, brother; no people on
earth are fonder of those trifles, as you call them, than the
Romany chals, and more disposed to respect those who have
them."

"Then money and fine clothes would induce you to do anything,
Ursula?"

"Ay, ay, brother, anything."

"To chore, Ursula?"

"Like enough, brother; gypsies have been transported before
now for choring."

"To hokkawar?"

"Ay, ay; I was telling dukkerin only yesterday, brother."

"In fact, to break the law in everything?"

"Who knows, brother, who knows? as I said before, gold and
fine clothes are great temptations."

"Well, Ursula, I am sorry for it, I should never have thought
you so depraved."

"Indeed, brother."

"To think that I am seated by one who is willing to - to - "

"Go on, brother."

"To play the thief."

"Go on, brother."

"The liar."

"Go on, brother."

"The - the - "

"Go on, brother."

"The - the lubbeny."

"The what, brother?" said Ursula, starting from her seat.

"Why, the lubbeny; don't you - "

"I tell you what, brother," said Ursula, looking somewhat
pale, and speaking very low, "if I had only something in my
hand, I would do you a mischief."

"Why, what is the matter, Ursula?" said I; "how have I
offended you?"

"How have you offended me? Why, didn't you insinivate just
now that I was ready to play the - the - "

"Go on, Ursula."

"The - the - I'll not say it; but I only wish I had something
in my hand."

"If I have offended, Ursula, I am very sorry for it; any
offence I may have given you was from want of understanding
you. Come, pray be seated, I have much to question you about
- to talk to you about."

"Seated, not I! It was only just now that you gave me to
understand that you was ashamed to be seated by me, a thief,
a liar."

"Well, did you not almost give me to understand that you were
both, Ursula?"

"I don't much care being called a thief and a liar," said
Ursula; "a person may be a liar and thief, and yet a very
honest woman, but - "

"Well, Ursula."

"I tell you what, brother, if you ever sinivate again that I
could be the third thing, so help me duvel! I'll do you a
mischief. By my God I will!"

"Well, Ursula, I assure you that I shall sinivate, as you
call it, nothing of the kind about you. I have no doubt,
from what you have said, that you are a very paragon of
virtue - a perfect Lucretia; but - "

"My name is Ursula, brother, and not Lucretia: Lucretia is
not of our family, but one of the Bucklands; she travels
about Oxfordshire; yet I am as good as she any day."

"Lucretia; how odd! Where could she have got that name?
Well, I make no doubt, Ursula, that you are quite as good as
she, and she as her namesake of ancient Rome; but there is a
mystery in this same virtue, Ursula, which I cannot fathom;
how a thief and a liar should be able, or indeed willing, to
preserve her virtue is what I don't understand. You confess
that you are very fond of gold. Now, how is it that you
don't barter your virtue for gold sometimes? I am a
philosopher, Ursula, and like to know everything. You must
be every now and then exposed to great temptation, Ursula;
for you are of a beauty calculated to captivate all hearts.
Come, sit down and tell me how you are enabled to resist such
a temptation as gold and fine clothes?"

"Well, brother," said Ursula, "as you say you mean no harm, I
will sit down beside you, and enter into discourse with you;
but I will uphold that you are the coolest hand that I ever
came nigh, and say the coolest things."

And thereupon Ursula sat down by my side.

"Well, Ursula, we will, if you please, discourse on the
subject of your temptations. I suppose that you travel very
much about, and show yourself in all kinds of places?"

"In all kinds, brother; I travels, as you say, very much
about, attends fairs and races, and enters booths and public-
houses, where I tells fortunes, and sometimes dances and
sings."

"And do not people often address you in a very free manner?"

"Frequently, brother; and I give them tolerably free
answers."

"Do people ever offer to make you presents? I mean presents
of value, such as - "

"Silk handkerchiefs, shawls, and trinkets; very frequently,
brother."

"And what do you do, Ursula?"

"I takes what people offers me, brother, and stows it away as
soon as I can."

"Well, but don't people expect something for their presents?
I don't mean dukkerin, dancing, and the like; but such a
moderate and innocent thing as a choomer, Ursula?"

"Innocent thing, do you call it, brother?"

"The world calls it so, Ursula. Well, do the people who give
you the fine things never expect a choomer in return?"

"Very frequently, brother."

"And do you ever grant it?"

"Never, brother."

"How do you avoid it?"

"I gets away as soon as possible, brother. If they follows
me, I tries to baffle them, by means of jests and laughter;
and if they persist, I uses bad and terrible language, of
which I have plenty in store."

"But if your terrible language has no effect?"

"Then I screams for the constable, and if he comes not, I
uses my teeth and nails."

"And are they always sufficient?"

"I have only had to use them twice, brother; but then I found
them sufficient."

"But suppose the person who followed you was highly
agreeable, Ursula? A handsome young officer of local
militia, for example, all dressed in Lincoln green, would you
still refuse him the choomer?"

"We makes no difference, brother; the daughters of the gypsy-
father makes no difference; and what's more, sees none."

"Well, Ursula, the world will hardly give you credit for such
indifference."

"What cares we for the world, brother! we are not of the
world."

"But your fathers, brothers, and uncles, give you credit, I
suppose, Ursula."

"Ay, ay, brother, our fathers, brothers, and cokos gives us
all manner of credit; for example, I am telling lies and
dukkerin in a public-house where my batu or coko - perhaps
both - are playing on the fiddle; well, my batu and my coko
beholds me amongst the public-house crew, talking nonsense
and hearing nonsense; but they are under no apprehension; and
presently they sees the good-looking officer of militia, in
his greens and Lincolns, get up and give me a wink, and I go
out with him abroad, into the dark night perhaps; well, my
batu and my coko goes on fiddling just as if I were six miles
off asleep in the tent, and not out in the dark street with
the local officer, with his Lincolns and his greens."

"They know they can trust you, Ursula?"

"Ay, ay, brother; and, what's more, I knows I can trust
myself."

"So you would merely go out to make a fool of him, Ursula?"

"Merely go out to make a fool of him, brother, I assure you."

"But such proceedings really have an odd look, Ursula."

"Amongst gorgios, very so, brother."

"Well, it must be rather unpleasant to lose one's character
even amongst gorgios, Ursula; and suppose the officer, out of
revenge for being tricked and duped by you, were to say of
you the thing that is not, were to meet you on the race-
course the next day, and boast of receiving favours which he
never had, amidst a knot of jeering militia-men, how would
you proceed, Ursula? would you not be abashed?"

"By no means, brother; I should bring my action of law
against him."

"Your action at law, Ursula?"

"Yes, brother, I should give a whistle, whereupon all one's
cokos and batus, and all my near and distant relations, would
leave their fiddling, dukkerin, and horse-dealing, and come
flocking about me. 'What's the matter, Ursula?' says my
coko. 'Nothing at all,' I replies, 'save and except that
gorgio, in his greens and his Lincolns, says that I have
played the - with him.'  'Oho, he does, Ursula,' says my
coko, 'try your action of law against him, my lamb,' and he
puts something privily into my hands; whereupon I goes close
up to the grinning gorgio, and staring him in the face, with
my head pushed forward, I cries out: 'You say I did what was
wrong with you last night when I was out with you abroad?'  
'Yes,' says the local officer, 'I says you did,' looking down
all the time. 'You are a liar,' says I, and forthwith I
breaks his head with the stick which I holds behind me, and
which my coko has conveyed privily into my hand."

"And this is your action at law, Ursula?"

"Yes, brother, this is my action at club-law."

"And would your breaking the fellow's head quite clear you of
all suspicion in the eyes of your batus, cokos, and what
not?"

"They would never suspect me at all, brother, because they
would know that I would never condescend to be over-intimate
with a gorgio; the breaking the head would be merely intended
to justify Ursula in the eyes of the gorgios."

"And would it clear you in their eyes?"

"Would it not, brother? when they saw the blood running down
from the fellow's cracked poll on his greens and Lincolns,
they would be quite satisfied; why, the fellow would not be
able to show his face at fair or merry-making for a year and
three-quarters."

"Did you ever try it, Ursula?"

"Can't say I ever did, brother, but it would do."

"And how did you ever learn such a method of proceeding?"

"Why, 't is advised by gypsy liri, brother. It's part of our
way of settling difficulties amongst ourselves; for example,
if a young Roman were to say the thing which is not
respecting Ursula and himself, Ursula would call a great
meeting of the people, who would all sit down in a ring, the
young fellow amongst them; a coko would then put a stick in
Ursula's hand, who would then get up and go to the young
fellow, and say, 'Did I play the - with you?' and were he to
say 'Yes,' she would crack his head before the eyes of all."

"Well," said I, "Ursula, I was bred an apprentice to gorgio
law, and of course ought to stand up for it, whenever I
conscientiously can, but I must say the gypsy manner of
bringing an action for defamation is much less tedious, and
far more satisfactory, than the gorgiko one. I wish you now
to clear up a certain point which is rather mysterious to me.
You say that for a Romany chi to do what is unseemly with a
gorgio is quite out of the question, yet only the other day I
heard you singing a song in which a Romany chi confesses
herself to be cambri by a grand gorgious gentleman."

"A sad let down," said Ursula.

"Well," said I, "sad or not, there's the song that speaks of
the thing, which you give me to understand is not."

"Well, if the thing ever was," said Ursula, "it was a long
time ago, and perhaps, after all, not true."

"Then why do you sing the song?"

"I'll tell you, brother, we sings the song now and then to be
a warning to ourselves to have as little to do as possible in
the way of acquaintance with the gorgios; and a warning it
is; you see how the young woman in the song was driven out of
her tent by her mother, with all kind of disgrace and bad
language; but you don't know that she was afterwards buried
alive by her cokos and pals, in an uninhabited place; the
song doesn't say it, but the story says it, for there is a
story about it, though, as I said before, it was a long time
ago, and perhaps, after all, wasn't true."

"But if such a thing were to happen at present, would the
cokos and pals bury the girl alive?"

"I can't say what they would do," said Ursula; "I suppose
they are not so strict as they were long ago; at any rate,
she would be driven from the tan, and avoided by all her
family and relations as a gorgio's acquaintance; so that,
perhaps, at last, she would be glad if they would bury her
alive."

"Well, I can conceive that there would be an objection on the
part of the cokos and batus that a Romany chi should form an
improper acquaintance with a gorgio, but I should think that
the batus and cokos could hardly object to the chi's entering
into the honourable estate of wedlock with a gorgio."

Ursula was silent.

"Marriage is an honourable estate, Ursula."

"Well, brother, suppose it be?"

"I don't see why a Romany chi should object to enter into the
honourable estate of wedlock with a gorgio."

"You don't, brother; don't you?"

"No," said I; "and, moreover, I am aware, notwithstanding
your evasion, Ursula, that marriages and connections now and
then occur between gorgios and Romany chies; the result of
which is the mixed breed, called half and half, which is at
present travelling about England, and to which the Flaming
Tinman belongs, otherwise called Anselo Herne."

"As for the half and halfs," said Ursula, "they are a bad
set; and there is not a worse blackguard in England than
Anselo Herne."

"All that you say may be very true, Ursula, but you admit
that there are half and halfs."

"The more's the pity, brother."

"Pity, or not, you admit the fact; but how do you account for
it?"

"How do I account for it? why, I will tell you, by the break
up of a Roman family, brother - the father of a small family
dies, and, perhaps, the mother; and the poor children are
left behind; sometimes, they are gathered up by their
relations, and sometimes, if they have none, by charitable
Romans, who bring them up in the observance of gypsy law; but
sometimes they are not so lucky, and falls into the company
of gorgios, trampers, and basket-makers, who live in
caravans, with whom they take up, and so - I hate to talk of
the matter, brother; but so comes this race of the half and
halfs."

"Then you mean to say, Ursula, that no Romany chi, unless
compelled by hard necessity, would have anything to do with a
gorgio?"

"We are not over-fond of gorgios, brother, and we hates
basket-makers, and folks that live in caravans."

"Well," said I, "suppose a gorgio who is not a basket-maker,
a fine, handsome gorgious gentleman, who lives in a fine
house - "

"We are not fond of houses, brother; I never slept in a house
in my life."

"But would not plenty of money induce you?"

"I hate houses, brother, and those who live in them."

"Well, suppose such a person were willing to resign his fine
house; and, for love of you, to adopt gypsy law, speak
Romany, and live in a tan, would you have nothing to say to
him?"

"Bringing plenty of money with him, brother?"

"Well, bringing plenty of money with him, Ursula."

"Well, brother, suppose you produce your man; where is he?"

"I was merely supposing such a person, Ursula."

"Then you don't know of such a person, brother?"

"Why, no, Ursula; why do you ask?"

"Because, brother, I was almost beginning to think that you
meant yourself."

"Myself! Ursula; I have no fine house to resign; nor have I
money. Moreover, Ursula, though I have a great regard for
you, and though I consider you very handsome, quite as
handsome, indeed, as Meridiana in - "

"Meridiana! where did you meet with her?" said Ursula, with a
toss of her head.

"Why, in old Pulci's - "

"At old Fulcher's! that's not true, brother. Meridiana is a
Borzlam, and travels with her own people, and not with old
Fulcher, who is a gorgio, and a basket-maker."

"I was not speaking of old Fulcher, but Pulci, a great
Italian writer, who lived many hundred years ago, and who, in
his poem called 'Morgante Maggiore,' speaks of Meridiana, the
daughter of - "

"Old Carus Borzlam," said Ursula; "but if the fellow you
mention lived so many hundred years ago, how, in the name of
wonder, could he know anything of Meridiana?"

"The wonder, Ursula, is, how your people could ever have got
hold of that name, and similar ones. The Meridiana of Pulci
was not the daughter of old Carus Borzlam, but of Caradoro, a
great pagan king of the East, who, being besieged in his
capital by Manfredonio, another mighty pagan king, who wished
to obtain possession of his daughter, who had refused him,
was relieved in his distress by certain paladins of
Charlemagne, with one of whom, Oliver, his daughter Meridiana
fell in love."

"I see," said, Ursula, "that it must have been altogether a
different person, for I am sure that Meridiana Borzlam would
never have fallen in love with Oliver. Oliver! why, that is
the name of the curo-mengro, who lost the fight near the
chong gav, the day of the great tempest, when I got wet
through. No, no! Meridiana Borzlam would never have so far
forgot her blood as to take up with Tom Oliver."

"I was not talking of that Oliver, Ursula, but of Oliver,
peer of France, and paladin of Charlemagne, with whom
Meridiana, daughter of Caradoro, fell in love, and for whose
sake she renounced her religion and became a Christian, and
finally ingravidata, or cambri, by him:-

'E nacquene un figliuol, dice la storia,
Che dette a Carlo-man poi gran vittoria;'

which means - "

"I don't want to know what it means," said Ursula; "no good,
I'm sure. Well, if the Meridiana of Charles's wain's pal was
no handsomer than Meridiana Borzlam, she was no great catch,
brother; for though I am by no means given to vanity, I think
myself better to look at than she, though I will say she is
no lubbeny, and would scorn - "

"I make no doubt she would, Ursula, and I make no doubt that
you are much handsomer than she, or even the Meridiana of
Oliver. What I was about to say, before you interrupted me,
is this, that though I have a great regard for you, and
highly admire you, it is only in a brotherly way, and - "

"And you had nothing better to say to me," said Ursula, "when
you wanted to talk to me beneath a hedge, than that you liked
me in a brotherly way I well, I declare - "

"You seem disappointed, Ursula."

"Disappointed, brother! not I."

"You were just now saying that you disliked gorgios, so, of
course, could only wish that I, who am a gorgio, should like
you in a brotherly way: I wished to have a conversation with
you beneath a hedge, but only with the view of procuring from
you some information respecting the song which you sung the
other day, and the conduct of Roman females, which has always
struck me as being highly unaccountable; so, if you thought
anything else - "

"What else should I expect from a picker-up of old words,
brother? Bah! I dislike a picker-up of old words worse than
a picker-up of old rags."

"Don't be angry, Ursula, I feel a great interest in you; you
are very handsome, and very clever; indeed, with your beauty
and cleverness, I only wonder that you have not long since
been married."

"You do, do you, brother?"

"Yes. However, keep up your spirits, Ursula, you are not
much past the prime of youth, so - "

"Not much past the prime of youth! Don't be uncivil,
brother, I was only twenty-two last month."

"Don't be offended, Ursula, but twenty-two is twenty-two, or,
I should rather say, that twenty-two in a woman is more than
twenty-six in a man. You are still very beautiful, but I
advise you to accept the first offer that's made to you."

"Thank you, brother, but your advice comes rather late; I
accepted the first offer that was made me five years ago."

"You married five years ago, Ursula! is it possible?"

"Quite possible, brother, I assure you."

"And how came I to know nothing about it?"

"How comes it that you don't know many thousand things about
the Romans, brother? Do you think they tell you all their
affairs?"

"Married, Ursula, married! well, I declare!"

"You seem disappointed, brother."

"Disappointed! Oh! no, not at all; but Jasper, only a few
weeks ago, told me that you were not married; and, indeed,
almost gave me to understand that you would be very glad to
get a husband."

"And you believed him? I'll tell you, brother, for your
instruction, that there is not in the whole world a greater
liar than Jasper Petulengro."

"I am sorry to hear it, Ursula; but with respect to him you
married - who might he be? A gorgio, or a Romany chal?"

"Gorgio, or Romany chal! Do you think I would ever
condescend to a gorgio! It was a Camomescro, brother, a
Lovell, a distant relation of my own."

"And where is he? and what became of him! Have you any
family?"

"Don't think I am going to tell you all my history, brother;
and, to tell you the truth, I am tired of sitting under
hedges with you, talking nonsense. I shall go to my house."

"Do sit a little longer, sister Ursula. I most heartily
congratulate you on your marriage. But where is this same
Lovell? I have never seen him: I wish to congratulate him
too. You are quite as handsome as the Meridiana of Pulci,
Ursula, ay, or the Despina of Riciardetto. Riciardetto,
Ursula, is a poem written by one Fortiguerra, about ninety
years ago, in imitation of the Morgante of Pulci. It treats
of the wars of Charlemagne and his Paladins with various
barbarous nations, who came to besiege Paris. Despina was
the daughter and heiress of Scricca, King of Cafria; she was
the beloved of Riciardetto, and was beautiful as an angel;
but I make no doubt you are quite as handsome as she."

"Brother," said Ursula - but the reply of Ursula I reserve
for another chapter, the present having attained to rather an
uncommon length, for which, however, the importance of the
matter discussed is a sufficient apology.

CHAPTER XI

Ursula's Tale - The Patteran - The Deep Water - Second
Husband.

"BROTHER," said Ursula, plucking a dandelion which grew at
her feet, "I have always said that a more civil and pleasant-
spoken person than yourself can't be found. I have a great
regard for you and your learning, and am willing to do you
any pleasure in the way of words or conversation. Mine is
not a very happy story, but as you wish to hear it, it is
quite at your service. Launcelot Lovell made me an offer, as
you call it, and we were married in Roman fashion; that is,
we gave each other our right hands, and promised to be true
to each other. We lived together two years, travelling
sometimes by ourselves, sometimes with our relations; I bore
him two children, both of which were still-born, partly, I
believe, from the fatigue I underwent in running about the
country telling dukkerin when I was not exactly in a state to
do so, and partly from the kicks and blows which my husband
Launcelot was in the habit of giving me every night, provided
I came home with less than five shillings, which it is
sometimes impossible to make in the country, provided no fair
or merry-making is going on. At the end of two years my
husband, Launcelot, whistled a horse from a farmer's field,
and sold it for forty-pounds; and for that horse he was
taken, put in prison, tried, and condemned to be sent to the
other country for life. Two days before he was to be sent
away, I got leave to see him in the prison, and in the
presence of the turnkey I gave him a thin cake of
gingerbread, in which there was a dainty saw which could cut
through iron. I then took on wonderfully, turned my eyes
inside out, fell down in a seeming fit, and was carried out
of the prison. That same night my husband sawed his irons
off, cut through the bars of his window, and dropping down a
height of fifty feet, lighted on his legs, and came and
joined me on a heath where I was camped alone. We were just
getting things ready to be off, when we heard people coming,
and sure enough they were runners after my husband, Launcelot
Lovell; for his escape had been discovered within a quarter
of an hour after he had got away. My husband, without
bidding me farewell, set off at full speed, and they after
him, but they could not take him, and so they came back and
took me, and shook me, and threatened me, and had me before
the poknees, who shook his head at me, and threatened me in
order to make me discover where my husband was, but I said I
did not know, which was true enough; not that I would have
told him if I had. So at last the poknees and the runners,
not being able to make anything out of me, were obliged to
let me go, and I went in search of my husband. I wandered
about with my cart for several days in the direction in which
I saw him run off, with my eyes bent on the ground, but could
see no marks of him; at last, coming to four cross roads, I
saw my husband's patteran."

