The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Romany Rye, by George Borrow


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Title: The Romany Rye


Author: George Borrow



Release Date: April 5, 2007  [eBook #422]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)


***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANY RYE***



Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent Edition by David Price, email
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk





THE ROMANY RYE


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," said 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; "hitherto 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 Roman lads, 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 chal 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 be 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 be 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 first-
rate 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 dook 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,
commending 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 wish to take a
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.

"So when you have got such a horse be proud of it--as I daresay you are
of the one you have now--and wherever you go swear there a'n't another to
match it in the country, and if anybody gives you the lie, take him by
the nose and tweak it off, just as you would do if anybody were to speak
ill of your lady, or, for want of her, of your housekeeper.  Take care of
your horse, as you would of the apple of your eye--I am sure I would, if
I were a gentleman, which I don't ever expect to be, and hardly wish,
seeing as how I am sixty-nine, and am rather too old to ride--yes,
cherish and take care of your horse as perhaps the best friend you have
in the world; for, after all, who will carry you through thick and thin
as your horse will? not your gentlemen friends, I warrant, nor your upper
servants, male or female; perhaps your lady would, that is, if she is a
whopper, and one of the right sort; the others would be more likely to
take up mud and pelt you with it, provided they saw you in trouble, than
to help you.  So take care of your horse, and feed him every day with
your own hands; give him three quarters of a peck of corn each day, mixed
up with a little hay-chaff, and allow him besides one hundredweight of
hay in the course of the week; some say that the hay should be hardland
hay, because it is the wholesomest, but I say, let it be clover hay,
because the horse likes it best; give him through summer and winter, once
a week, a pailful of bran mash, cold in summer and in winter hot; ride
him gently about the neighbourhood every day, by which means you will
give exercise to yourself and horse, and, moreover, have the satisfaction
of exhibiting yourself and your horse to advantage, and hearing, perhaps,
the men say what a fine horse, and the ladies saying what a fine man:
never let your groom mount your horse, as it is ten to one, if you do,
your groom will be wishing to show off before company, and will fling
your horse down.  I was groom to a gemman before I went to the inn at
Hounslow, and flung him a horse down worth ninety guineas, by
endeavouring to show off before some ladies that I met on the road.  Turn
your horse out to grass throughout May and the first part of June, for
then the grass is sweetest, and the flies don't sting so bad as they do
later in summer; afterwards merely turn him out occasionally in the swale
of the morn and the evening; after September the grass is good for
little, lash and sour at best; every horse should go out to grass, if not
his blood becomes full of greasy humours, and his wind is apt to become
affected, but he ought to be kept as much as possible from the heat and
flies, always got up at night, and never turned out late in the
year--Lord! if I had always such a nice attentive person to listen to me
as you are, I could go on talking about 'orses to the end of time."




CHAPTER XXVI


The Stage--Coachmen of England--A Bully Served Out--Broughton's Guard--The
Brazen Head.

I lived on very good terms, not only with the master and the old ostler,
but with all the domestics and hangers on at the inn; waiters,
chambermaids, cooks, and scullions, not forgetting the "boots," of which
there were three.  As for the postillions, I was sworn brother with them
all, and some of them went so far as to swear that I was the best fellow
in the world; for which high opinion entertained by them of me, I believe
I was principally indebted to the good account their comrade gave of me,
whom I had so hospitably received in the dingle.  I repeat that I lived
on good terms with all the people connected with the inn, and was noticed
and spoken kindly to by some of the guests--especially by that class
termed commercial travellers--all of whom were great friends and
patronizers of the landlord, and were the principal promoters of the
dinner, and subscribers to the gift of plate, which I have already spoken
of, the whole fraternity striking me as the jolliest set of fellows
imaginable, the best customers to an inn, and the most liberal to
servants; there was one description of persons, however, frequenting the
inn, which I did not like at all, and which I did not get on well with,
and these people were the stage-coachmen.

The stage-coachmen of England, at the time of which I am speaking,
considered themselves mighty fine gentry, nay, I verily believe the most
important personages of the realm, and their entertaining this high
opinion of themselves can scarcely be wondered at; they were low fellows,
but masters at driving; driving was in fashion, and sprigs of nobility
used to dress as coachmen and imitate the slang and behaviour of the
coachmen, from whom occasionally they would take lessons in driving as
they sat beside them on the box, which post of honour any sprig of
nobility who happened to take a place on a coach claimed as his
unquestionable right; and these sprigs would smoke cigars and drink
sherry with the coachmen in bar-rooms, and on the road; and, when bidding
them farewell, would give them a guinea or a half-guinea, and shake them
by the hand, so that these fellows, being low fellows, very naturally
thought no small liquor of themselves, but would talk familiarly of their
friends lords so and so, the honourable misters so and so, and Sir Harry
and Sir Charles, and be wonderfully saucy to any one who was not a lord,
or something of the kind; and this high opinion of themselves received
daily augmentation from the servile homage paid them by the generality of
the untitled male passengers, especially those on the fore part of the
coach, who used to contend for the honour of sitting on the box with the
coachman when no sprig was nigh to put in his claim.  Oh! what servile
homage these craven creatures did pay these same coach fellows, more
especially after witnessing this or t'other act of brutality practised
upon the weak and unoffending--upon some poor friendless woman travelling
with but little money, and perhaps a brace of hungry children with her,
or upon some thin and half-starved man travelling on the hind part of the
coach from London to Liverpool with only eighteen pence in his pocket
after his fare was paid, to defray his expenses on the road; for as the
insolence of these knights was vast, so was their rapacity enormous; they
had been so long accustomed to have crowns and half-crowns rained upon
them by their admirers and flatterers, that they would look at a
shilling, for which many an honest labourer was happy to toil for ten
hours under a broiling sun, with the utmost contempt; would blow upon it
derisively, or fillip it into the air before they pocketed it; but when
nothing was given them, as would occasionally happen--for how could they
receive from those who had nothing? and nobody was bound to give them
anything, as they had certain wages from their employers--then what a
scene would ensue!  Truly the brutality and rapacious insolence of
English coachmen had reached a climax; it was time that these fellows
should be disenchanted, and the time--thank Heaven!--was not far distant.
Let the craven dastards who used to curry favour with them, and applaud
their brutality, lament their loss now that they and their vehicles have
disappeared from the roads; I, who have ever been an enemy to insolence,
cruelty, and tyranny, loathe their memory, and, what is more, am not
afraid to say so, well aware of the storm of vituperation, partly learnt
from them, which I may expect from those who used to fall down and
worship them.

Amongst the coachmen who frequented the inn was one who was called "the
bang-up coachman."  He drove to our inn, in the fore part of every day,
one of what were called the fast