"You saw your husband's patteran?"

"Yes, brother. Do you know what patteran means?"

"Of course, Ursula; the gypsy trail, the handful of grass
which the gypsies strew in the roads as they travel, to give
information to any of their companions who may be behind, as
to the route they have taken. The gypsy patteran has always
had a strange interest for me, Ursula."

"Like enough, brother; but what does patteran mean?"

"Why, the gypsy trail, formed as I told you before."

"And you know nothing more about patteran, brother?"

"Nothing at all, Ursula; do you?"

"What's the name for the leaf of a tree, brother?"

"I don't know," said I; "it's odd enough that I have asked
that question of a dozen Romany chals and chies, and they
always told me that they did not know."

"No more they did, brother; there's only one person in
England that knows, and that's myself - the name for a leaf
is patteran. Now there are two that knows it - the other is
yourself."

"Dear me, Ursula, how very strange! I am much obliged to
you. I think I never saw you look so pretty as you do now;
but who told you?"

"My mother, Mrs. Herne, told it me one day, brother, when she
was in a good humour, which she very seldom was, as no one
has a better right to know than yourself, as she hated you
mortally: it was one day when you had been asking our company
what was the word for a leaf, and nobody could tell you, that
she took me aside and told me, for she was in a good humour,
and triumphed in seeing you balked. She told me the word for
leaf was patteran, which our people use now for trail, having
forgotten the true meaning. She said that the trail was
called patteran, because the gypsies of old were in the habit
of making the marks with the leaves and branches of trees,
placed in a certain manner. She said that nobody knew it but
herself, who was one of the old sort, and begged me never to
tell the word to any one but him I should marry; and to be
particularly cautious never to let you know it, whom she
hated. Well, brother, perhaps I have done wrong to tell you;
but, as I said before, I likes you, and am always ready to do
your pleasure in words and conversation; my mother, moreover,
is dead and gone, and, poor thing, will never know anything
about the matter. So, when I married, I told my husband
about the patteran, and we were in the habit of making our
private trails with leaves and branches of trees, which none
of the other gypsy people did; so, when I saw my husband's
patteran, I knew it at once, and I followed it upwards of two
hundred miles towards the north; and then I came to a deep,
awful-looking water, with an overhanging bank, and on the
bank I found the patteran, which directed me to proceed along
the bank towards the east, and I followed my husband's
patteran towards the east; and before I had gone half a mile,
I came to a place where I saw the bank had given way, and
fallen into the deep water. Without paying much heed, I
passed on, and presently came to a public-house, not far from
the water, and I entered the public-house to get a little
beer, and perhaps to tell a dukkerin, for I saw a great many
people about the door; and, when I entered, I found there was
what they calls an inquest being held upon a body in that
house, and the jury had just risen to go and look at the
body; and being a woman, and having a curiosity, I thought I
would go with them, and so I did; and no sooner did I see the
body, than I knew it to be my husband's; it was much swelled
and altered, but I knew it partly by the clothes, and partly
by a mark on the forehead, and I cried out, 'It is my
husband's body,' and I fell down in a fit, and the fit that
time, brother, was not a seeming one."

"Dear me," said I, "how terrible! but tell me, Ursula, how
did your husband come by his death?"

"The bank, overhanging the deep water, gave way under him,
brother, and he was drowned; for, like most of our people, he
could not swim, or only a little. The body, after it had
been in the water a long time, came up of itself, and was
found floating. Well, brother, when the people of the
neighbourhood found that I was the wife of the drowned man,
they were very kind to me, and made a subscription for me,
with which, after having seen my husband buried, I returned
the way I had come, till I met Jasper and his people, and
with them I have travelled ever since: I was very melancholy
for a long time, I assure you, brother; for the death of my
husband preyed very much upon my mind."

"His death was certainly a very shocking one, Ursula; but,
really, if he had died a natural one, you could scarcely have
regretted it, for he appears to have treated you
barbarously."

"Women must bear, brother; and, barring that he kicked and
beat me, and drove me out to tell dukkerin when I could
scarcely stand, he was not a bad husband. A man, by gypsy
law, brother, is allowed to kick and beat his wife, and to
bury her alive, if he thinks proper. I am a gypsy, and have
nothing to say against the law."

"But what has Mikailia Chikno to say about it?"

"She is a cripple, brother, the only cripple amongst the
Roman people: so she is allowed to do and say as she pleases.
Moreover, her husband does not think fit to kick or beat her,
though it is my opinion she would like him all the better if
he were occasionally to do so, and threaten to bury her
alive; at any rate, she would treat him better, and respect
him more."

"Your sister does not seem to stand much in awe of Jasper
Petulengro, Ursula."

"Let the matters of my sister and Jasper Petulengro alone,
brother; you must travel in their company some time before
you can understand them; they are a strange two, up to all
kind of chaffing: but two more regular Romans don't breathe,
and I'll tell you, for your instruction, that there isn't a
better mare-breaker in England than Jasper Petulengro, if you
can manage Miss Isopel Berners as well as - "

"Isopel Berners," said I, "how came you to think of her?"

"How should I but think of her, brother, living as she does
with you in Mumper's dingle, and travelling about with you;
you will have, brother, more difficulty to manage her, than
Jasper has to manage my sister Pakomovna. I should have
mentioned her before, only I wanted to know what you had to
say to me; and when we got into discourse, I forgot her. I
say, brother, let me tell you your dukkerin, with respect to
her, you will never - "

"I want to hear no dukkerin, Ursula."

"Do let me tell you your dukkerin, brother, you will never
manage - "

"I want to hear no dukkerin, Ursula, in connection with
Isopel Berners. Moreover, it is Sunday, we will change the
subject; it is surprising to me that, after all you have
undergone, you should look so beautiful. I suppose you do
not think of marrying again, Ursula?"

"No, brother, one husband at a time is quite enough for any
reasonable mort; especially such a good husband as I have
got."

"Such a good husband! why, I thought you told me your husband
was drowned?"

"Yes, brother, my first husband was."

"And have you a second?"

"To be sure, brother."

"And who is he? in the name of wonder."

"Who is he? why Sylvester, to be sure."

"I do assure you, Ursula, that I feel disposed to be angry
with you; such a handsome young woman as yourself to take up
with such a nasty pepper-faced good for nothing - "

"I won't hear my husband abused, brother; so you had better
say no more."

"Why, is he not the Lazarus of the gypsies? has he a penny of
his own, Ursula?"

"Then the more his want, brother, of a clever chi like me to
take care of him and his childer. I tell you what, brother,
I will chore, if necessary, and tell dukkerin for Sylvester,
if even so heavy as scarcely to be able to stand. You call
him lazy; you would not think him lazy if you were in a ring
with him: he is a proper man with his hands; Jasper is going
to back him for twenty pounds against Slammocks of the Chong
gav, the brother of Roarer and Bell-metal, he says he has no
doubt that he will win."

"Well, if you like him, I, of course, can have no objection.
Have you been long married?"

"About a fortnight, brother; that dinner, the other day, when
I sang the song, was given in celebration of the wedding."

"Were you married in a church, Ursula?"

"We were not, brother; none but gorgios, cripples, and
lubbenys are ever married in a church: we took each other's
words. Brother, I have been with you near three hours
beneath this hedge. I will go to my husband."

"Does he know that you are here?"

"He does, brother."

"And is he satisfied?"

"Satisfied! of course. Lor', you gorgies! Brother, I go to
my husband and my house."  And, thereupon, Ursula rose and
departed.

After waiting a little time I also arose; it was now dark,
and I thought I could do no better than betake myself to the
dingle; at the entrance of it I found Mr. Petulengro. "Well,
brother," said he, "what kind of conversation have you and
Ursula had beneath the hedge?"

"If you wished to hear what we were talking about, you should
have come and sat down beside us; you knew where we were."

"Well, brother, I did much the same, for I went and sat down
behind you."

"Behind the hedge, Jasper?"

"Behind the hedge, brother."

"And heard all our conversation."

"Every word, brother; and a rum conversation it was."

"'Tis an old saying, Jasper, that listeners never hear any
good of themselves; perhaps you heard the epithet that Ursula
bestowed upon you."

"If, by epitaph, you mean that she called me a liar, I did,
brother, and she was not much wrong, for I certainly do not
always stick exactly to truth; you, however, have not much to
complain of me."

"You deceived me about Ursula, giving me to understand she
was not married."

"She was not married when I told you so, brother; that is,
not to Sylvester; nor was I aware that she was going to marry
him. I once thought you had a kind of regard for her, and I
am sure she had as much for you as a Romany chi can have for
a gorgio. I half expected to have heard you make love to her
behind the hedge, but I begin to think you care for nothing
in this world but old words and strange stories. Lor' to
take a young woman under a hedge, and talk to her as you did
to Ursula; and yet you got everything out of her that you
wanted, with your gammon about old Fulcher and Meridiana.
You are a cunning one, brother."

"There you are mistaken, Jasper. I am not cunning. If
people think I am, it is because, being made up of art
themselves, simplicity of character is a puzzle to them.
Your women are certainly extraordinary creatures, Jasper."

"Didn't I say they were rum animals? Brother, we Romans
shall always stick together as long as they stick fast to
us."

"Do you think they always will, Jasper?"

"Can't say, brother; nothing lasts for ever. Romany chies
are Romany chies still, though not exactly what they were
sixty years ago. My wife, though a rum one, is not Mrs.
Herne, brother. I think she is rather fond of Frenchmen and
French discourse. I tell you what, brother, if ever gypsyism
breaks up, it will be owing to our chies having been bitten
by that mad puppy they calls gentility."

CHAPTER XII

The Dingle at Night - The Two Sides of the Question - Roman
Females - Filling the Kettle - The Dream - The Tall Figure.

I DESCENDED to the bottom of the dingle. It was nearly
involved in obscurity. To dissipate the feeling of
melancholy which came over my mind, I resolved to kindle a
fire; and having heaped dry sticks upon my hearth, and added
a billet or two, I struck a light, and soon produced a blaze.
Sitting down, I fixed my eyes upon the blaze, and soon fell
into a deep meditation. I thought of the events of the day,
the scene at church, and what I had heard at church, the
danger of losing one's soul, the doubts of Jasper Petulengro
as to whether one had a soul. I thought over the various
arguments which I had either heard, or which had come
spontaneously to my mind, for or against the probability of a
state of future existence. They appeared to me to be
tolerably evenly balanced. I then thought that it was at all
events taking the safest part to conclude that there was a
soul. It would be a terrible thing, after having passed
one's life in the disbelief of the existence of a soul, to
wake up after death a soul, and to find one's self a lost
soul. Yes, methought I would come to the conclusion that one
has a soul. Choosing the safe side, however, appeared to me
to be playing a rather dastardly part. I had never been an
admirer of people who chose the safe side in everything;
indeed I had always entertained a thorough contempt for them.
Surely it would be showing more manhood to adopt the
dangerous side, that of disbelief; I almost resolved to do so
- but yet in a question of so much importance, I ought not to
be guided by vanity. The question was not which was the
safe, but the true side? yet how was I to know which was the
true side? Then I thought of the Bible - which I had been
reading in the morning - that spoke of the soul and a future
state; but was the Bible true? I had heard learned and moral
men say that it was true, but I had also heard learned and
moral men say that it was not: how was I to decide? Still
that balance of probabilities! If I could but see the way of
truth, I would follow it, if necessary, upon hands and knees;
on that I was determined; but I could not see it. Feeling my
brain begin to turn round, I resolved to think of something
else; and forthwith began to think of what had passed between
Ursula and myself in our discourse beneath the hedge.

I mused deeply on what she had told me as to the virtue of
the females of her race. How singular that virtue must be
which was kept pure and immaculate by the possessor, whilst
indulging in habits of falsehood and dishonesty! I had
always thought the gypsy females extraordinary beings. I had
often wondered at them, their dress, their manner of
speaking, and, not least, at their names; but, until the
present day, I had been unacquainted with the most
extraordinary point connected with them. How came they
possessed of this extraordinary virtue? was it because they
were thievish? I remembered that an ancient thief-taker, who
had retired from his useful calling, and who frequently
visited the office of my master at law, the respectable S-,
who had the management of his property - I remembered to have
heard this worthy, with whom I occasionally held discourse,
philosophic and profound, when he and I chanced to be alone
together in the office, say that all first-rate thieves were
sober, and of well-regulated morals, their bodily passions
being kept in abeyance by their love of gain; but this axiom
could scarcely hold good with respect to these women -
however thievish they might be, they did care for something
besides gain: they cared for their husbands. If they did
thieve, they merely thieved for their husbands; and though,
perhaps, some of them were vain, they merely prized their
beauty because it gave them favour in the eyes of their
husbands. Whatever the husbands were - and Jasper had almost
insinuated that the males occasionally allowed themselves
some latitude - they appeared to be as faithful to their
husbands as the ancient Roman matrons were to theirs. Roman
matrons! and, after all, might not these be in reality Roman
matrons? They called themselves Romans; might not they be
the descendants of the old Roman matrons? Might not they be
of the same blood as Lucretia? And were not many of their
strange names - Lucretia amongst the rest - handed down to
them from old Rome? It is true their language was not that
of old Rome; it was not, however, altogether different from
it. After all, the ancient Romans might be a tribe of these
people, who settled down and founded a village with the tilts
of carts, which, by degrees, and the influx of other people,
became the grand city of the world. I liked the idea of the
grand city of the world owing its origin to a people who had
been in the habit of carrying their houses in their carts.
Why, after all, should not the Romans of history be a branch
of these Romans? There were several points of similarity
between them; if Roman matrons were chaste, both men and
women were thieves. Old Rome was the thief of the world; yet
still there were difficulties to be removed before I could
persuade myself that the old Romans and my Romans were
identical; and in trying to remove these difficulties, I felt
my brain once more beginning to turn, and in haste took up
another subject of meditation, and that was the patteran, and
what Ursula had told me about it.

I had always entertained a strange interest for that sign by
which in their wanderings the Romanese gave to those of their
people who came behind intimation as to the direction which
they took; but it now inspired me with greater interest than
ever, - now that I had learnt that the proper meaning of it
was the leaves of trees. I had, as I had said in my dialogue
with Ursula, been very eager to learn the word for leaf in
the Romanian language, but had never learnt it till this day;
so patteran signified leaf of a tree; and no one at present
knew that but myself and Ursula, who had learnt it from Mrs.
Herne, the last, it was said, of the old stock; and then I
thought what strange people the gypsies must have been in the
old time. They were sufficiently strange at present, but
they must have been far stranger of old; they must have been
a more peculiar people - their language must have been more
perfect - and they must have had a greater stock of strange
secrets. I almost wished that I had lived some two or three
hundred years ago, that I might have observed these people
when they were yet stranger than at present. I wondered
whether I could have introduced myself to their company at
that period, whether I should have been so fortunate as to
meet such a strange, half-malicious, half good-humoured being
as Jasper, who would have instructed me in the language, then
more deserving of note than at present. What might I not
have done with that language, had I known it in its purity?
Why, I might have written books in it; yet those who spoke it
would hardly have admitted me to their society at that
period, when they kept more to themselves. Yet I thought
that I might possibly have gained their confidence, and have
wandered about with them, and learnt their language, and all
their strange ways, and then - and then - and a sigh rose
from the depth of my breast; for I began to think, "Supposing
I had accomplished all this, what would have been the profit
of it; and in what would all this wild gypsy dream have
terminated?"

Then rose another sigh, yet more profound, for I began to
think, "What was likely to be the profit of my present way of
life; the living in dingles, making pony and donkey shoes,
conversing with gypsy-women under hedges, and extracting from
them their odd secrets?"  What was likely to be the profit of
such a kind of life, even should it continue for a length of
time? - a supposition not very probable, for I was earning
nothing to support me, and the funds with which I had entered
upon this life were gradually disappearing. I was living, it
is true, not unpleasantly, enjoying the healthy air of
heaven; but, upon the whole, was I not sadly misspending my
time? Surely I was; and, as I looked back, it appeared to me
that I had always been doing so. What had been the profit of
the tongues which I had learnt? had they ever assisted me in
the day of hunger? No, no! it appeared to me that I had
always misspent my time, save in one instance, when by a
desperate effort I had collected all the powers of my
imagination, and written the "Life of Joseph Sell;" but even
when I wrote the Life of Sell, was I not in a false position?
Provided I had not misspent my time, would it have been
necessary to make that effort, which, after all, had only
enabled me to leave London, and wander about the country for
a time? But could I, taking all circumstances into
consideration, have done better than I had? With my peculiar
temperament and ideas, could I have pursued with advantage
the profession to which my respectable parents had
endeavoured to bring me up? It appeared to me that I could
not, and that the hand of necessity had guided me from my
earliest years, until the present night, in which I found
myself seated in the dingle, staring on the brands of the
fire. But ceasing to think of the past which, as
irrecoverably gone, it was useless to regret, even were there
cause to regret it, what should I do in future? Should I
write another book like the Life of Joseph Sell; take it to
London, and offer it to a publisher? But when I reflected on
the grisly sufferings which I had undergone whilst engaged in
writing the Life of Sell, I shrank from the idea of a similar
attempt; moreover, I doubted whether I possessed the power to
write a similar work - whether the materials for the life of
another Sell lurked within the recesses of my brain? Had I
not better become in reality what I had hitherto been merely
playing at - a tinker or a gypsy? But I soon saw that I was
not fitted to become either in reality. It was much more
agreeable to play the gypsy or the tinker than to become
either in reality. I had seen enough of gypsying and
tinkering to be convinced of that. All of a sudden the idea
of tilling the soil came into my head; tilling the soil was a
healthful and noble pursuit! but my idea of tilling the soil
had no connection with Britain; for I could only expect to
till the soil in Britain as a serf. I thought of tilling it
in America, in which it was said there was plenty of wild,
unclaimed land, of which any one, who chose to clear it of
its trees, might take possession. I figured myself in
America, in an immense forest, clearing the land destined, by
my exertions, to become a fruitful and smiling plain.
Methought I heard the crash of the huge trees as they fell
beneath my axe; and then I bethought me that a man was
intended to marry - I ought to marry; and if I married, where
was I likely to be more happy as a husband and a father than
in America, engaged in tilling the ground? I fancied myself
in America, engaged in tilling the ground, assisted by an
enormous progeny. Well, why not marry, and go and till the
ground in America? I was young, and youth was the time to
marry in, and to labour in. I had the use of all my
faculties; my eyes, it is true, were rather dull from early
study, and from writing the Life of Joseph Sell; but I could
see tolerably well with them, and they were not bleared. I
felt my arms, and thighs, and teeth - they were strong and
sound enough; so now was the time to labour, to marry, eat
strong flesh, and beget strong children - the power of doing
all this would pass away with youth, which was terribly
transitory. I bethought me that a time would come when my
eyes would be bleared, and, perhaps, sightless; my arms and
thighs strengthless and sapless; when my teeth would shake in
my jaws, even supposing they did not drop out. No going a
wooing then - no labouring - no eating strong flesh, and
begetting lusty children then; and I bethought me how, when
all this should be, I should bewail the days of my youth as
misspent, provided I had not in them founded for myself a
home, and begotten strong children to take care of me in the
days when I could not take care of myself; and thinking of
these things, I became sadder and sadder, and stared vacantly
upon the fire till my eyes closed in a doze.

I continued dozing over the fire, until rousing myself I
perceived that the brands were nearly consumed, and I thought
of retiring for the night. I arose, and was about to enter
my tent, when a thought struck me. "Suppose," thought I,
"that Isopel Berners should return in the midst of the night,
how dark and dreary would the dingle appear without a fire!
truly, I will keep up the fire, and I will do more; I have no
board to spread for her, but I will fill the kettle, and heat
it, so that, if she comes, I may be able to welcome her with
a cup of tea, for I know she loves tea."  Thereupon, I piled
more wood upon the fire, and soon succeeded in procuring a
better blaze than before; then, taking the kettle, I set out
for the spring. On arriving at the mouth of the dingle,
which fronted the east, I perceived that Charles's wain was
nearly opposite to it, high above in the heavens, by which I
knew that the night was tolerably well advanced. The gypsy
encampment lay before me; all was hushed and still within it,
and its inmates appeared to be locked in slumber; as I
advanced, however, the dogs, which were fastened outside the
tents, growled and barked; but presently recognising me, they
were again silent, some of them wagging their tails. As I
drew near a particular tent, I heard a female voice say -
"Some one is coming!" and, as I was about to pass it, the
cloth which formed the door was suddenly lifted up, and a
black head and part of a huge naked body protruded. It was
the head and upper part of the giant Tawno, who, according to
the fashion of gypsy men, lay next the door wrapped in his
blanket; the blanket had, however, fallen off, and the
starlight shone clear on his athletic tawny body, and was
reflected from his large staring eyes.

"It is only I, Tawno," said I, "going to fill the kettle, as
it is possible that Miss Berners may arrive this night."  
"Kos-ko," drawled out Tawno, and replaced the curtain.
"Good, do you call it?" said the sharp voice of his wife;
"there is no good in the matter! if that young chap were not
living with the rawnee in the illegal and uncertificated
line, he would not be getting up in the middle of the night
to fill her kettles."  Passing on, I proceeded to the spring,
where I filled the kettle, and then returned to the dingle.

Placing the kettle upon the fire, I watched it till it began
to boil; then removing it from the top of the brands, I
placed it close beside the fire, and leaving it simmering, I
retired to my tent; where, having taken off my shoes, and a
few of my garments, I lay down on my palliasse, and was not
long in falling asleep. I believe I slept soundly for some
time, thinking and dreaming of nothing; suddenly, however, my
sleep became disturbed, and the subject of the patterans
began to occupy my brain. I imagined that I saw Ursula
tracing her husband, Launcelot Lovel, by means of his
patterans; I imagined that she had considerable difficulty in
doing so; that she was occasionally interrupted by parish
beadles and constables, who asked her whither she was
travelling, to whom she gave various answers. Presently
methought that, as she was passing by a farm-yard, two fierce
and savage dogs flew at her; I was in great trouble, I
remember, and wished to assist her, but could not, for though
I seemed to see her, I was still at a distance: and now it
appeared that she had escaped from the dogs, and was
proceeding with her cart along a gravelly path which
traversed a wild moor; I could hear the wheels grating amidst
sand and gravel. The next moment I was awake, and found
myself sitting up in my tent; there was a glimmer of light
through the canvas caused by the fire; a feeling of dread
came over me, which was perhaps natural, on starting suddenly
from one's sleep in that wild lone place; I half imagined
that some one was nigh the tent; the idea made me rather
uncomfortable, and, to dissipate it, I lifted up the canvas
of the door and peeped out, and, lo! I had a distinct view of
a tall figure standing by the tent. "Who is that?" said I,
whilst I felt my blood rush to my heart. "It is I," said the
voice of Isopel Berners; "you little expected me, I dare say;
well, sleep on, I do not wish to disturb you."  "But I was
expecting you," said I, recovering myself, "as you may see by
the fire and kettle. I will be with you in a moment."

Putting on in haste the articles of dress which I had flung
off, I came out of the tent, and addressing myself to Isopel,
who was standing beside her cart, I said - "just as I was
about to retire to rest I thought it possible that you might
come to-night, and got everything in readiness for you. Now,
sit down by the fire whilst I lead the donkey and cart to the
place where you stay; I will unharness the animal, and
presently come and join you."  "I need not trouble you," said
Isopel; "I will go myself and see after my things."  "We will
go together," said I, "and then return and have some tea."  
Isopel made no objection, and in about half-an-hour we had
arranged everything at her quarters, I then hastened and
prepared tea. Presently Isopel rejoined me, bringing her
stool; she had divested herself of her bonnet, and her hair
fell over her shoulders; she sat down, and I poured out the
beverage, handing her a cup. "Have you made a long journey
to-night?" said I. "A very long one," replied Belle. "I
have come nearly twenty miles since six o'clock."  "I believe
I heard you coming in my sleep," said I; "did the dogs above
bark at you?"  "Yes," said Isopel, "very violently; did you
think of me in your sleep?"  "No," said I, "I was thinking of
Ursula and something she had told me."  "When and where was
that?" said Isopel. "Yesterday evening," said I, "beneath
the dingle hedge."  "Then you were talking with her beneath
the hedge?"  "I was," said I, "but only upon gypsy matters.
Do you know, Belle, that she has just been married to
Sylvester, so that you need not think that she and I - "  
"She and you are quite at liberty to sit where you please,"
said Isopel. "However, young man," she continued, dropping
her tone, which she had slightly raised, "I believe what you
said, that you were merely talking about gypsy matters, and
also what you were going to say, if it was, as I suppose,
that she and you had no particular acquaintance."  Isopel was
now silent for some time. "What are you thinking of?" said
I. "I was thinking," said Belle, "how exceedingly kind it
was of you to get everything in readiness for me, though you
did not know that I should come."  "I had a presentiment that
you would come," said I; "but you forget that I have prepared
the kettle for you before, though it was true that I was then
certain that you would come."  "I had not forgotten your
doing so, young man," said Belle; "but I was beginning to
think that you were utterly selfish, caring for nothing but
the gratification of your own selfish whims."  "I am very
fond of having my own way," said I, "but utterly selfish I am
not, as I dare say I shall frequently prove to you. You will
often find the kettle boiling when you come home."  "Not
heated by you," said Isopel, with a sigh. "By whom else?"
said I; "surely you are not thinking of driving me away?"  
"You have as much right here as myself," said Isopel, "as I
have told you before; but I must be going myself."  "Well,"
said I, "we can go together; to tell you the truth, I am
rather tired of this place."  "Our paths must be separate,"
said Belle. "Separate," said I, "what do you mean? I shan't
let you go alone, I shall go with you; and you know the road
is as free to me as to you; besides, you can't think of
parting company with me, considering how much you would lose
by doing so; remember that you know scarcely anything of the
Armenian language; now, to learn Armenian from me would take
you twenty years."

Belle faintly smiled. "Come," said I, "take another cup of
tea."  Belle took another cup of tea, and yet another; we had
some indifferent conversation, after which I arose and gave
her donkey a considerable feed of corn. Belle thanked me,
shook me by the hand, and then went to her own tabernacle,
and I returned to mine.

CHAPTER XIII

Visit to the Landlord - His Mortifications - Hunter and his
Clan - Resolution.

ON the following morning, after breakfasting with Belle, who
was silent and melancholy, I left her in the dingle, and took
a stroll amongst the neighbouring lanes. After some time I
thought I would pay a visit to the landlord of the public-
house, whom I had not seen since the day when he communicated
to me his intention of changing his religion. I therefore
directed my steps to the house, and on entering it found the
landlord standing in the kitchen. Just then two mean-looking
fellows, who had been drinking at one of the tables, and who
appeared to be the only customers in the house, got up,
brushed past the landlord, and saying in a surly tone, we
shall pay you some time or other, took their departure.
"That's the way they serve me now," said the landlord, with a
sigh. "Do you know those fellows," I demanded, "since you
let them go away in your debt?"   "I know nothing about
them," said the landlord, "save that they are a couple of
scamps."  "Then why did you let them go away without paying
you?" said I. "I had not the heart to stop them," said the
landlord; "and, to tell you the truth, everybody serves me so
now, and I suppose they are right, for a child could flog
me."  "Nonsense," said I, "behave more like a man, and with
respect to those two fellows run after them, I will go with
you, and if they refuse to pay the reckoning I will help you
to shake some money out of their clothes."  "Thank you," said
the landlord; "but as they are gone, let them go on. What
they have drank is not of much consequence."  "What is the
matter with you?" said I, staring at the landlord, who
appeared strangely altered; his features were wild and
haggard, his formerly bluff cheeks were considerably sunken
in, and his figure had lost much of its plumpness. "Have you
changed your religion already, and has the fellow in black
commanded you to fast?"  "I have not changed my religion
yet," said the landlord, with a kind of shudder; "I am to
change it publicly this day fortnight, and the idea of doing
so - I do not mind telling you - preys much upon my mind;
moreover, the noise of the thing has got abroad, and
everybody is laughing at me, and what's more, coming and
drinking my beer, and going away without paying for it,
whilst I feel myself like one bewitched, wishing but not
daring to take my own part. Confound the fellow in black, I
wish I had never seen him! yet what can I do without him?
The brewer swears that unless I pay him fifty pounds within a
fortnight he'll send a distress warrant into the house, and
take all I have. My poor niece is crying in the room above;
and I am thinking of going into the stable and hanging
myself; and perhaps it's the best thing I can do, for it's
better to hang myself before selling my soul than afterwards,
as I'm sure I should, like Judas Iscariot, whom my poor
niece, who is somewhat religiously inclined, has been talking
to me about."  "I wish I could assist you," said I, "with
money, but that is quite out of my power. However, I can
give you a piece of advice. Don't change your religion by
any means; you can't hope to prosper if you do; and if the
brewer chooses to deal hardly with you, let him. Everybody
would respect you ten times more provided you allowed
yourself to be turned into the roads rather than change your
religion, than if you got fifty pounds for renouncing it."  
"I am half inclined to take your advice," said the landlord,
"only, to tell you the truth, I feel quite low, without any
heart in me."  "Come into the bar," said I, "and let us have
something together - you need not be afraid of my not paying
for what I order."

We went into the bar-room, where the landlord and I discussed
between us two bottles of strong ale, which he said were part
of the last six which he had in his possession. At first he
wished to drink sherry, but I begged him to do no such thing,
telling him that sherry would do him no good under the
present circumstances; nor, indeed, to the best of my belief,
under any, it being of all wines the one for which I
entertained the most contempt. The landlord allowed himself
to be dissuaded, and, after a glass or two of ale, confessed
that sherry was a sickly, disagreeable drink, and that he had
merely been in the habit of taking it from an idea he had
that it was genteel. Whilst quaffing our beverage, he gave
me an account of the various mortifications to which he had
of late been subject, dwelling with particular bitterness on
the conduct of Hunter, who he said came every night and
mouthed him, and afterwards went away without paying for what
he had drank or smoked, in which conduct he was closely
imitated by a clan of fellows who constantly attended him.
After spending several hours at the public-house I departed,
not forgetting to pay for the two bottles of ale. The
landlord, before I went, shaking me by the hand, declared
that he had now made up his mind to stick to his religion at
all hazards, the more especially as he was convinced he
should derive no good by giving it up.

CHAPTER XIV

Preparations for the Fair - The Last Lesson - The Verb
Siriel.

IT might be about five in the evening, when I reached the
gypsy encampment. Here I found Mr. Petulengro, Tawno Chikno,
Sylvester, and others in a great bustle, clipping and
trimming certain ponies and old horses which they had brought
with them. On inquiring of Jasper the reason of their being
so engaged, he informed me that they were getting the horses
ready for a fair, which was to he held on the morrow, at a
place some miles distant, at which they should endeavour to
dispose of them, adding - "Perhaps, brother, you will go with
us, provided you have nothing better to do?"  Not having any
particular engagement, I assured him that I should have great
pleasure in being of the party. It was agreed that we should
start early on the following morning. Thereupon I descended
into the dingle. Belle was sitting before the fire, at which
the kettle was boiling. "Were you waiting for me?" I
inquired. "Yes," said Belle, "I thought that you would come,
and I waited for you."  "That was very kind," said I. "Not
half so kind," said she, "as it was of you to get everything
ready for me in the dead of last night, when there was
scarcely a chance of my coming."  The tea-things were brought
forward, and we sat down. "Have you been far?" said Belle.
"Merely to that public-house," said I, "to which you directed
me on the second day of our acquaintance."  "Young men should
not make a habit of visiting public-houses," said Belle,
"they are bad places."  "They may be so to some people," said
I, "but I do not think the worst public-house in England
could do me any harm."  "Perhaps you are so bad already,"
said Belle, with a smile, "that it would be impossible to
spoil you."  "How dare you catch at my words?" said I; "come,
I will make you pay for doing so - you shall have this
evening the longest lesson in Armenian which I have yet
inflicted upon you."  "You may well say inflicted," said
Belle, "but pray spare me. I do not wish to hear anything
about Armenian, especially this evening."  "Why this
evening?" said I. Belle made no answer. "I will not spare
you," said I; "this evening I intend to make you conjugate an
Armenian verb."  "Well, be it so," said Belle; "for this
evening you shall command."  "To command is hramahyel," said
I. "Ram her ill, indeed," said Belle; "I do not wish to
begin with that."  "No," said I, "as we have come to the
verbs, we will begin regularly; hramahyel is a verb of the
second conjugation. We will begin with the first."  "First
of all tell me," said Belle, "what a verb is?"  "A part of
speech," said I, "which, according to the dictionary,
signifies some action or passion; for example, I command you,
or I hate you."  "I have given you no cause to hate me," said
Belle, looking me sorrowfully in the face.

"I was merely giving two examples," said I, "and neither was
directed at you. In those examples, to command and hate are
verbs. Belle, in Armenian there are four conjugations of
verbs; the first ends in al, the second in yel, the third in
oul, and the fourth in il. Now, have you understood me?"

"I am afraid, indeed, it will all end ill," said Belle.

"Hold your tongue," said I, "or you will make me lose my
patience."  "You have already made me nearly lose mine," said
Belle. "Let us have no unprofitable interruptions," said I;
"the conjugations of the Armenian verbs are neither so
numerous nor so difficult as the declensions of the nouns;
hear that, and rejoice. Come, we will begin with the verb
hntal, a verb of the first conjugation, which signifies to
rejoice. Come along; hntam, I rejoice; hntas, thou
rejoicest; why don't you follow, Belle?"

"I am sure I don't rejoice, whatever you may do," said Belle.
"The chief difficulty, Belle," said I, "that I find in
teaching you the Armenian grammar, proceeds from your
applying to yourself and me every example I give. Rejoice,
in this instance, is merely an example of an Armenian verb of
the first conjugation, and has no more to do with your
rejoicing than lal, which is, also a verb of the first
conjugation, and which signifies to weep, would have to do
with your weeping, provided I made you conjugate it. Come
along; hntam, I rejoice; hntas, thou rejoicest; hnta, he
rejoices; hntamk we rejoice: now, repeat those words."

"I can't," said Belle, "they sound more like the language of
horses than human beings. Do you take me for - ?"  "For
what?" said I. Belle was silent. "Were you going to say
mare?" said I. "Mare! mare! by the bye, do you know, Belle,
that mare in old English stands for woman; and that when we
call a female an evil mare, the strict meaning of the term is
merely a bad woman. So if I were to call you a mare without
prefixing bad, you must not be offended."  "But I should
though," said Belle. "I was merely attempting to make you
acquainted with a philological fact," said I. "If mare,
which in old English, and likewise in vulgar English,
signifies a woman, sounds the same as mare, which in modern
and polite English signifies a female horse, I can't help it.
There is no such confusion of sounds in Armenian, not, at
least, in the same instance. Belle, in Armenian, woman is
ghin, the same word, by the by, as our queen, whereas mare is
madagh tzi, which signifies a female horse; and perhaps you
will permit me to add, that a hard-mouthed jade is, in
Armenian, madagh tzi hsdierah."

"I can't bear this much longer," said Belle. "Keep yourself
quiet," said I; "I wish to be gentle with you; and to
convince you, we will skip hntal, and also for the present
verbs of the first conjugation and proceed to the second.
Belle, I will now select for you to conjugate the prettiest
verb in Armenian; not only of the second, but also of all the
four conjugations; that verb is siriel. Here is the present
tense:- siriem, siries, sire, siriemk, sirek, sirien. You
observe that it runs on just in the same manner as hntal,
save and except that the e is substituted for a; and it will
be as well to tell you that almost the only difference
between the second, third, and fourth conjugation, and the
first, is the substituting in the present, preterite and
other tenses e or ou, or i for a; so you see that the
Armenian verbs are by no means difficult. Come on, Belle,
and say siriem."  Belle hesitated. "Pray oblige me, Belle,
by saying siriem!"  Belle still appeared to hesitate. "You
must admit, Belle, that it is much softer than hntam."  "It
is so," said Belle; "and to oblige you I will say siriem."  
"Very well indeed, Belle," said I. "No vartabied, or doctor,
could have pronounced it better; and now, to show you how
verbs act upon pronouns in Armenian, I will say siriem zkiez.
Please to repeat siriem zkiez!"  "Siriem zkiez!" said Belle;
"that last word is very hard to say."  "Sorry that you think
so, Belle," said I. "Now please to say siria zis."  Belle
did so. "Exceedingly well," said I. "Now say, yerani the
sireir zis."  "Yerani the sireir zis," said Belle.
"Capital!" said I; "you have now said, I love you - love me -
ah! would that you would love me!"

"And I have said all these things?" said Belle. "Yes," said
I; "you have said them in Armenian."  "I would have said them
in no language that I understood," said Belle; "and it was
very wrong of you to take advantage of my ignorance, and make
me say such things."  "Why so?" said I; "if you said them, I
said them too."  "You did so," said Belle; "but I believe you
were merely bantering and jeering."  "As I told you before,
Belle," said I, "the chief difficulty which I find in
teaching you Armenian proceeds from your persisting in
applying to yourself and me every example I give."  "Then you
meant nothing after all," said Belle, raising her voice.
"Let us proceed," said I; "sirietsi, I loved."  "You never
loved any one but yourself," said Belle; "and what's more - "  
"Sirietsits, I will love," said I; "sirietsies, thou wilt
love."  "Never one so thoroughly heartless," said Belle. "I
tell you what, Belle, you are becoming intolerable, but we
will change the verb; or rather I will now proceed to tell
you here, that some of the Armenian conjugations have their
anomalies; one species of these I wish to bring before your
notice. As old Villotte says - from whose work I first
contrived to pick up the rudiments of Armenian - 'Est
verborum transitivorum, quorum infinitivus - ' but I forgot,
you don't understand Latin. He says there are certain
transitive verbs, whose infinitive is in outsaniel; the
preterite in outsi; the imperative in one; for example -
parghatsout-saniem, I irritate - "

"You do, you do," said Belle; "and it will be better for both
of us, if you leave off doing so."

"You would hardly believe, Belle," said I, "that the Armenian
is in some respects closely connected with the Irish, but so
it is; for example, that word parghatsout-saniem is evidently
derived from the same root as feargaim, which, in Irish, is
as much as to say I vex."

"You do, indeed," said Belle, sobbing.

"But how do you account for it?"

"O man, man!" said Belle, bursting into tears, "for what
purpose do you ask a poor ignorant girl such a question,
unless it be to vex and irritate her? If you wish to display
your learning, do so to the wise and instructed, and not to
me, who can scarcely read or write. Oh, leave off your
nonsense; yet I know you will not do so, for it is the breath
of your nostrils! I could have wished we should have parted
in kindness, but you will not permit it. I have deserved
better at your hands than such treatment. The whole time we
have kept company together in this place, I have scarcely had
one kind word from you, but the strangest - " and here the
voice of Belle was drowned in her sobs.

"I am sorry to see you take on so, dear Belle," said I. "I
really have given you no cause to be so unhappy; surely
teaching you a little Armenian was a very innocent kind of
diversion."

"Yes, but you went on so long, and in such a strange way, and
made me repeat such strange examples, as you call them, that
I could not bear it."

"Why, to tell you the truth, Belle, it's just my way; and I
have dealt with you just as I would with - "

"A hard-mouthed jade," said Belle, "and you practising your
horse-witchery upon her. I have been of an unsubdued spirit,
I acknowledge, but I was always kind to you; and if you have
made me cry, it's a poor thing to boast of."

"Boast of!" said I; "a pretty thing indeed to boast of; I had
no idea of making you cry. Come, I beg your pardon; what
more can I do? Come, cheer up, Belle. You were talking of
parting; don't let us part, but depart, and that together."

"Our ways lie different," said Belle.

"I don't see why they should," said I. "Come, let us he off
to America together."

"To America together?" said Belle, looking full at me.

"Yes," said I; "where we will settle down in some forest, and
conjugate the verb siriel conjugally."

"Conjugally?" said Belle.

"Yes," said I; "as man and wife in America, air yew ghin."

"You are jesting, as usual," said Belle.

"Not I, indeed. Come, Belle, make up your mind, and let us
be off to America; and leave priests, humbug, learning, and
languages behind us."

"I don't think you are jesting," said Belle; "but I can
hardly entertain your offers; however, young man, I thank
you."

"You had better make up your mind at once," said I, "and let
us be off. I shan't make a bad husband, I assure you.
Perhaps you think I am not worthy of you? To convince you,
Belle, that I am, I am ready to try a fall with you this
moment upon the grass. Brynhilda, the valkyrie, swore that
no one should ever marry her who could not fling her down.
Perhaps you have done the same. The man who eventually
married her, got a friend of his, who was called Sygurd, the
serpent-killer, to wrestle with her, disguising him in his
own armour. Sygurd flung her down, and won her for his
friend, though he loved her himself. I shall not use a
similar deceit, nor employ Jasper Petulengro to personate me
- so get up, Belle, and I will do my best to fling you down."

"I require no such thing of you, or anybody," said Belle;
"you are beginning to look rather wild."

"I every now and then do," said I; "come, Belle, what do you
say?"

"I will say nothing at present on the subject," said Belle,
"I must have time to consider."

"Just as you please," said I, "to-morrow I go to a fair with
Mr. Petulengro, perhaps you will consider whilst I am away.
Come, Belle, let us have some more tea. I wonder whether we
shall be able to procure tea as good as this in the American
forest."

CHAPTER XV

The Dawn of Day - The Last Farewell - Departure for the Fair
- The Fine Horse - Return to the Dingle - No Isopel.

IT was about the dawn of day when I was awakened by the voice
of Mr. Petulengro shouting from the top of the dingle, and
bidding me get up. I arose instantly, and dressed myself for
the expedition to the fair. On leaving my tent, I was
surprised to observe Belle, entirely dressed, standing close
to her own little encampment. "Dear me," said I, "I little
expected to find you up so early. I suppose Jasper's call
awakened you, as it did me."  "I merely lay down in my
things," said Belle, "and have not slept during the night."  
"And why did you not take off your things and go to sleep?"
said I. "I did not undress," said Belle, "because I wished
to be in readiness to bid you farewell when you departed; and
as for sleeping, I could not."  "Well, God bless you!" said
I, taking Belle by the hand. Belle made no answer, and I
observed that her hand was very cold. "What is the matter
with you?" said I, looking her in the face. Belle looked at
me for a moment in the eyes - and then cast down her own -
her features were very pale. "You are really unwell," said
I, "I had better not go to the fair, but stay here, and take
care of you."  "No," said Belle, "pray go, I am not unwell."  
"Then go to your tent," said I, "and do not endanger your
health by standing abroad in the raw morning air. God bless
you, Belle. I shall be home to-night, by which time I expect
you will have made up your mind; if not, another lesson in
Armenian, however late the hour be."  I then wrung Belle's
hand, and ascended to the plain above.

I found the Romany party waiting for me, and everything in
readiness for departing. Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno
were mounted on two old horses. The rest, who intended to go
to the fair, amongst whom were two or three women, were on
foot. On arriving at the extremity of the plain, I looked
towards the dingle. Isopel Berners stood at the mouth, the
beams of the early morning sun shone full on her noble face
and figure. I waved my hand towards her. She slowly lifted
up her right arm. I turned away, and never saw Isopel
Berners again.

My companions and myself proceeded on our way. In about two
hours we reached the place where the fair was to be held.
After breakfasting on bread and cheese and ale behind a
broken stone wall, we drove our animals to the fair. The
fair was a common cattle and horse fair: there was little
merriment going on, but there was no lack of business. By
about two o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Petulengro and his
people had disposed of their animals at what they conceived
very fair prices - they were all in high spirits, and Jasper
proposed to adjourn to a public-house. As we were proceeding
to one, a very fine horse, led by a jockey, made its
appearance on the ground. Mr. Petulengro stopped short, and
looked at it stedfastly: "Fino covar dove odoy sas miro - a
fine thing were that if it were but mine!" he exclaimed. "If
you covet it," said I, "why do you not purchase it?"  "We low
'Gyptians never buy animals of that description; if we did we
could never sell them, and most likely should be had up as
horse-stealers."  "Then why did you say just now, 'It were a
fine thing if it were but yours?'" said I. "We 'Gyptians
always say so when we see anything that we admire. An animal
like that is not intended for a little hare like me, but for
some grand gentleman like yourself. I say, brother, do you
buy that horse!"  "How should I buy the horse, you foolish
person?" said I. "Buy the horse, brother," said Mr.
Petulengro, "if you have not the money I can lend it you,
though I be of lower Egypt."  "You talk nonsense," said I;
"however, I wish you would ask the man the price of it."   
Mr. Petulengro, going up to the jockey, inquired the price of
the horse - the man, looking at him scornfully, made no
reply. "Young man," said I, going up to the jockey, "do me
the favour to tell me the price of that horse, as I suppose
it is to sell."  The jockey, who was a surly-looking man, of
about fifty, looked at me for a moment, then, after some
hesitation, said, laconically, "Seventy."  "Thank you," said
I, and turned away. "Buy that horse," said Mr. Petulengro,
coming after me; "the dook tells me that in less than three
months he will be sold for twice seventy."  "I will have
nothing to do with him," said I; "besides, Jasper, I don't
like his tail. Did you observe what a mean scrubby tail he
has?"  "What a fool you are, brother," said Mr. Petulengro;
"that very tail of his shows his breeding. No good bred
horse ever yet carried a fine tail - 'tis your scrubby-tailed
horses that are your out-and-outers. Did you ever hear of
Syntax, brother? That tail of his puts me in mind of Syntax.
Well, I say nothing more, have your own way - all I wonder at
is, that a horse like him was ever brought to such a fair of
dog cattle as this."

We then made the best of our way to a public-house, where we
had some refreshment. I then proposed returning to the
encampment, but Mr. Petulengro declined, and remained
drinking with his companions till about six o'clock in the
evening, when various jockeys from the fair came in. After
some conversation a jockey proposed a game of cards; and in a
little time, Mr. Petulengro and another gypsy sat down to
play a game of cards with two of the jockeys.

Though not much acquainted with cards, I soon conceived a
suspicion that the jockeys were cheating Mr. Petulengro and
his companion, I therefore called Mr. Petulengro aside, and
gave him a hint to that effect. Mr. Petulengro, however,
instead of thanking me, told me to mind my own bread and
butter, and forthwith returned to his game. I continued
watching the players for some hours. The gypsies lost
considerably, and I saw clearly that the jockeys were
cheating them most confoundedly. I therefore once more
called Mr. Petulengro aside, and told him that the jockeys
were cheating him, conjuring him to return to the encampment.
Mr. Petulengro, who was by this time somewhat the worse for
liquor, now fell into a passion, swore several oaths, and
asking me who had made me a Moses over him and his brethren,
told me to return to the encampment by myself. Incensed at
the unworthy return which my well-meant words had received, I
forthwith left the house, and having purchased a few articles
of provision, I set out for the dingle alone. It was a dark
night when I reached it, and descending I saw the glimmer of
a fire from the depths of the dingle; my heart beat with fond
anticipation of a welcome. "Isopel Berners is waiting for
me," said I, "and the first words that I shall hear from her
lips is that she has made up her mind. We shall go to
America, and be so happy together."  On reaching the bottom
of the dingle, however, I saw seated near the fire, beside
which stood the kettle simmering, not Isopel Berners, but a
gypsy girl, who told me that Miss Berners when she went away
had charged her to keep up the fire, and have the kettle
boiling against my arrival. Startled at these words, I
inquired at what hour Isopel had left, and whither she was
gone, and was told that she had left the dingle, with her
cart, about two hours after I departed; but where she was
gone she, the girl, did not know. I then asked whether she
had left no message, and the girl replied that she had left
none, but had merely given directions about the kettle and
fire, putting, at the same time, six-pence into her hand.
"Very strange," thought I; then dismissing the gypsy girl I
sat down by the fire. I had no wish for tea, but sat looking
on the embers, wondering what could be the motive of the
sudden departure of Isopel. "Does she mean to return?"
thought I to myself. "Surely she means to return," Hope
replied, "or she would not have gone away without leaving any
message" - "and yet she could scarcely mean to return,"
muttered Foreboding, "or she assuredly would have left some
message with the girl."  I then thought to myself what a hard
thing it would be, if, after having made up my mind to assume
the yoke of matrimony, I should be disappointed of the woman
of my choice. "Well, after all," thought I, "I can scarcely
be disappointed; if such an ugly scoundrel as Sylvester had
no difficulty in getting such a nice wife as Ursula, surely
I, who am not a tenth part so ugly, cannot fail to obtain the
hand of Isopel Berners, uncommonly fine damsel though she be.
Husbands do not grow upon hedgerows; she is merely gone after
a little business and will return to-morrow."

Comforted in some degree by these hopeful imaginings, I
retired to my tent, and went to sleep.

CHAPTER XVI

Gloomy Forebodings - The Postman's Mother - The Letter -
Bears and Barons - The Best of Advice.

NOTHING occurred to me of any particular moment during the
following day. Isopel Berners did not return; but Mr.
Petulengro and his companions came home from the fair early
in the morning. When I saw him, which was about midday, I
found him with his face bruised and swelled. It appeared
that, some time after I had left him, he himself perceived
that the jockeys with whom he was playing cards were cheating
him and his companion; a quarrel ensued, which terminated in
a fight between Mr. Petulengro and one of the jockeys, which
lasted some time, and in which Mr. Petulengro, though he
eventually came off victor, was considerably beaten. His
bruises, in conjunction with his pecuniary loss, which
amounted to about seven pounds, were the cause of his being
much out of humour; before night, however, he had returned to
his usual philosophic frame of mind, and, coming up to me as
I was walking about, apologized for his behaviour on the
preceding day, and assured me that he was determined, from
that time forward, never to quarrel with a friend for giving
him good advice.

Two more days passed, and still Isopel Berners did not
return. Gloomy thoughts and forebodings filled my mind.
During the day I wandered about the neighbouring roads in the
hopes of catching an early glimpse of her and her returning
vehicle; and at night lay awake, tossing about on my hard
couch, listening to the rustle of every leaf, and
occasionally thinking that I heard the sound of her wheels
upon the distant road. Once at midnight, just as I was about
to fall into unconsciousness, I suddenly started up, for I
was convinced that I heard the sound of wheels. I listened
most anxiously, and the sound of wheels striking against
stones was certainly plain enough. "She comes at last,"
thought I, and for a few moments I felt as if a mountain had
been removed from my breast; - "here she comes at last, now,
how shall I receive her? Oh," thought I, "I will receive her
rather coolly, just as if I was not particularly anxious
about her - that's the way to manage these women."  The next
moment the sound became very loud, rather too loud, I
thought, to proceed from her wheels, and then by degrees
became fainter. Rushing out of my tent, I hurried up the
path to the top of the dingle, where I heard the sound
distinctly enough, but it was going from me, and evidently
proceeded from something much larger than the cart of Isopel.
I could, moreover, hear the stamping of a horse's hoof at a
lumbering trot. Those only whose hopes have been wrought up
to a high pitch, and then suddenly cast down, can imagine
what I felt at that moment; and yet when I returned to my
lonely tent, and lay down on my hard pallet, the voice of
conscience told me that the misery I was then undergoing I
had fully merited, for the unkind manner in which I had
intended to receive her, when for a brief moment I supposed
that she had returned.

It was on the morning after this affair, and the fourth, if I
forget not, from the time of Isopel's departure, that, as I
was seated on my stone at the bottom of the dingle, getting
my breakfast, I heard an unknown voice from the path above -
apparently that of a person descending - exclaim, "Here's a
strange place to bring a letter to;" and presently an old
woman, with a belt round her middle, to which was attached a
leathern bag, made her appearance, and stood before me.

"Well, if I ever!" said she, as she looked about her. "My
good gentlewoman," said I, "pray what may you please to
want?"  "Gentlewoman!" said the old dame, "please to want -
well, I call that speaking civilly, at any rate. It is true,
civil words cost nothing; nevertheless, we do not always get
them. What I please to want is to deliver a letter to a
young man in this place; perhaps you be he?"  "What's the
name on the letter?" said I, getting up, and going to her.
"There's no name upon it," said she, taking a letter out of
her scrip, and looking at it. "It is directed to the young
man in Mumper's Dingle."  "Then it is for me, I make no
doubt," said I, stretching out my hand to take it. "Please
to pay me ninepence first," said the old woman. "However,"
said she, after a moment's thought, "civility is civility,
and, being rather a scarce article, should meet with some
return. Here's the letter, young man, and I hope you will
pay for it; for if you do not I must pay the postage myself."  
"You are the postwoman, I suppose," said I, as I took the
letter. "I am the postman's mother," said the old woman;
"but as he has a wide beat, I help him as much as I can, and
I generally carry letters to places like this, to which he is
afraid to come himself."  "You say the postage is ninepence,"
said I, "here's a shilling."  "Well, I call that honourable,"
said the old woman, taking the shilling, and putting it into
her pocket - "here's your change, young man," said she,
offering me threepence. "Pray keep that for yourself," said
I; "you deserve it for your trouble."  "Well, I call that
genteel," said the old woman; "and as one good turn deserves
another, since you look as if you couldn't read, I will read
your letter for you. Let's see it; it's from some young
woman or other, I dare say."  "Thank you," said I, "but I can
read."  "All the better for you," said the old woman; "your
being able to read will frequently save you a penny, for
that's the charge I generally make for reading letters;
though, as you behaved so genteelly to me, I should have
charged you nothing. Well, if you can read, why don't you
open the letter, instead of keeping it hanging between your
finger and thumb?"  "I am in no hurry to open it," said I,
with a sigh. The old woman looked at me for a moment -
"Well, young man," said she, "there are some - especially
those who can read - who don't like to open their letters
when anybody is by, more especially when they come from young
women. Well, I won't intrude upon you, but leave you alone
with your letter. I wish it may contain something pleasant.
God bless you," and with these words she departed.

I sat down on my stone, with my letter in my hand. I knew
perfectly well that it could have come from no other person
than Isopel Berners; but what did the letter contain? I
guessed tolerably well what its purport was - an eternal
farewell! yet I was afraid to open the letter, lest my
expectation should be confirmed. There I sat with the
letter, putting off the evil moment as long as possible. At
length I glanced at the direction, which was written in a
fine bold hand, and was directed, as the old woman had said,
to the young man in "Mumpers' Dingle," with the addition,
near -, in the county of -  Suddenly the idea occurred to me,
that, after all, the letter might not contain an eternal
farewell; and that Isopel might have written, requesting me
to join her. Could it be so? "Alas! no," presently said
Foreboding. At last I became ashamed of my weakness. The
letter must be opened sooner or later. Why not at once? So
as the bather who, for a considerable time, has stood
shivering on the bank, afraid to take the decisive plunge,
suddenly takes it, I tore open the letter almost before I was
aware. I had no sooner done so than a paper fell out. I
examined it; it contained a lock of bright flaxen hair.
"This is no good sign," said I, as I thrust the lock and
paper into my bosom, and proceeded to read the letter, which
ran as follows: -

"TO THE YOUNG MAN IN MUMPERS' DINGLE.

"SIR, - I send these lines, with the hope and trust that they
will find you well, even as I am myself at this moment, and
in much better spirits, for my own are not such as I could
wish they were, being sometimes rather hysterical and
vapourish, and at other times, and most often, very low. I
am at a sea-port, and am just going on shipboard; and when
you get these I shall be on the salt waters, on my way to a
distant country, and leaving my own behind me, which I do not
expect ever to see again.

"And now, young man, I will, in the first place, say
something about the manner in which I quitted you. It must
have seemed somewhat singular to you that I went away without
taking any leave, or giving you the slightest hint that I was
going; but I did not do so without considerable reflection.
I was afraid that I should not be able to support a leave-
taking; and as you had said that you were determined to go
wherever I did, I thought it best not to tell you at all; for
I did not think it advisable that you should go with me, and
I wished to have no dispute.

"In the second place, I wish to say something about an offer
of wedlock which you made me; perhaps, young man, had you
made it at the first period of our acquaintance, I should
have accepted it, but you did not, and kept putting off and
putting off, and behaving in a very strange manner, till I
could stand your conduct no longer, but determined upon
leaving you and Old England, which last step I had been long
thinking about; so when you made your offer at last,
everything was arranged - my cart and donkey engaged to be
sold - and the greater part of my things disposed of.
However, young man, when you did make it, I frankly tell you
that I had half a mind to accept it; at last, however, after
very much consideration, I thought it best to leave you for
ever, because, for some time past, I had become almost
convinced, that though with a wonderful deal of learning, and
exceedingly shrewd in some things, you were - pray don't be
offended - at the root mad! and though mad people, I have
been told, sometimes make very good husbands, I was unwilling
that your friends, if you had any, should say that Belle
Berners, the workhouse girl, took advantage of your
infirmity; for there is no concealing that I was born and
bred up in a workhouse; notwithstanding that, my blood is
better than your own, and as good as the best; you having
yourself told me that my name is a noble name, and once, if I
mistake not, that it was the same word as baron, which is the
same thing as bear; and that to be called in old times a bear
was considered a great compliment - the bear being a mighty
strong animal, on which account our forefathers called all
their great fighting-men barons, which is the same as bears.

"However, setting matters of blood and family entirely aside,
many thanks to you, young man, from poor Belle, for the
honour you did her in making that same offer; for, after all,
it is an honour to receive an honourable offer, which she
could see clearly yours was, with no floriness nor chaff in
it; but, on the contrary, entire sincerity. She assures you
that she shall always bear it and yourself in mind, whether
on land or water; and as a proof of the good-will she bears
to you, she sends you a lock of the hair which she wears on
her head, which you were often looking at, and were pleased
to call flax, which word she supposes you meant as a
compliment, even as the old people meant to pass a compliment
to their great folks, when they called them bears; though she
cannot help thinking that they might have found an animal as
strong as a bear, and somewhat less uncouth, to call their
great folks after: even as she thinks yourself, amongst your
great store of words, might have found something a little
more genteel to call her hair after than flax, which, though
strong and useful, is rather a coarse and common kind of
article.

"And as another proof of the good-will she bears to you, she
sends you, along with the lock, a piece of advice, which is
worth all the hair in the world, to say nothing of the flax.

"FEAR GOD, and take your own part. There's Bible in that,
young man: see how Moses feared God, and how he took his own
part against everybody who meddled with him. And see how
David feared God, and took his own part against all the
bloody enemies which surrounded him - so fear God, young man,
and never give in! The world can bully, and is fond,
provided it sees a man in a kind of difficulty, of getting
about him, calling him coarse names, and even going so far as
to hustle him: but the world, like all bullies, carries a
white feather in its tail, and no sooner sees the man taking
off his coat, and offering to fight its best, than it
scatters here and there, and is always civil to him
afterwards. So when folks are disposed to ill-treat you,
young man, say, 'Lord have mercy upon me!' and then tip them
to Long Melford, which, as the saying goes, there is nothing
comparable for shortness all the world over; and these last
words, young man, are the last you will ever have from her
who is nevertheless,

Your affectionate female servant,

ISOPEL BERNERS.

After reading the letter I sat for some time motionless,
holding it in my hand. The daydream in which I had been a
little time before indulging, of marrying Isopel Berners, of
going with her to America, and having by her a large progeny,
who were to assist me in felling trees, cultivating the soil,
and who would take care of me when I was old, was now
thoroughly dispelled. Isopel had deserted me, and was gone
to America by herself, where, perhaps, she would marry some
other person, and would bear him a progeny, who would do for
him what in my dream I had hoped my progeny by her would do
for me. Then the thought came into my head that though she
was gone, I might follow her to America, but then I thought
that if I did I might not find her; America was a very large
place, and I did not know the port to which she was bound;
but I could follow her to the port from which she had sailed,
and there possibly discover the port to which she was bound;
but I did not even know the port from which she had set out,
for Isopel had not dated her letter from any place. Suddenly
it occurred to me that the post-mark on the letter would tell
me from whence it came, so I forthwith looked at the back of
the letter, and in the post-mark read the name of a well-
known and not very distant sea-port. I then knew with
tolerable certainty the port where she had embarked, and I
almost determined to follow her, but I almost instantly
determined to do no such thing. Isopel Berners had abandoned
me, and I would not follow her; "Perhaps," whispered Pride,
"if I overtook her, she would only despise me for running
after her;" and it also told me pretty roundly, provided I
ran after her, whether I overtook her or not, I should
heartily despise myself. So I determined not to follow
Isopel Berners; I took her lock of hair, and looked at it,
then put it in her letter, which I folded up and carefully
stowed away, resolved to keep both for ever, but I determined
not to follow her. Two or three times, however, during the
day, I wavered in my determination, and was again and again
almost tempted to follow her, but every succeeding time the
temptation was fainter. In the evening I left the dingle,
and sat down with Mr. Petulengro and his family by the door
of his tent; Mr. Petulengro soon began talking of the letter
which I had received in the morning. "Is it not from Miss
Berners, brother?" said he. I told him it was. "Is she
coming back, brother?"  "Never," said I; "she is gone to
America, and has deserted me."  "I always knew that you two
were never destined for each other," said he. "How did you
know that?" I inquired. "The dook told me so, brother; you
are born to be a great traveller."  "Well," said I, "if I had
gone with her to America, as I was thinking of doing, I
should have been a great traveller."  "You are to travel in
another direction, brother," said he. "I wish you would tell
me all about my future wanderings," said I. "I can't,
brother," said Mr. Petulengro, "there's a power of clouds
before my eye."  "You are a poor seer, after all," said I;
and getting up, I retired to my dingle and my tent, where I
betook myself to my bed, and there, knowing the worst, and
being no longer agitated by apprehension, nor agonized by
expectation, I was soon buried in a deep slumber, the first
which I had fallen into for several nights.

CHAPTER XVII

The Public-house - Landlord on His Legs Again - A Blow in
Season - The Way of the World - The Grateful Mind - The
Horse's Neigh.

IT was rather late on the following morning when I awoke. At
first I was almost unconscious of what had occurred on the
preceding day; recollection, however, by degrees returned,
and I felt a deep melancholy coming over me, but perfectly
aware that no advantage could be derived from the indulgence
of such a feeling, I sprang up, prepared my breakfast, which
I ate with a tolerable appetite, and then left the dingle,
and betook myself to the gypsy encampment, where I entered
into discourse with various Romanies, both male and female.
After some time, feeling myself in better spirits, I
determined to pay another visit to the landlord of the
public-house. From the position of his affairs when I had
last visited him I entertained rather gloomy ideas with
respect to his present circumstances. I imagined that I
should either find him alone in his kitchen smoking a
wretched pipe, or in company with some surly bailiff or his
follower, whom his friend the brewer had sent into the house
in order to take possession of his effects.

Nothing more entirely differing from either of these
anticipations could have presented itself to my view than
what I saw about one o'clock in the afternoon, when I entered
the house. I had come, though somewhat in want of
consolation myself, to offer any consolation which was at my
command to my acquaintance Catchpole, and perhaps like many
other people who go to a house with "drops of compassion
trembling on their eyelids," I felt rather disappointed at
finding that no compassion was necessary. The house was
thronged with company, and cries for ale and porter, hot
brandy and water, cold gin and water, were numerous;
moreover, no desire to receive and not to pay for the
landlord's liquids was manifested - on the contrary,
everybody seemed disposed to play the most honourable part:
"Landlord, here's the money for this glass of brandy and
water - do me the favour to take it; all right, remember I
have paid you."  "Landlord, here's the money for the pint of
half-and-half-fourpence halfpenny, ain't it? - here's
sixpence; keep the change - confound the change!"  The
landlord, assisted by his niece, bustled about; his brow
erect, his cheeks plumped out, and all his features
exhibiting a kind of surly satisfaction. Wherever he moved,
marks of the most cordial amity were shown him, hands were
thrust out to grasp his, nor were looks of respect,
admiration, nay, almost of adoration, wanting. I observed
one fellow, as the landlord advanced, take the pipe out of
his mouth, and gaze upon him with a kind of grin of wonder,
probably much the same as his ancestor, the Saxon lout of
old, put on when he saw his idol Thur, dressed in a new
kirtle. To avoid the press, I got into a corner, where on a
couple of chairs sat two respectable-looking individuals,
whether farmers or sow-gelders, I know not, but highly
respectable-looking, who were discoursing about the landlord.
"Such another," said one, "you will not find in a summer's
day."  "No, nor in the whole of England," said the other.
"Tom of Hopton," said the first: "ah! Tom of Hopton," echoed
the other; "the man who could beat Tom of Hopton could beat
the world."  "I glory in him," said the first. "So do I,"
said the second, "I'll back him against the world. Let me
hear any one say anything against him, and if I don't - "
then, looking at me, he added, "have you anything to say
against him, young man?"  "Not a word," said I, "save that he
regularly puts me out."  "He'll put any one out," said the
man, "any one out of conceit with himself;" then, lifting a
mug to his mouth, he added, with a hiccough, "I drink his
health."  Presently the landlord, as he moved about,
observing me, stopped short: "Ah!" said he, "are you here? I
am glad to see you, come this way. Stand back," said he to
his company, as I followed him to the bar, "stand back for me
and this gentleman."  Two or three young fellows were in the
bar, seemingly sporting yokels, drinking sherry and smoking.
"Come, gentlemen," said the landlord, "clear the bar, I must
have a clear bar for me and my friend here."  "Landlord, what
will you take," said one, "a glass of sherry? I know you
like it."  "- sherry and you too," said the landlord, "I want
neither sherry nor yourself; didn't you hear what I told
you?"  "All right, old fellow," said the other, shaking the
landlord by the hand, "all right, don't wish to intrude - but
I suppose when you and your friend have done, I may come in
again;" then, with a "sarvant, sir," to me, he took himself
into the kitchen, followed by the rest of the sporting
yokels.

Thereupon the landlord, taking a bottle of ale from a basket,
uncorked it, and pouring the contents into two large glasses,
handed me one, and motioning me to sit down, placed himself
by me; then, emptying his own glass at a draught, he gave a
kind of grunt of satisfaction, and fixing his eyes upon the
opposite side of the bar, remained motionless, without saying
a word, buried apparently in important cogitations. With
respect to myself, I swallowed my ale more leisurely, and was
about to address my friend, when his niece, coming into the
bar, said that more and more customers were arriving, and how
she should supply their wants she did not know, unless her
uncle would get and help her.

"The customers!" said the landlord, "let the scoundrels wait
till you have time to serve them, or till I have leisure to
see after them."  "The kitchen won't contain half of them,"
said his niece. "Then let them sit out abroad," said the
landlord. "But there are not benches enough, uncle," said
the niece. "Then let them stand or sit on the ground," said
the uncle, "what care I; I'll let them know that the man who
beat Tom of Hopton stands as well again on his legs as ever."  
Then opening a side door which led from the bar into the back
yard, he beckoned me to follow him. "You treat your
customers in rather a cavalier manner," said I, when we were
alone together in the yard.

"Don't I?" said the landlord; "and I'll treat them more so
yet; now I have got the whiphand of the rascals I intend to
keep it. I dare say you are a bit surprised with regard to
the change which has come over things since you were last
here. I'll tell you how it happened. You remember in what a
desperate condition you found me, thinking of changing my
religion, selling my soul to the man in black, and then going
and hanging myself like Pontius Pilate; and I dare say you
can't have forgotten how you gave me good advice, made me
drink ale, and give up sherry. Well, after you were gone, I
felt all the better for your talk, and what you had made me
drink, and it was a mercy that I did feel better; for my
niece was gone out, poor thing, and I was left alone in the
house, without a soul to look at, or to keep me from doing
myself a mischief in case I was so inclined. Well, things
wore on in this way till it grew dusk, when in came that
blackguard Hunter with his train to drink at my expense, and
to insult me as usual; there were more than a dozen of them,
and a pretty set they looked. Well, they ordered about in a
very free and easy manner for upwards of an hour and a half,
occasionally sneering and jeering at me, as they had been in
the habit of doing for some time past; so, as I said before,
things wore on, and other customers came in, who, though they
did not belong to Hunter's gang, also passed off their jokes
upon me; for, as you perhaps know, we English are a set of
low hounds, who will always take part with the many by way of
making ourselves safe, and currying favour with the stronger
side. I said little or nothing, for my spirits had again
become very low, and I was verily scared and afraid. All of
a sudden I thought of the ale which I had drank in the
morning, and of the good it did me then, so I went into the
bar, opened another bottle, took a glass, and felt better; so
I took another, and feeling better still, I went back into
the kitchen, just as Hunter and his crew were about leaving.
'Mr. Hunter,' said I, 'you and your people will please to pay
me for what you have had?'  'What do you mean by my people?'
said he, with an oath. 'Ah, what do you mean by calling us
his people?' said the clan. 'We are nobody's people;' and
then there was a pretty load of abuse, and threatening to
serve me out. 'Well,' said I, 'I was perhaps wrong to call
them your people, and beg your pardon and theirs. And now
you will please to pay me for what you have had yourself, and
afterwards I can settle with them.'  'I shall pay you when I
think fit,' said Hunter. 'Yes,' said the rest, 'and so shall
we. We shall pay you when we think fit.'  'I tell you what,'
said Hunter, 'I conceives I do such an old fool as you an
honour when I comes into his house and drinks his beer, and
goes away without paying for it;' and then there was a roar
of laughter from everybody, and almost all said the same
thing. 'Now do you please to pay me, Mr. Hunter?' said I.
'Pay you!' said Hunter; 'pay you! Yes, here's the pay;' and
thereupon he held out his thumb, twirling it round till it
just touched my nose. I can't tell you what I felt that
moment; a kind of madhouse thrill came upon me, and all I
know is, that I bent back as far as I could, then lunging
out, struck him under the ear, sending him reeling two or
three yards, when he fell on the floor. I wish you had but
seen how my company looked at me and at each other. One or
two of the clan went to raise Hunter, and get him to fight,
but it was no go; though he was not killed, he had had enough
for that evening. Oh, I wish you had seen my customers;
those who did not belong to the clan, but who had taken part
with them, and helped to jeer and flout me, now came and
shook me by the hand, wishing me joy, and saying as, how 'I
was a brave fellow, and had served the bully right!'  As for
the clan, they all said Hunter was bound to do me justice; so
they made him pay me what he owed for himself, and the
reckoning of those among them who said they had no money.
Two or three of them then led him away, while the rest stayed
behind, and flattered me, and worshipped me, and called
Hunter all kinds of dogs' names. What do you think of that?"

"Why," said I, "it makes good what I read in a letter which I
received yesterday. It is just the way of the world."

"A'n't it," said the landlord. "Well, that a'n't all; let me
go on. Good fortune never yet came alone. In about an hour
comes home my poor niece, almost in high sterricks with joy,
smiling and sobbing. She had been to the clergyman of M-,
the great preacher, to whose church she was in the habit of
going, and to whose daughters she was well known; and to him
she told a lamentable tale about my distresses, and about the
snares which had been laid for my soul; and so well did she
plead my cause, and so strong did the young ladies back all
she said, that the good clergyman promised to stand my
friend, and to lend me sufficient money to satisfy the
brewer, and to get my soul out of the snares of the man in
black; and sure enough the next morning the two young ladies
brought me the fifty pounds, which I forthwith carried to the
brewer, who was monstrously civil, saying that he hoped any
little misunderstanding we had had would not prevent our
being good friends in future. That a'n't all; the people of
the neighbouring county hearing as if by art witchcraft that
I had licked Hunter, and was on good terms with the brewer,
forthwith began to come in crowds to look at me, pay me
homage, and be my customers. Moreover, fifty scoundrels who
owed me money, and would have seen me starve rather than help
me as long as they considered me a down pin, remembered their
debts, and came and paid me more than they owed. That a'n't
all; the brewer being about to establish a stage-coach and
three, to run across the country, says it shall stop and
change horses at my house, and the passengers breakfast and
sup as it goes and returns. He wishes me - whom he calls the
best man in England - to give his son lessons in boxing,
which he says he considers a fine manly English art, and a
great defence against Popery - notwithstanding that only a
month ago, when he considered me a down pin, he was in the
habit of railing against it as a blackguard practice, and
against me as a blackguard for following it; so I am going to
commence with young hopeful to-morrow."

"I really cannot help congratulating you on your good
fortune," said I.

"That a'n't all," said the landlord. "This very morning the
folks of our parish made me churchwarden, which they would no
more have done a month ago, when they considered me a down
pin, than they - "

"Mercy upon us!" said I, "if fortune pours in upon you in
this manner, who knows but that within a year they may make
you a justice of the peace?"

"Who knows, indeed!" said the landlord. "Well, I will prove
myself worthy of my good luck by showing the grateful mind -
not to those who would be kind to me now, but to those who
were, when the days were rather gloomy. My customers shall
have abundance of rough language, but I'll knock any one down
who says anything against the clergyman who lent me the fifty
pounds, or against the Church of England, of which he is
parson and I am churchwarden. I am also ready to do anything
in reason for him who paid me for the ale he drank, when I
shouldn't have had the heart to collar him for the money had
he refused to pay; who never jeered or flouted me like the
rest of my customers when I was a down pin - and though he
refused to fight cross FOR me was never cross WITH me, but
listened to all I had to say, and gave me all kinds of good
advice. Now who do you think I mean by this last? why, who
but yourself - who on earth but yourself? The parson is a
good man and a great preacher, and I'll knock anybody down
who says to the contrary; and I mention him first, because
why; he's a gentleman, and you a tinker. But I am by no
means sure you are not the best friend of the two; for I
doubt, do you see, whether I should have had the fifty pounds
but for you. You persuaded me to give up that silly drink
they call sherry, and drink ale; and what was it but drinking
ale which gave me courage to knock down that fellow Hunter -
and knocking him down was, I verily believe, the turning
point of my disorder. God don't love them who won't strike
out for themselves; and as far as I can calculate with
respect to time, it was just the moment after I had knocked
down Hunter, that the parson consented to lend me the money,
and everything began to grow civil to me. So, dash my
buttons if I show the ungrateful mind to you! I don't offer
to knock anybody down for you, because why - I dare say you
can knock a body down yourself; but I'll offer something more
to the purpose; as my business is wonderfully on the
increase, I shall want somebody to help me in serving my
customers, and keeping them in order. If you choose to come
and serve for your board, and what they'll give you, give me
your fist; or if you like ten shillings a week better than
their sixpences and ha'pence, only say so - though, to be
open with you, I believe you would make twice ten shillings
out of them - the sneaking, fawning, curry-favouring
humbugs!"

"I am much obliged to you," said I, "for your handsome offer,
which, however, I am obliged to decline."

"Why so?" said the landlord.

"I am not fit for service," said I; "moreover, I am about to
leave this part of the country."  As I spoke a horse neighed
in the stable. "What horse is that?" said I.

"It belongs to a cousin of mine, who put it into my hands
yesterday in the hopes that I might get rid of it for him,
though he would no more have done so a week ago, when he
considered me a down pin, than he would have given the horse
away. Are you fond of horses?"

"Very much," said I.

"Then come and look at it."  He led me into the stable,
where, in a stall, stood a noble-looking animal.

"Dear me," said I, "I saw this horse at - fair."

"Like enough," said the landlord; "he was there and was
offered for seventy pounds, but didn't find a bidder at any
price. What do you think of him?"

"He's a splendid creature."

"I am no judge of horses," said the landlord; "but I am told
he's a firstrate trotter, good leaper, and has some of the
blood of Syntax. What does all that signify? - the game is
against his master, who is a down pin, is thinking of
emigrating, and wants money confoundedly. He asked seventy
pounds at the fair; but, between ourselves, he would be glad
to take fifty here."

"I almost wish," said I, "that I were a rich squire."

"You would buy him then," said the landlord. Here he mused
for some time, with a very profound look. "It would be a rum
thing," said he, "if, some time or other, that horse should
come into your hands. Didn't you hear how he neighed when
you talked about leaving the country? My granny was a wise
woman, and was up to all kinds of signs and wonders, sounds
and noises, the interpretation of the language of birds and
animals, crowing and lowing, neighing and braying. If she
had been here, she would have said at once that that horse
was fated to carry you away. On that point, however, I can
say nothing, for under fifty pounds no one can have him. Are
you taking that money out of your pocket to pay me for the
ale? That won't do; nothing to pay; I invited you this time.
Now if you are going, you had best get into the road through
the yard-gate. I won't trouble you to make your way through
the kitchen and my fine-weather company - confound them!"

CHAPTER XVIII

Mr. Petulengro's Device - The Leathern Purse - Consent to
Purchase a Horse.

AS I returned along the road I met Mr. Petulengro and one of
his companions, who told me that they were bound for the
public-house; whereupon I informed Jasper how I had seen in
the stable the horse which we had admired at the fair. "I
shouldn't wonder if you buy that horse after all, brother,"
said Mr. Petulengro. With a smile at the absurdity of such a
supposition, I left him and his companion, and betook myself
to the dingle. In the evening I received a visit from Mr.
Petulengro, who forthwith commenced talking about the horse,
which he had again seen, the landlord having shown it to him
on learning that he was a friend of mine. He told me that
the horse pleased him more than ever, he having examined his
points with more accuracy than he had an opportunity of doing
on the first occasion, concluding by pressing me to buy him.
I begged him to desist from such foolish importunity,
assuring him that I had never so much money in all my life as
would enable me to purchase the horse. Whilst this discourse
was going on, Mr. Petulengro and myself were standing
together in the midst of the dingle. Suddenly he began to
move round me - in a very singular manner, making strange
motions with his hands, and frightful contortions with his
features, till I became alarmed, and asked him whether he had
not lost his senses? Whereupon, ceasing his movements and
contortions, he assured me that he had not, but had merely
been seized with a slight dizziness, and then once more
returned to the subject of the horse. Feeling myself very
angry, I told him that if he continued persecuting me in that
manner, I should be obliged to quarrel with him; adding, that
I believed his only motive for asking me to buy the animal
was to insult my poverty. "Pretty poverty," said he, "with
fifty pounds in your pocket; however, I have heard say that
it is always the custom of your rich people to talk of their
poverty, more especially when they wish to avoid laying out
money."  Surprised at his saying that I had fifty pounds in
my pocket, I asked him what he meant; whereupon he told me
that he was very sure that I had fifty pounds in my pocket,
offering to lay me five shillings to that effect. "Done!"
said I; "I have scarcely more than the fifth part of what you
say."  "I know better, brother," said Mr. Petulengro; "if you
only pull out what you have in the pocket of your slop, I am
sure you will have lost your wager."  Putting my hand into
the pocket, I felt something which I had never felt there
before, and pulling it out, perceived that it was a clumsy
leathern purse, which I found on opening contained four ten-
pound-notes, and several pieces of gold. "Didn't I tell you
so, brother?" said Mr. Petulengro. "Now, in the first place,
please to pay me the five shillings you have lost."  "This is
only a foolish piece of pleasantry," said I; "you put it into
my pocket whilst you were moving about me, making faces like
a distracted person. Here, take your purse back."  "I?" said
Mr. Petulengro, "not I, indeed I don't think I am such a
fool. I have won my wager, so pay me the five shillings,
brother."  "Do drop this folly," said I, "and take your
purse;" and I flung it on the ground. "Brother," said Mr.
Petulengro, "you were talking of quarrelling with me just
now. I tell you now one thing, which is, that if you do not
take back the purse I will quarrel with you; and it shall be
for good and all. I'll drop your acquaintance, no longer
call you my pal, and not even say sarshan to you when I meet
you by the roadside. Hir mi diblis I never will."  I saw by
Jasper's look and tone that he was in earnest, and, as I had
really a regard for the strange being, I scarcely knew what
to do. "Now, be persuaded, brother," said Mr. Petulengro,
taking up the purse, and handing it to me; "be persuaded; put
the purse into your pocket, and buy the horse."  "Well," said
I, "if I did so, would you acknowledge the horse to be yours,
and receive the money again as soon as I should be able to
repay you?"

"I would, brother, I would," said he; "return me the money as
soon as you please, provided you buy the horse."  "What
motive have you for wishing me to buy that horse?" said I.
"He's to be sold for fifty pounds," said Jasper, "and is
worth four times that sum; though, like many a splendid
bargain, he is now going a begging; buy him, and I'm
confident that, in a little time, a grand gentleman of your
appearance may have anything he asks for him, and found a
fortune by his means. Moreover, brother, I want to dispose
of this fifty pounds in a safe manner. If you don't take it,
I shall fool it away in no time, perhaps at card-playing, for
you saw how I was cheated by those blackguard jockeys the
other day - we gyptians don't know how to take care of money:
our best plan when we have got a handful of guineas is to
make buttons with them; but I have plenty of golden buttons,
and don't wish to be troubled with more, so you can do me no
greater favour than vesting the money in this speculation, by
which my mind will be relieved of considerable care and
trouble for some time at least."

Perceiving that I still hesitated, he said, "Perhaps,
brother, you think I did not come honestly by the money: by
the honestest manner in the world, for it is the money I
earnt by fighting in the ring: I did not steal it, brother,
nor did I get it by disposing of spavined donkeys, or
glandered ponies - nor is it, brother, the profits of my
wife's witchcraft and dukkerin."

"But," said I, "you had better employ it in your traffic."  
"I have plenty of money for my traffic, independent of this
capital," said Mr. Petulengro; "ay, brother, and enough
besides to back the husband of my wife's sister, Sylvester,
against Slammocks of the Chong gav for twenty pounds, which I
am thinking of doing."

"But," said I, "after all, the horse may have found another
purchaser by this time."  "Not he," said Mr. Petulengro,
"there is nobody in this neighbourhood to purchase a horse
like that, unless it be your lordship - so take the money,
brother," and he thrust the purse into my hand. Allowing
myself to be persuaded, I kept possession of the purse. "Are
you satisfied now?" said I. "By no means, brother," said Mr.
Petulengro, "you will please to pay me the five shillings
which you lost to me."  "Why," said I, "the fifty pounds
which I found in my pocket were not mine, but put in by
yourself."  "That's nothing to do with the matter, brother,"
said Mr. Petulengro, "I betted you five shillings that you
had fifty pounds in your pocket, which sum you had: I did not
say that they were your own, but merely that you had fifty
pounds; you will therefore pay me, brother, or I shall not
consider you an honourable man."  Not wishing to have any
dispute about such a matter, I took five shillings out of my
under pocket, and gave them to him. Mr. Petulengro took the
money with great glee, observing - "These five shillings I
will take to the public-house forthwith, and spend in
drinking with four of my brethren, and doing so will give me
an opportunity of telling the landlord that I have found a
customer for his horse, and that you are the man. It will be
as well to secure the horse as soon as possible; for though
the dook tells me that the horse is intended for you, I have
now and then found that the dock is, like myself, somewhat
given to lying."

He then departed, and I remained alone in the dingle. I
thought at first that I had committed a great piece of folly
in consenting to purchase this horse; I might find no
desirable purchaser for him, until the money in my possession
should be totally exhausted, and then I might be compelled to
sell him for half the price I had given for him, or be even
glad to find a person who would receive him at a gift; I
should then remain sans horse, and indebted to Mr.
Petulengro. Nevertheless, it was possible that I might sell
the horse very advantageously, and by so doing obtain a fund
sufficient to enable me to execute some grand enterprise or
other. My present way of life afforded no prospect of
support, whereas the purchase of the horse did afford a
possibility of bettering my condition, so, after all, had I
not done right in consenting to purchase the horse? the
purchase was to be made with another person's property, it is
true, and I did not exactly like the idea of speculating with
another person's property, but Mr. Petulengro had thrust his
money upon me, and if I lost his money, he could have no one
but himself to blame; so I persuaded myself that I had, upon
the whole, done right, and having come to that persuasion, I
soon began to enjoy the idea of finding myself on horseback
again, and figured to myself all kinds of strange adventures
which I should meet with on the roads before the horse and I
should part company.

CHAPTER XIX

Trying the Horse - The Feats of Tawno - Man with the Red
Waist-coat - Disposal of Property.

I SAW nothing more of Mr. Petulengro that evening - on the
morrow, however, he came and informed me that he had secured
the horse for me, and that I was to go and pay for it at
noon. At the hour appointed, therefore, I went with Mr.
Petulengro and Tawno to the public, where, as before, there
was a crowd of company. The landlord received us in the bar
with marks of much satisfaction and esteem, made us sit down,
and treated us with some excellent mild draught ale. "Who do
you think has been here this morning?" he said to me, "why,
that fellow in black, who came to carry me off to a house of
Popish devotion, where I was to pass seven days and nights in
meditation, as I think he called it, before I publicly
renounced the religion of my country. I read him a pretty
lecture, calling him several unhandsome names, and asking him
what he meant by attempting to seduce a church-warden of the
Church of England. I tell you what, he ran some danger; for
some of my customers, learning his errand, laid hold on him,
and were about to toss him in a blanket, and then duck him in
the horse-pond. I, however, interfered, and said, 'that what
he came about was between me and him, and that it was no
business of theirs.'  To tell you the truth, I felt pity for
the poor devil, more especially when I considered that they
merely sided against him because they thought him the
weakest, and that they would have wanted to serve me in the
same manner had they considered me a down pin; so I rescued
him from their hands, told him not to be afraid, for that
nobody should touch him, and offered to treat him to some
cold gin and water with a lump of sugar in it; and on his
refusing, told him that he had better make himself scarce,
which he did, and I hope I shall never see him again. So I
suppose you are come for the horse; mercy upon us! who would
have thought you would have become the purchaser? The horse,
however, seemed to know it by his neighing. How did you ever
come by the money? however, that's no matter of mine. I
suppose you are strongly backed by certain friends you have."

I informed the landlord that he was right in supposing that I
came for the horse, but that, before I paid for him, I should
wish to prove his capabilities. "With all my heart," said
the landlord. "You shall mount him this moment."  Then going
into the stable, he saddled and bridled the horse, and
presently brought him out before the door. I mounted him,
Mr. Petulengro putting a heavy whip into my hand, and saying
a few words to me in his own mysterious language. "The horse
wants no whip," said the landlord. "Hold your tongue,
daddy," said Mr. Petulengro. "My pal knows quite well what
to do with the whip, he's not going to beat the horse with
it."  About four hundred yards from the house there was a
hill, to the foot of which the road ran almost on a perfect
level; towards the foot of this hill I trotted the horse, who
set off at a long, swift pace, seemingly at the rate of about
sixteen miles an hour. On reaching the foot of the hill, I
wheeled the animal round, and trotted him towards the house -
the horse sped faster than before. Ere he had advanced a
hundred yards, I took off my hat, in obedience to the advice
which Mr. Petulengro had given me, in his own language, and
holding it over the horse's head commenced drumming on the
crown with the knob of the whip; the horse gave a slight
start, but instantly recovering himself, continued his trot
till he arrived at the door of the public-house, amidst the
acclamations of the company, who had all rushed out of the
house to be spectators of what was going on. "I see now what
you wanted the whip for," said the landlord, "and sure
enough, that drumming on your hat was no bad way of learning
whether the horse was quiet or not. Well, did you ever see a
more quiet horse, or a better trotter?"  "My cob shall trot
against him," said a fellow, dressed in velveteen, mounted on
a low powerful-looking animal. "My cob shall trot against
him to the hill and back again - come on!"  We both started;
the cob kept up gallantly against the horse for about half
way to the hill, when he began to lose ground; at the foot of
the hill he was about fifteen yards behind. Whereupon I
turned slowly and waited for him. We then set off towards
the house, but now the cob had no chance, being at least
twenty yards behind when I reached the door. This running of
the horse, the wild uncouth forms around me, and the ale and
beer which were being guzzled from pots and flagons, put me
wonderfully in mind of the ancient horse-races of the heathen
north. I almost imagined myself Gunnar of Hlitharend at the
race of -

"Are you satisfied?" said the landlord. "Didn't you tell me
that he could leap?" I demanded. "I am told he can," said
the landlord; "but I can't consent that he should be tried in
that way, as he might be damaged."  "That's right!" said Mr.
Petulengro, "don't trust my pal to leap that horse, he'll
merely fling him down, and break his neck and his own.
There's a better man than he close by; let him get on his
back and leap him."  "You mean yourself, I suppose," said the
landlord. "Well, I call that talking modestly, and nothing
becomes a young man more than modesty."  "It a'n't I, daddy,"
said Mr. Petulengro. "Here's the man," said he, pointing to
Tawno. "Here's the horse-leaper of the world!"  "You mean
the horse-back breaker," said the landlord. "That big fellow
would break down my cousin's horse."  "Why, he weighs only
sixteen stone," said Mr. Petulengro. "And his sixteen stone,
with his way of handling a horse, does not press so much as
any other one's thirteen. Only let him get on the horse's
back, and you'll see what he can do!"  "No," said the
landlord, "it won't do." Whereupon Mr. Petulengro became very
much excited; and pulling out a handful of money, said, "I'll
tell you what, I'll forfeit these guineas, if my black pal
there does the horse any kind of damage; duck me in the
horse-pond if I don't."  "Well," said the landlord, "for the
sport of the thing I consent, so let your white pal get down,
and our black pal mount as soon as he pleases."  I felt
rather mortified at Mr. Petulengro's interference; and showed
no disposition to quit my seat; whereupon he came up to me
and said, "Now, brother, do get out of the saddle - you are
no bad hand at trotting, I am willing to acknowledge that;
but at leaping a horse there is no one like Tawno. Let every
dog be praised for his own gift. You have been showing off
in your line for the last half-hour; now do give Tawno a
chance of exhibiting a little; poor fellow, he hasn't often a
chance of exhibiting, as his wife keeps him so much out of
sight."  Not wishing to appear desirous of engrossing the
public attention, and feeling rather desirous to see how
Tawno, of whose exploits in leaping horses I had frequently
heard, would acquit himself in the affair, I at length
dismounted, and Tawno, at a bound, leaped into the saddle,
where he really looked like Gunnar of Hlitharend, save and
except the complexion of Gunnar was florid, whereas that of
Tawno was of nearly Mulatto darkness; and that all Tawno's
features were cast in the Grecian model, whereas Gunnar had a
snub nose. "There's a leaping-bar behind the house," said
the landlord. "Leaping-bar!" said Mr. Petulengro,
scornfully. "Do you think my black pal ever rides at a
leaping-bar? No more than a windle-straw. Leap over that
meadow-wall, Tawno."  Just past the house, in the direction
in which I had been trotting, was a wall about four feet
high, beyond which was a small meadow. Tawno rode the horse
gently up to the wall, permitted him to look over, then
backed him for about ten yards, and pressing his calves
against the horse's sides, he loosed the rein, and the horse
launching forward, took the leap in gallant style. "Well
done, man and horse!" said Mr. Petulengro, "now come back,
Tawno."  The leap from the side of the meadow was, however,
somewhat higher; and the horse, when pushed at it, at first
turned away; whereupon Tawno backed him to a greater
distance, pushed the horse to a full gallop, giving a wild
cry; whereupon the horse again took the wall, slightly
grazing one of his legs against it. "A near thing," said the
landlord; "but a good leap. Now, no more leaping, so long as
I have control over the animal."  The horse was then led back
to the stable; and the landlord, myself and companions going
into the bar, I paid down the money for the horse.

Scarcely was the bargain concluded, when two or three of the
company began to envy me the possession of the horse, and
forcing their way into the bar, with much noise and clamour,
said that the horse had been sold too cheap. One fellow, in
particular, with a red waistcoat, the son of a wealthy
farmer, said that if he had but known that the horse had been
so good a one, he would have bought it at the first price
asked for it, which he was now willing to pay, that is to-
morrow, supposing - "supposing your father will let you have
the money," said the landlord, "which, after all, might not
be the case; but, however that may be, it is too late now. I
think myself the horse has been sold for too little money,
but if so all the better for the young man, who came forward
when no other body did with his money in his hand. There,
take yourselves out of my bar," he said to the fellows; "and
a pretty scoundrel you," said he to the man of the red
waistcoat, "to say the horse has been sold too cheap; why, it
was only yesterday you said he was good for nothing, and were
passing all kinds of jokes at him. Take yourself out of my
bar, I say, you and all of you," and he turned the fellows
out. I then asked the landlord whether he would permit the
horse to remain in the stable for a short time, provided I
paid for his entertainment; and on his willingly consenting,
I treated my friends with ale, and then returned with them to
the encampment.

That evening I informed Mr. Petulengro and his party that on
the morrow I intended to mount my horse, and leave that part
of the country in quest of adventures; inquiring of Jasper
where, in the event of my selling the horse advantageously, I
might meet with him, and repay the money I had borrowed of
him; whereupon Mr. Petulengro informed me that in about ten
weeks I might find him at a certain place at the Chong gav.
I then stated that as I could not well carry with me the
property which I possessed in the dingle, which after all was
of no considerable value, I had resolved to bestow the said
property, namely, the pony, tent, tinker-tools, etc., on
Ursula and her husband, partly because they were poor, and
partly on account of the great kindness which I bore to
Ursula, from whom I had, on various occasions, experienced
all manner of civility, particularly in regard to crabbed
words. On hearing this intelligence, Ursula returned many
thanks to her gentle brother, as she called me, and Sylvester
was so overjoyed that, casting aside his usual phlegm, he
said I was the best friend he had ever had in the world, and
in testimony of his gratitude swore that he would permit his
wife to give me a choomer in the presence of the whole
company, which offer, however, met with a very mortifying
reception, the company frowning disapprobation, Ursula
protesting against anything of the kind, and I myself showing
no forwardness to avail myself of it, having inherited from
nature a considerable fund of modesty, to which was added no
slight store acquired in the course of my Irish education. I
passed that night alone in the dingle in a very melancholy
manner, with little or no sleep, thinking of Isopel Berners;
and in the morning when I quitted it I shed several tears, as
I reflected that I should probably never again see the spot
where I had passed so many hours in her company.

CHAPTER XX

Farewell to the Romans - The Landlord and His Niece - Set Out
as a Traveller.

ON reaching the plain above, I found my Romany friends
breakfasting, and on being asked by Mr. Petulengro to join
them, I accepted the invitation. No sooner was breakfast
over than I informed Ursula and her husband that they would
find the property, which I had promised them, in the dingle,
commanding the little pony Ambrol to their best care. I took
leave of the whole company, which was itself about to break
up camp and to depart in the direction of London, and made
the best of my way to the public-house. I had a small bundle
in my hand, and was dressed in the same manner as when I
departed from London, having left my waggoner's slop with the
other effects in the dingle. On arriving at the public-
house, I informed the landlord that I was come for my horse,
inquiring, at the same time, whether he could not accommodate
me with a bridle and saddle. He told me that the bridle and
saddle, with which I had ridden the horse on the preceding
day, were at my service for a trifle; that he had received
them some time since in payment for a debt, and that he had
himself no use for them. The leathers of the bridle were
rather shabby, and the bit rusty, and the saddle was old
fashioned; but I was happy to purchase them for seven
shillings, more especially as the landlord added a small
valise, which he said could be strapped to the saddle, and
which I should find very convenient for carrying my things
in. I then proceeded to the stable, told the horse we were
bound on an expedition, and giving him a feed of corn, left
him to discuss it, and returned to the bar-room to have a
little farewell chat with the landlord, and at the same time
to drink with him a farewell glass of ale. Whilst we were
talking and drinking, the niece came and joined us: she was a
decent, sensible young woman, who appeared to take a great
interest in her uncle, whom she regarded with a singular
mixture of pride and, disapprobation - pride for the renown
which he had acquired by his feats of old, and disapprobation
for his late imprudences. She said that she hoped that his
misfortunes would be a warning to him to turn more to his God
than he had hitherto done, and to give up cock-fighting and
other low-life practices. To which the landlord replied,
that with respect to cock-fighting he intended to give it up
entirely, being determined no longer to risk his capital upon
birds, and with respect to his religious duties, he should
attend the church of which he was churchwarden at least once
a quarter, adding, however, that he did not intend to become
either canter or driveller, neither of which characters would
befit a publican surrounded by such customers as he was, and
that to the last day of his life he hoped to be able to make
use of his fists. After a stay of about two hours I settled
accounts, and having bridled and saddled my horse, and
strapped on my valise, I mounted, shook hands with the
landlord and his niece, and departed, notwithstanding that
they both entreated me to tarry until the evening, it being
then the heat of the day.

CHAPTER XXI

An Adventure on the Road - The Six Flint Stone - A Rural
Scene - Mead - The Old Man and His Bees.

I BENT my course in the direction of the north, more induced
by chance than any particular motive; all quarters of the
world having about equal attractions for me. I was in high
spirits at finding myself once more on horse-back, and
trotted gaily on, until the heat of the weather induced me to
slacken my pace, more out of pity for my horse than because I
felt any particular inconvenience from it - heat and cold
being then, and still, matters of great indifference to me.
What I thought of I scarcely know, save and except that I
have a glimmering recollection that I felt some desire to
meet with one of those adventures which upon the roads of
England are generally as plentiful as blackberries in autumn;
and Fortune, who has generally been ready to gratify my
inclinations, provided it cost her very little by so doing,
was not slow in furnishing me with an adventure, perhaps as
characteristic of the English roads as anything which could
have happened.

I might have travelled about six miles amongst cross roads
and lanes, when suddenly I found myself upon a broad and very
dusty road which seemed to lead due north. As I wended along
this I saw a man upon a donkey riding towards me. The man
was commonly dressed, with a broad felt hat on his head, and
a kind of satchel on his back; he seemed to be in a mighty
hurry, and was every now and then belabouring the donkey with
a cudgel. The donkey, however, which was a fine large
creature of the silver-grey species, did not appear to
sympathize at all with its rider in his desire to get on, but
kept its head turned back as much as possible, moving from
one side of the road to the other, and not making much
forward way. As I passed, being naturally of a very polite
disposition, I gave the man the sele of the day, asking him,
at the same time, why he beat the donkey; whereupon the
fellow eyeing me askance, told me to mind my own business,
with the addition of something which I need not repeat. I
had not proceeded a furlong before I saw seated on the dust
by the wayside, close by a heap of stones, and with several
flints before him, a respectable-looking old man, with a
straw hat and a white smock, who was weeping bitterly.

"What are you crying for, father?" said I. "Have you come to
any hurt?"  "Hurt enough," sobbed the old man, "I have just
been tricked out of the best ass in England by a villain, who
gave me nothing but these trash in return," pointing to the
stones before him. "I really scarcely understand you," said
I, "I wish you would explain yourself more clearly."  "I was
riding on my ass from market," said the old man, "when I met
here a fellow with a sack on his back, who, after staring at
the ass and me a moment or two, asked me if I would sell her.
I told him that I could not think of selling her, as she was
very useful to me, and though an animal, my true companion,
whom I loved as much as if she were my wife and daughter. I
then attempted to pass on, but the fellow stood before me,
begging me to sell her, saying that he would give me anything
for her; well, seeing that he persisted, I said at last that
if I sold her, I must have six pounds for her, and I said so
to get rid of him, for I saw that he was a shabby fellow, who
had probably not six shillings in the world; but I had better
have held my tongue," said the old man, crying more bitterly
than before, "for the words were scarcely out of my mouth,
when he said he would give me what I asked, and taking the
sack from his back, he pulled out a steelyard, and going to
the heap of stones there, he took up several of them and
weighed them, then flinging them down before me, he said,
'There are six pounds, neighbour; now, get off the ass, and
hand her over to me.'  Well, I sat like one dumbfoundered for
a time, till at last I asked him what he meant? 'What do I
mean?' said he, 'you old rascal, why, I mean to claim my
purchase,' and then he swore so awfully, that scarcely
knowing what I did I got down, and he jumped on the animal
and rode off as fast as he could."  "I suppose he was the
fellow," said I, "whom I just now met upon a fine gray ass,
which he was beating with a cudgel."  "I dare say he was,"
said the old man, "I saw him beating her as he rode away, and
I thought I should have died."  "I never heard such a story,"
said I; "well, do you mean to submit to such a piece of
roguery quietly?"  "Oh, dear," said the old man, "what can I
do? I am seventy-nine years of age; I am bad on my feet, and
dar'n't go after him." - "Shall I go?" said I; "the fellow is
a thief, and any one has a right to stop him."  "Oh, if you
could but bring her again to me," said the old man, "I would
bless you till my dying day; but have a care; I don't know
but after all the law may say that she is his lawful
purchase. I asked six pounds for her, and he gave me six
pounds."  "Six flints, you mean," said I, "no, no, the law is
not quite so bad as that either; I know something about her,
and am sure that she will never sanction such a quibble. At
all events, I'll ride after the fellow."  Thereupon turning
my horse round, I put him to his very best trot; I rode
nearly a mile without obtaining a glimpse of the fellow, and
was becoming apprehensive that he had escaped me by turning
down some by-path, two or three of which I had passed.
Suddenly, however, on the road making a slight turning, I
perceived him right before me, moving at a tolerably swift
pace, having by this time probably overcome the resistance of
the animal. Putting my horse to a full gallop, I shouted at
the top of my voice, "Get off that donkey, you rascal, and
give her up to me, or I'll ride you down."  The fellow
hearing the thunder of the horse's hoofs behind him, drew up
on one side of the road. "What do you want?" said he, as I
stopped my charger, now almost covered with sweat and foam
close beside him. "Do you want to rob me?"  "To rob you?"
said I. "No! but to take from you that ass, of which you
have just robbed its owner."  "I have robbed no man," said
the fellow; "I just now purchased it fairly of its master,
and the law will give it to me; he asked six pounds for it,
and I gave him six pounds."  "Six stones, you mean, you
rascal," said I; "get down, or my horse shall be upon you in
a moment;" then with a motion of my reins, I caused the horse
to rear, pressing his sides with my heels as if I intended to
make him leap. "Stop," said the man, "I'll get down, and
then try if I can't serve you out."  He then got down, and
confronted me with his cudgel; he was a horrible-looking
fellow, and seemed prepared for anything. Scarcely, however,
had he dismounted, when the donkey jerked the bridle out of
his hand, and probably in revenge for the usage she had
received, gave him a pair of tremendous kicks on the hip with
her hinder legs, which overturned him, and then scampered
down the road the way she had come. "Pretty treatment this,"
said the fellow, getting up without his cudgel, and holding
his hand to his side, "I wish I may not be lamed for life."  
"And if you be," said I, "it will merely serve you right, you
rascal, for trying to cheat a poor old man out of his
property by quibbling at words."  "Rascal!" said the fellow,
"you lie, I am no rascal; and as for quibbling with words -
suppose I did! What then? All the first people does it!
The newspapers does it! the gentlefolks that calls themselves
the guides of the popular mind does it! I'm no ignoramus. I
read the newspapers, and knows what's what."  "You read them
to some purpose," said I. "Well, if you are lamed for life,
and unfitted for any active line - turn newspaper editor; I
should say you are perfectly qualified, and this day's
adventure may be the foundation of your fortune," thereupon I
turned round and rode off. The fellow followed me with a
torrent of abuse. "Confound you," said he - yet that was not
the expression either - "I know you; you are one of the
horse-patrol come down into the country on leave to see your
relations. Confound you, you and the like of you have
knocked my business on the head near Lunnon, and I suppose we
shall have you shortly in the country."  "To the newspaper
office," said I, "and fabricate falsehoods out of flint
stones;" then touching the horse with my heels, I trotted
off, and coming to the place where I had seen the old man, I
found him there, risen from the ground, and embracing his
ass.

I told him that I was travelling down the road, and said,
that if his way lay in the same direction as mine he could do
no better than accompany me for some distance, lest the
fellow who, for aught I knew, might be hovering nigh, might
catch him alone, and again get his ass from him. After
thanking me for my offer, which he said he would accept, he
got upon his ass, and we proceeded together down the road.
My new acquaintance said very little of his own accord; and
when I asked him a question, answered rather incoherently. I
heard him every now and then say, "Villain!" to himself,
after which he would pat the donkey's neck, from which
circumstance I concluded that his mind was occupied with his
late adventure. After travelling about two miles, we reached
a place where a drift-way on the right led from the great
road; here my companion stopped, and on my asking him whether
he was going any farther, he told me that the path to the
right was the way to his home.

I was bidding him farewell, when he hemmed once or twice, and
said, that as he did not live far off, he hoped that I would
go with him and taste some of his mead. As I had never
tasted mead, of which I had frequently read in the
compositions of the Welsh bards, and, moreover, felt rather
thirsty from the heat of the day, I told him that I should
have great pleasure in attending him. Whereupon, turning off
together, we proceeded about half a mile, sometimes between
stone walls, and at other times hedges, till we reached a
small hamlet, through which we passed, and presently came to
a very pretty cottage, delightfully situated within a garden,
surrounded by a hedge of woodbines. Opening a gate at one
corner of the garden he led the way to a large shed, which
stood partly behind the cottage, which he said was his
stable; thereupon he dismounted and led his donkey into the
shed, which was without stalls, but had a long rack and
manger. On one side he tied his donkey, after taking off her
caparisons, and I followed his example, tying my horse at the
other side with a rope halter which he gave me; he then asked
me to come in and taste his mead, but I told him that I must
attend to the comfort of my horse first, and forthwith,
taking a wisp of straw, rubbed him carefully down. Then
taking a pailful of clear water which stood in the shed, I
allowed the horse to drink about half a pint; and then
turning to the old man, who all the time had stood by looking
at my proceedings, I asked him whether he had any oats? "I
have all kinds of grain," he replied; and, going out, he
presently returned with two measures, one a large and the
other a small one, both filled with oats, mixed with a few
beans, and handing the large one to me for the horse, he
emptied the other before the donkey, who, before she began to
despatch it, turned her nose to her master's face, and fairly
kissed him. Having given my horse his portion, I told the
old man that I was ready to taste his mead as soon as he
pleased, whereupon he ushered me into his cottage, where,
making me sit down by a deal table in a neatly sanded
kitchen, he produced from an old-fashioned closet a bottle,
holding about a quart, and a couple of cups, which might each
contain about half a pint, then opening the bottle and
filling the cups with a brown-coloured liquor, he handed one
to me, and taking a seat opposite to me, he lifted the other,
nodded, and saying to me - "Health and welcome," placed it to
his lips and drank.

"Health and thanks," I replied; and being very thirsty,
emptied my cup at a draught; I had scarcely done so, however,
when I half repented. The mead was deliciously sweet and
mellow, but appeared strong as brandy; my eyes reeled in my
head, and my brain became slightly dizzy. "Mead is a strong
drink," said the old man, as he looked at me, with a half
smile on his countenance. "This is at any rate," said I, "so
strong, indeed, that I would not drink another cup for any
consideration."  "And I would not ask you," said the old man;
"for, if you did, you would most probably be stupid all day,
and wake the next morning with a headache. Mead is a good
drink, but woundily strong, especially to those who be not
used to it, as I suppose you are not."  "Where do you get
it?" said I. "I make it myself," said the old man, "from the
honey which my bees make."  "Have you many bees?" I inquired.
"A great many," said the old man. "And do you keep them,"
said I, "for the sake of making mead with their honey?"  "I
keep them," he replied, "partly because I am fond of them,
and partly for what they bring me in; they make me a great
deal of honey, some of which I sell, and with a little I make
some mead to warm my poor heart with, or occasionally to
treat a friend with like yourself."  "And do you support
yourself entirely by means of your bees?"  "No," said the old
man; "I have a little bit of ground behind my house, which is
my principal means of support."  "And do you live alone?"  
"Yes," said he; "with the exception of the bees and the
donkey, I live quite alone."  "And have you always lived
alone?"  The old man emptied his cup, and his heart being
warmed with the mead, he told his history, which was
simplicity itself. His father was a small yeoman, who, at
his death, had left him, his only child, the cottage, with a
small piece of ground behind it, and on this little property
he had lived ever since. About the age of twenty-five he had
married an industrious young woman, by whom he had one
daughter, who died before reaching years of womanhood. His
wife, however, had survived her daughter many years, and had
been a great comfort to him, assisting him in his rural
occupations; but, about four years before the present period,
he had lost her, since which time he had lived alone, making
himself as comfortable as he could; cultivating his ground,
with the help of a lad from the neighbouring village,
attending to his bees, and occasionally riding his donkey to
market, and hearing the word of God, which he said he was
sorry he could not read, twice a week regularly at the parish
church. Such was the old man's tale.

When he had finished speaking, he led me behind his house,
and showed me his little domain. It consisted of about two
acres in admirable cultivation; a small portion of it formed
a kitchen garden, while the rest was sown with four kinds of
grain, wheat, barley, peas, and beans. The air was full of
ambrosial sweets, resembling those proceeding from an orange
grove; a place which though I had never seen at that time, I
since have. In the garden was the habitation of the bees, a
long box, supported upon three oaken stumps. It was full of
small round glass windows, and appeared to be divided into a
great many compartments, much resembling drawers placed
sideways. He told me that, as one compartment was filled,
the bees left it for another; so that, whenever he wanted
honey, he could procure some without injury to the insects.
Through the little round windows I could see several of the
bees at work; hundreds were going in and out of the doors;
hundreds were buzzing about on the flowers, the woodbines,
and beans. As I looked around on the well-cultivated field,
the garden, and the bees, I thought I had never before seen
so rural and peaceful a scene.

When we returned to the cottage we again sat down, and I
asked the old man whether he was not afraid to live alone.
He told me that he was not, for that, upon the whole, his
neighbours were very kind to him. I mentioned the fellow who
had swindled him of his donkey upon the road. "That was no
neighbour of mine," said the old man, "and, perhaps, I shall
never see him again, or his like."  "It's a dreadful thing,"
said I, "to have no other resource, when injured, than to
shed tears on the road."  "It is so," said the old man; "but
God saw the tears of the old, and sent a helper."  "Why did
you not help yourself?" said I. "Instead of getting off your
ass, why did you not punch at the fellow, or at any rate use
dreadful language, call him villain, and shout robbery?"  
"Punch!" said the old man, "shout! what, with these hands,
and this voice - Lord, how you run on! I am old, young chap,
I am old!"  "Well," said I, "it is a shameful thing to cry
even when old."  "You think so now," said the old man,
"because you are young and strong; perhaps when you are as
old as I, you will not be ashamed to cry."

Upon the whole I was rather pleased with the old man, and
much with all about him. As evening drew nigh, I told him
that I must proceed on my journey; whereupon he invited me to
tarry with him during the night, telling me that he had a
nice room and bed above at my service. I, however, declined;
and bidding him farewell, mounted my horse, and departed.
Regaining the road, I proceeded once more in the direction of
the north; and, after a few hours, coming to a comfortable
public-house, I stopped, and put up for the night.

CHAPTER XXII

The Singular Noise - Sleeping in a Meadow - The Book - Cure
for Wakefulness - Literary Tea Party - Poor Byron.

I DID not awake till rather late the next morning; and when I
did, I felt considerable drowsiness, with a slight headache,
which I was uncharitable enough to attribute to the mead
which I had drunk on the preceding day. After feeding my
horse, and breakfasting, I proceeded on my wanderings.
Nothing occurred worthy of relating till mid-day was
considerably past, when I came to a pleasant valley, between
two gentle hills. I had dismounted, in order to ease my
horse, and was leading him along by the bridle, when, on my
right, behind a bank in which some umbrageous ashes were
growing, heard a singular noise. I stopped short and
listened, and presently said to myself, "Surely this is
snoring, perhaps that of a hedgehog."  On further
consideration, however, I was convinced that the noise which
I heard, and which certainly seemed to be snoring, could not
possibly proceed from the nostrils of so small an animal, but
must rather come from those of a giant, so loud and sonorous
was it. About two or three yards farther was a gate, partly
open, to which I went, and peeping into the field, saw a man
lying on some rich grass, under the shade of one of the
ashes; he was snoring away at a great rate. Impelled by
curiosity, I fastened the bridle of my horse to the gate, and
went up to the man. He was a genteelly-dressed individual;
rather corpulent, with dark features, and seemingly about
forty-five. He lay on his back, his hat slightly over his
brow, and at his right hand lay an open book. So strenuously
did he snore that the wind from his nostrils agitated,
perceptibly, a fine cambric frill which he wore at his bosom.
I gazed upon him for some time, expecting that he might
awake; but he did not, but kept on snoring, his breast
heaving convulsively. At last, the noise he made became so
terrible, that I felt alarmed for his safety, imagining that
a fit might seize him, and he lose his life while fast
asleep. I therefore exclaimed, "Sir, sir, awake! you sleep
over-much."  But my voice failed to rouse him, and he
continued snoring as before; whereupon I touched him slightly
with my riding wand, but failing to wake him, I touched him
again more vigorously; whereupon he opened his eyes, and,
probably imagining himself in a dream, closed them again.
But I was determined to arouse him, and cried as loud as I
could, "Sir, sir, pray sleep no more!"  He heard what I said,
opened his eyes again, stared at me with a look of some
consciousness, and, half raising himself upon his elbows,
asked me what was the matter. "I beg your pardon," said I,
"but I took the liberty of awaking you, because you appeared
to be much disturbed in your sleep - I was fearful, too, that
you might catch a fever from sleeping under a tree."  "I run
no risk," said the man, "I often come and sleep here; and as
for being disturbed in my sleep, I felt very comfortable; I
wish you had not awoke me."  "Well," said I, "I beg your
pardon once more. I assure you that what I did was with the
best intention."  "Oh! pray make no further apology," said
the individual, "I make no doubt that what you did was done
kindly; but there's an old proverb, to the effect, 'that you
should let sleeping dogs lie,'" he added with a smile. Then,
getting up, and stretching himself with a yawn, he took up
his book and said, "I have slept quite long enough, and it's
quite time for me to be going home."  "Excuse my curiosity,"
said I, "if I inquire what may induce you to come and sleep
in this meadow?"  "To tell you the truth," answered he, "I am
a bad sleeper."  "Pray pardon me," said I, "if I tell you
that I never saw one sleep more heartily."  "If I did so,"
said the individual, "I am beholden to this meadow and this
book; but I am talking riddles, and will explain myself. I
am the owner of a very pretty property, of which this valley
forms part. Some years ago, however, up started a person who
said the property was his; a lawsuit ensued, and I was on the
brink of losing my all, when, most unexpectedly, the suit was
determined in my favour. Owing, however, to the anxiety to
which my mind had been subjected for several years, my nerves
had become terribly shaken; and no sooner was the trial
terminated than sleep forsook my pillow. I sometimes passed
nights without closing an eye; I took opiates, but they
rather increased than alleviated my malady. About three
weeks ago a friend of mine put this book into my hand, and
advised me to take it every day to some pleasant part of my
estate, and try and read a page or two, assuring me, if I
did, that I should infallibly fall asleep. I took his
advice, and selecting this place, which I considered the
pleasantest part of my property, I came, and lying down,
commenced reading the book, and before finishing a page was
in a dead slumber. Every day since then I have repeated the
experiment, and every time with equal success. I am a single
man, without any children; and yesterday I made my will, in
which, in the event of my friend's surviving me, I have left
him all my fortune, in gratitude for his having procured for
me the most invaluable of all blessings - sleep."

"Dear me," said I, "how very extraordinary! Do you think
that your going to sleep is caused by the meadow or the
book?"  "I suppose by both," said my new acquaintance,
"acting in co-operation."  "It may be so," said I; "the magic
influence does certainly not proceed from the meadow alone;
for since I have been here, I have not felt the slightest
inclination to sleep. Does the book consist of prose or
poetry?"  "It consists of poetry," said the individual. "Not
Byron's?" said I. "Byron's!" repeated the individual, with a
smile of contempt; "no, no; there is nothing narcotic in
Byron's poetry. I don't like it. I used to read it, but it
thrilled, agitated, and kept me awake. No; this is not
Byron's poetry, but the inimitable -'s" - mentioning a name
which I had never heard till then. "Will you permit me to
look at it?" said I. "With pleasure," he answered, politely
handing me the book. I took the volume, and glanced over the
contents. It was written in blank verse, and appeared to
abound in descriptions of scenery; there was much mention of
mountains, valleys, streams, and waterfalls, harebells and
daffodils. These descriptions were interspersed with
dialogues, which, though they proceeded from the mouths of
pedlars and rustics, were of the most edifying description;
mostly on subjects moral or metaphysical, and couched in the
most gentlemanly and unexceptionable language, without the
slightest mixture of vulgarity, coarseness, or pie-bald
grammar. Such appeared to me to be the contents of the book;
but before I could form a very clear idea of them, I found
myself nodding, and a surprising desire to sleep coming over
me. Rousing myself, however, by a strong effort, I closed
the book, and, returning it to the owner, inquired of him,
"Whether he had any motive in coming and lying down in the
meadow, besides the wish of enjoying sleep?"  "None
whatever," he replied; "indeed, I should be very glad not to
be compelled to do so, always provided I could enjoy the
blessing of sleep; for by lying down under trees, I may
possibly catch the rheumatism, or be stung by serpents; and,
moreover, in the rainy season and winter the thing will be
impossible, unless I erect a tent, which will possibly
destroy the charm."  "Well," said I, "you need give yourself
no further trouble about coming here, as I am fully convinced
that with this book in your hand, you may go to sleep
anywhere, as your friend was doubtless aware, though he
wished to interest your imagination for a time by persuading
you to lie abroad; therefore, in future, whenever you feel
disposed to sleep, try to read the book, and you will be
sound asleep in a minute; the narcotic influence lies in the
book, and not in the field."  "I will follow your advice,"
said the individual; "and this very night take it with me to
bed; though I hope in time to be able to sleep without it, my
nerves being already much quieted from the slumbers I have
enjoyed in this field."  He then moved towards the gate,
where we parted; he going one way, and I and my horse the
other.

More than twenty years subsequent to this period, after much
wandering about the world, returning to my native country, I
was invited to a literary tea-party, where, the discourse
turning upon poetry, I, in order to show that I was not more
ignorant than my neighbours, began to talk about Byron, for
whose writings I really entertained considerable admiration,
though I had no particular esteem for the man himself. At
first, I received no answer to what I said - the company
merely surveying me with a kind of sleepy stare. At length a
lady, about the age of forty, with a large wart on her face,
observed, in a drawling tone, "That she had not read Byron -
at least, since her girlhood - and then only a few passages;
but that the impression on her mind was, that his writings
were of a highly objectionable character."  "I also read a
little of him in my boyhood," said a gentleman about sixty,
but who evidently, from his dress and demeanour, wished to
appear about thirty, "but I highly disapproved of him; for,
notwithstanding he was a nobleman, he is frequently very
coarse, and very fond of raising emotion. Now emotion is
what I dislike;" drawling out the last syllable of the word
dislike. "There is only one poet for me - the divine - " and
then he mentioned a name which I had only once heard, and
afterwards quite forgotten; the same mentioned by the snorer
in the field. "Ah! there is no one like him!" murmured some
more of the company; "the poet of nature - of nature without
its vulgarity."  I wished very much to ask these people
whether they were ever bad sleepers, and whether they had
read the poet, so called, from a desire of being set to
sleep. Within a few days, however, I learnt that it had of
late become very fashionable and genteel to appear half
asleep, and that one could exhibit no better mark of
superfine breeding than by occasionally in company setting
one's rhomal organ in action. I then ceased to wonder at the
popularity, which I found nearly universal, of -'s poetry;
for, certainly in order to make one's self appear sleepy in
company, or occasionally to induce sleep, nothing could be
more efficacious than a slight prelection of his poems. So
poor Byron, with his fire and emotion - to say nothing of his
mouthings and coxcombry - was dethroned, as I prophesied he
would be more than twenty years before, on the day of his
funeral, though I had little idea that his humiliation would
have been brought about by one, whose sole strength consists
in setting people to sleep. Well, all things are doomed to
terminate in sleep. Before that termination, however, I will
venture to prophesy that people will become a little more
awake - snoring and yawning be a little less in fashion - and
poor Byron be once more reinstated on his throne, though his
rival will always stand a good chance of being worshipped by
those whose ruined nerves are insensible to the narcotic
powers of opium and morphine.

CHAPTER XXIII

Drivers and Front Outside Passengers - Fatigue of Body and
Mind - Unexpected Greeting - My Inn - The Governor -
Engagement.

I CONTINUED my journey, passing through one or two villages.
The day was exceedingly hot, and the roads dusty. In order
to cause my horse as little fatigue as possible, and not to
chafe his back, I led him by the bridle, my doing which
brought upon me a shower of remarks, jests, and would-be
witticisms from the drivers and front outside passengers of
sundry stage-coaches which passed me in one direction or the
other. In this way I proceeded till considerably past noon,
when I felt myself very fatigued, and my horse appeared no
less so; and it is probable that the lazy and listless manner
in which we were moving on, tired us both much more
effectually than hurrying along at a swift trot would have
done, for I have observed that when the energies of the body
are not exerted a languor frequently comes over it. At
length arriving at a very large building with an archway,
near the entrance of a town, I sat down on what appeared to
be a stepping-block, and presently experienced a great
depression of spirits. I began to ask myself whither I was
going, and what I should do with myself and the horse which I
held by the bridle? It appeared to me that I was alone in
the world with the poor animal, who looked for support to me,
who knew not how to support myself. Then the image of Isopel
Berners came into my mind, and when I thought how I had lost
her for ever, and how happy I might have been with her in the
New World had she not deserted me, I became yet more
miserable.

As I sat in this state of mind, I suddenly felt some one clap
me on the shoulder, and heard a voice say, "Ha! comrade of
the dingle, what chance has brought you into these parts?"  I
turned round, and beheld a man in the dress of a postillion,
whom I instantly recognized as he to whom I had rendered
assistance on the night of the storm.

"Ah!" said I, "is it you? I am glad to see you, for I was
feeling very lonely and melancholy."

"Lonely and melancholy," he replied, "how is that? how can
any one be lonely and melancholy with such a noble horse as
that you hold by the bridle?"

"The horse," said I, "is one cause of my melancholy, for I
know not in the world what to do with it."

"It is your own?"

"Yes," said I, "I may call it my own, though I borrowed the
money to purchase it."

"Well, why don't you sell it?"

"It is not always easy to find a purchaser for a horse like
this," said I; "can you recommend me one?"

"I? Why no, not exactly; but you'll find a purchaser shortly
- pooh! if you have no other cause for disquiet than that
horse, cheer up, man, don't be cast down. Have you nothing
else on your mind? By the bye, what's become of the young
woman you were keeping company with in that queer lodging
place of yours?"

"She has left me," said I.

"You quarrelled, I suppose?"

"No," said I, "we did not exactly quarrel, but we are
parted."

"Well," replied he, "but you will soon come together again."

"No," said I, "we are parted for ever."

"For ever! Pooh! you little know how people sometimes come
together again who think they are parted for ever. Here's
something on that point relating to myself. You remember,
when I told you my story in that dingle of yours, that I
mentioned a young woman, my fellow-servant when I lived with
the English family in Mumbo Jumbo's town, and how she and I,
when our foolish governors were thinking of changing their
religion, agreed to stand by each other, and be true to old
Church of England, and to give our governors warning,
provided they tried to make us renegades. Well, she and I
parted soon after that, and never to meet again, yet we met
the other day in the fields, for she lately came to live with
a great family not far from here, and we have since agreed to
marry, to take a little farm, for we have both a trifle of
money, and live together till 'death us do part.'  So much
for parting for ever! But what do I mean by keeping you
broiling in the sun with your horse's bridle in your hand,
and you on my own ground? Do you know where you are? Why,
that great house is my inn, that is, it's my master's, the
best fellow in -. Come along, you and your horse both will
find a welcome at my inn."

Thereupon he led the way into a large court in which there
were coaches, chaises, and a great many people; taking my
horse from me, he led it into a nice cool stall, and fastened
it to the rack - he then conducted me into a postillion's
keeping-room, which at that time chanced to be empty, and he
then fetched a pot of beer and sat down by me.

After a little conversation he asked me what I intended to
do, and I told him frankly that I did not know; whereupon he
observed that, provided I had no objection, he had little
doubt that I could be accommodated for some time at his inn.
"Our upper ostler," said he, "died about a week ago; he was a
clever fellow, and, besides his trade, understood reading and
accounts."

"Dear me," said I, interrupting him, "I am not fitted for the
place of ostler - moreover, I refused the place of ostler at
a public-house, which was offered to me only a few days ago."  
The postillion burst into a laugh. "Ostler at a public-
house, indeed! why, you would not compare a berth at a place
like that with the situation of ostler at my inn, the first
road-house in England! However, I was not thinking of the
place of ostler for you; you are, as you say, not fitted for
it, at any rate, not at a house like this. We have,
moreover, the best under-ostler in all England - old Bill,
with the drawback that he is rather fond of drink. We could
make shift with him very well, provided we could fall in with
a man of writing and figures, who could give an account of
the hay and corn which comes in and goes out, and wouldn't
object to give a look occasionally at the yard. Now it
appears to me that you are just such a kind of man, and, if
you will allow me to speak to the governor, I don't doubt
that he will gladly take you, as he feels kindly disposed
towards you from what he has heard me say concerning you."

"And what should I do with my horse?" said I.

"The horse need give you no uneasiness," said the postillion;
"I know he will be welcome here both for bed and manger, and,
perhaps, in a little time you may find a purchaser, as a vast
number of sporting people frequent this house."  I offered
two or three more objections, which the postillion overcame
with great force of argument, and the pot being nearly empty,
he drained it to the bottom drop, and then starting up, left
me alone.

In about twenty minutes he returned, accompanied by a highly
intelligent-looking individual, dressed in blue and black,
with a particularly white cravat, and without a hat on his
head: this individual, whom I should have mistaken for a
gentleman but for the intelligence depicted in his face, he
introduced to me as the master of the inn. The master of the
inn shook me warmly by the hand, told me that he was happy to
see me in his house, and thanked me in the handsomest terms
for the kindness I had shown to his servant in the affair of
the thunderstorm. Then saying that he was informed I was out
of employ, he assured me that he should be most happy to
engage me to keep his hay and corn account, and as general
superintendent of the yard, and that with respect to the
horse, which he was told I had, he begged to inform me that I
was perfectly at liberty to keep it at the inn upon the very
best, until I could find a purchaser, - that with regard to
wages - but he had no sooner mentioned wages than I cut him
short, saying, that provided I stayed I should be most happy
to serve him for bed and board, and requested that he would
allow me until the next morning to consider of his offer; he
willingly consented to my request, and, begging that I would
call for anything I pleased, left me alone with the
postillion.

I passed that night until about ten o'clock with the
postillion, when he left me, having to drive a family about
ten miles across the country; before his departure, however,
I told him that I had determined to accept the offer of his
governor, as he called him. At the bottom of my heart I was
most happy that an offer had been made, which secured to
myself and the animal a comfortable retreat at a moment when
I knew not whither in the world to take myself and him.

CHAPTER XXIV

An Inn of Times gone by - A First-rate Publican - Hay and
Corn - Old-fashioned Ostler - Highwaymen - Mounted Police -
Grooming.

THE inn, of which I had become an inhabitant, was a place of
infinite life and bustle. Travellers of all descriptions,
from all the cardinal points, were continually stopping at
it; and to attend to their wants, and minister to their
convenience, an army of servants, of one description or
other, was kept; waiters, chambermaids, grooms, postillions,
shoe-blacks, cooks, scullions, and what not, for there was a
barber and hair-dresser, who had been at Paris, and talked
French with a cockney accent; the French sounding all the
better, as no accent is so melodious as the cockney. Jacks
creaked in the kitchens turning round spits, on which large
joints of meat piped and smoked before great big fires.
There was running up and down stairs, and along galleries,
slamming of doors, cries of "Coming, sir," and "Please to
step this way, ma'am," during eighteen hours of the four-and-
twenty. Truly a very great place for life and bustle was
this inn. And often in after life, when lonely and
melancholy, I have called up the time I spent there, and
never failed to become cheerful from the recollection.

I found the master of the house a very kind and civil person.
Before being an inn-keeper he had been in some other line of
business; but on the death of the former proprietor of the
inn had married his widow, who was still alive, but, being
somewhat infirm, lived in a retired part of the house. I
have said that he was kind and civil; he was, however, not
one of those people who suffer themselves to be made fools of
by anybody; he knew his customers, and had a calm, clear eye,
which would look through a man without seeming to do so. The
accommodation of his house was of the very best description;
his wines were good, his viands equally so, and his charges
not immoderate; though he very properly took care of himself.
He was no vulgar inn-keeper, had a host of friends, and
deserved them all. During the time I lived with him, he was
presented by a large assemblage of his friends and customers
with a dinner at his own house, which was very costly, and at
which the best of wines were sported, and after the dinner
with a piece of plate estimated at fifty guineas. He
received the plate, made a neat speech of thanks, and when
the bill was called for, made another neat speech, in which
he refused to receive one farthing for the entertainment,
ordering in at the same time two dozen more of the best
champagne, and sitting down amidst uproarious applause, and
cries of "You shall be no loser by it!"  Nothing very
wonderful in such conduct, some people will say; I don't say
there is, nor have I any intention to endeavour to persuade
the reader that the landlord was a Carlo Boromeo; he merely
gave a quid pro quo; but it is not every person who will give
you a quid pro quo. Had he been a vulgar publican, he would
have sent in a swinging bill after receiving the plate; "but
then no vulgar publican would have been presented with
plate;" perhaps not, but many a vulgar public character has
been presented with plate, whose admirers never received a
quid pro quo, except in the shape of a swinging bill.

I found my duties of distributing hay and corn, and keeping
an account thereof, anything but disagreeable, particularly
after I had acquired the good-will of the old ostler, who at
first looked upon me with rather an evil eye, considering me
somewhat in the light of one who had usurped an office which
belonged to himself by the right of succession; but there was
little gall in the old fellow, and, by speaking kindly to
him, never giving myself any airs of assumption; but, above
all, by frequently reading the newspapers to him - for though
passionately fond of news and politics, he was unable to read
- I soon succeeded in placing myself on excellent terms with
him. A regular character was that old ostler; he was a
Yorkshireman by birth, but had seen a great deal of life in
the vicinity of London, to which, on the death of his
parents, who were very poor people, he went at a very early
age. Amongst other places where he had served as ostler was
a small inn at Hounslow, much frequented by highwaymen, whose
exploits he was fond of narrating, especially those of Jerry
Abershaw, who, he said, was a capital rider; and on hearing
his accounts of that worthy, I half regretted that the old
fellow had not been in London, and I had not formed his
acquaintance about the time I was thinking of writing the
life of the said Abershaw, not doubting that with his
assistance, I could have produced a book at least as
remarkable as the life and adventures of that entirely
imaginary personage Joseph Sell; perhaps, however, I was
mistaken; and whenever Abershaw's life shall appear before
the public - and my publisher credibly informs me that it has
not yet appeared - I beg and entreat the public to state
which it likes best, the life of Abershaw, or that of Sell,
for which latter work I am informed that during the last few
months there has been a prodigious demand. My old friend,
however, after talking of Abershaw, would frequently add,
that, good rider as Abershaw certainly was, he was decidedly
inferior to Richard Ferguson, generally called Galloping
Dick, who was a pal of Abershaw's, and had enjoyed a career
as long, and nearly as remarkable as his own. I learned from
him that both were capital customers at the Hounslow inn, and
that he had frequently drank with them in the corn-room. He
said that no man could desire more jolly or entertaining
companions over a glass of "summut;" but that upon the road
it was anything but desirable to meet them; there they were
terrible, cursing and swearing, and thrusting the muzzles of
their pistols into people's mouths; and at this part of his
locution the old man winked, and said, in a somewhat lower
voice, that upon the whole they were right in doing so, and
that when a person had once made up his mind to become a
highwayman, his best policy was to go the whole hog, fearing
nothing, but making everybody afraid of him; that people
never thought of resisting a savage-faced, foul-mouthed
highwayman, and if he were taken, were afraid to bear witness
against him, lest he should get off and cut their throats
some time or other upon the roads; whereas people would
resist being robbed by a sneaking, pale-visaged rascal, and
would swear bodily against him on the first opportunity, -
adding, that Abershaw and Ferguson, two most awful fellows,
had enjoyed a long career, whereas two disbanded officers of
the army, who wished to rob a coach like gentlemen, had
begged the passengers' pardon, and talked of hard necessity,
had been set upon by the passengers themselves, amongst whom
were three women, pulled from their horses, conducted to
Maidstone, and hanged with as little pity as such
contemptible fellows deserved. "There is nothing like going
the whole hog," he repeated, "and if ever I had been a
highwayman, I would have done so; I should have thought
myself all the more safe; and, moreover, shouldn't have
despised myself. To curry favour with those you are robbing,
sometimes at the expense of your own comrades, as I have
known fellows do, why, it is the greatest - "

"So it is," interposed my friend the postillion, who chanced
to be present at a considerable part of the old ostler's
discourse; "it is, as you say, the greatest of humbug, and
merely, after all, gets a fellow into trouble; but no regular
bred highwayman would do it. I say, George, catch the Pope
of Rome trying to curry favour with anybody he robs; catch
old Mumbo Jumbo currying favour with the Archbishop of
Canterbury and the Dean and Chapter, should he meet them in a
stage-coach; it would be with him, Bricconi Abbasso, as he
knocked their teeth out with the butt of his trombone; and
the old regular-built ruffian would be all the safer for it,
as Bill would say, as ten to one the Archbishop and Chapter,
after such a spice of his quality, would be afraid to swear
against him, and to hang him, even if he were in their power,
though that would be the proper way; for, if it is the
greatest of all humbug for a highwayman to curry favour with
those he robs, the next greatest is to try to curry favour
with a highwayman when you have got him, by letting him off."

Finding the old man so well acquainted with the history of
highwaymen, and taking considerable interest in the subject,
having myself edited a book containing the lives of many
remarkable people who had figured on the highway, I forthwith
asked him how it was that the trade of highwaymen had become
extinct in England, as at present we never heard of any one
following it. Whereupon he told me that many causes had
contributed to bring about that result; the principal of
which were the following:- the refusal to license houses
which were known to afford shelter to highwaymen, which,
amongst many others, had caused the inn at Hounslow to be
closed; the inclosure of many a wild heath in the country, on
which they were in the habit of lurking, and particularly the
establishing in the neighbourhood of London of a well-armed
mounted patrol, who rode the highwaymen down, and delivered
them up to justice, which hanged them without ceremony.

"And that would be the way to deal with Mumbo Jumbo and his
gang," said the postillion, "should they show their visages
in these realms; and I hear by the newspapers that they are
becoming every day more desperate. Take away the license
from their public-houses, cut down the rookeries and shadowy
old avenues in which they are fond of lying in wait, in order
to sally out upon people as they pass in the roads; but,
above all, establish a good mounted police to ride after the
ruffians and drag them by the scruff of the neck to the next
clink, where they might lie till they could be properly dealt
with by law; instead of which, the Government are repealing
the wise old laws enacted against such characters, giving
fresh licenses every day to their public-houses, and saying
that it would be a pity to cut down their rookeries and
thickets because they look so very picturesque; and, in fact,
giving them all kind of encouragement; why, if such behaviour
is not enough to drive an honest man mad, I know not what is.
It is of no use talking, I only wish the power were in my
hands, and if I did not make short work of them, might I be a
mere jackass postillion all the remainder of my life."

Besides acquiring from the ancient ostler a great deal of
curious information respecting the ways and habits of the
heroes of the road, with whom he had come in contact in the
early portion of his life, I picked up from him many
excellent hints relating to the art of grooming horses.
Whilst at the inn, I frequently groomed the stage and post-
horses, and those driven up by travellers in their gigs: I
was not compelled, nor indeed expected, to do so; but I took
pleasure in the occupation; and I remember at that period one
of the principal objects of my ambition was to be a first-
rate groom, and to make the skins of the creatures I took in
hand look sleek and glossy like those of moles. I have said
that I derived valuable hints from the old man, and, indeed,
became a very tolerable groom, but there was a certain
finishing touch which I could never learn from him, though he
possessed it himself, and which I could never attain to by my
own endeavours; though my want of success certainly did not
proceed from want of application, for I have rubbed the
horses down, purring and buzzing all the time, after the
genuine ostler fashion, until the perspiration fell in heavy
drops upon my shoes, and when I had done my best and asked
the old fellow what he thought of my work, I could never
extract from him more than a kind of grunt, which might be
translated, "Not so very bad, but I have seen a horse groomed
much better," which leads me to suppose that a person, in
order to be a first-rate groom, must have something in him
when he is born which I had not, and, indeed, which many
other people have not who pretend to be grooms. What does
the reader think?

CHAPTER XXV

Stable Hartshorn - How to Manage a Horse on a Journey - Your
Best Friend.

OF one thing I am certain, that the reader must be much
delighted with the wholesome smell of the stable, with which
many of these pages are redolent; what a contrast to the
sickly odours exhaled from those of some of my
contemporaries, especially of those who pretend to be of the
highly fashionable class, and who treat of reception-rooms,
well may they be styled so, in which dukes, duchesses, earls,
countesses, archbishops, bishops, mayors, mayoresses - not
forgetting the writers themselves, both male and female -
congregate and press upon one another; how cheering, how
refreshing, after having been nearly knocked down with such
an atmosphere, to come in contact with genuine stable
hartshorn. Oh! the reader shall have yet more of the stable,
and of that old ostler, for which he or she will doubtless
exclaim, "Much obliged!" - and, lest I should forget to
perform my promise, the reader shall have it now.

I shall never forget an harangue from the mouth of the old
man, which I listened to one warm evening as he and I sat on
the threshold of the stable, after having attended to some of
the wants of a batch of coach-horses. It related to the
manner in which a gentleman should take care of his horse and
self, whilst engaged in a journey on horseback, and was
addressed to myself, on the supposition of my one day coming
to an estate, and of course becoming a gentleman.

"When you are a gentleman," said he, "should you ever journey
on a horse of your own, and you could not have a much better
than the one you have here eating its fill in the box yonder
- I wonder, by the bye, how you ever came by it - you can't
do better than follow the advice I am about to give you, both
with respect to your animal and yourself. Before you start,
merely give your horse a couple of handfuls of corn and a
little water, somewhat under a quart, and if you drink a pint
of water yourself out of the pail, you will feel all the
better during the whole day; then you may walk and trot your
animal for about ten miles, till you come to some nice inn,
where you may get down and see your horse led into a nice
stall, telling the ostler not to feed him till you come. If
the ostler happens to be a dog-fancier, and has an English
terrier-dog like that of mine there, say what a nice dog it
is, and praise its black and tawn; and if he does not happen
to be a dog-fancier, ask him how he's getting on, and whether
he ever knew worse times; that kind of thing will please the
ostler, and he will let you do just what you please with your
own horse, and when your back is turned, he'll say to his
comrades what a nice gentleman you are, and how he thinks he
has seen you before; then go and sit down to breakfast, and,
before you have finished breakfast, get up and go and give
your horse a feed of corn; chat with the ostler two or three
minutes till your horse has taken the shine out of his corn,
which will prevent the ostler taking any of it away when your
back is turned, for such things are sometimes done - not that
I ever did such a thing myself when I was at the inn at
Hounslow. Oh, dear me, no! Then go and finish your
breakfast, and when you have finished your breakfast and
called for the newspaper, go and water your horse, letting
him have one pailful, then give him another feed of corn, and
enter into discourse with the ostler about bull-baiting, the
prime minister, and the like; and when your horse has once
more taken the shine out of his corn, go back to your room
and your newspaper - and I hope for your sake it may be the
GLOBE, for that's the best paper going - then pull the bell-
rope and order in your bill, which you will pay without
counting it up - supposing you to be a gentleman. Give the
waiter sixpence, and order out your horse, and when your
horse is out, pay for the corn, and give the ostler a
shilling, then mount your horse and walk him gently for five
miles; and whilst you are walking him in this manner, it may
be as well to tell you to take care that you do not let him
down and smash his knees, more especially if the road be a
particularly good one, for it is not at a desperate hiverman
pace, and over very bad roads, that a horse tumbles and
smashes his knees, but on your particularly nice road, when
the horse is going gently and lazily, and is half asleep,
like the gemman on his back; well, at the end of the five
miles, when the horse has digested his food, and is all
right, you may begin to push your horse on, trotting him a
mile at a heat, and then walking him a quarter of a one, that
his wind may be not distressed; and you may go on in that way
for thirty miles, never galloping, of course, for none but
fools or hivermen ever gallop horses on roads; and at the end
of that distance you may stop at some other nice inn to
dinner. I say, when your horse is led into the stable, after
that same thirty miles' trotting and walking, don't let the
saddle be whisked off at once, for if you do your horse will
have such a sore back as will frighten you, but let your
saddle remain on your horse's back, with the girths loosened,
till after his next feed of corn, and be sure that he has no
corn, much less water, till after a long hour and more; after
he is fed he may be watered to the tune of half a pail, and
then the ostler can give him a regular rub down; you may then
sit down to dinner, and when you have dined get up and see to
your horse as you did after breakfast, in fact, you must do
much after the same fashion you did at t'other inn; see to
your horse, and by no means disoblige the ostler. So when
you have seen to your horse a second time, you will sit down
to your bottle of wine - supposing you to be a gentleman -
and after you have finished it, and your argument about the
corn-laws with any commercial gentleman who happens to be in
the room, you may mount your horse again - not forgetting to
do the proper thing to the waiter and ostler; you may mount
your horse again and ride him, as you did before, for about
five and twenty miles, at the end of which you may put up for
the night after a very fair day's journey, for no gentleman -
supposing he weighs sixteen stone, as I suppose you will by
the time you become a gentleman - ought to ride a horse more
than sixty-five miles in one day, provided he has any regard
for his horse's back, or his own either. See to your horse
at night, and have him well rubbed down. The next day you
may ride your horse forty miles, just as you please, but
never foolishly, and those forty miles will bring you to your
journey's end, unless your journey be a plaguy long one, and
if so, never ride your horse more than five and thirty miles
a day, always, however, seeing him well fed, and taking more
care of him than yourself; which is but right and reasonable,
seeing as how the horse is the best animal of the two."

"When you are a gentleman," said he, after a pause, "the
first thing you must think about is to provide yourself with
a good horse for your own particular riding; you will,
perhaps, keep a coach and pair, but they will be less your
own than your lady's, should you have one, and your young
gentry, should you have any; or, if you have neither, for
madam, your housekeeper, and the upper female servants; so
you need trouble your head less about them, though, of
course, you would not like to pay away your money for screws;
but be sure you get a good horse for your own riding; and
that you may have a good chance of having a good one, buy one
that's young and has plenty of belly - a little more than the
one has which you now have, though you are not yet a
gentleman; you will, of course, look to his head, his
withers, legs and other points, but never buy a horse at any
price that has not plenty of belly; no horse that has not
belly is ever a good feeder, and a horse that a'n't a good
feeder can't be a good horse; never buy a horse that is drawn
up in the belly behind; a horse of that description can't
feed, and can never carry sixteen stone.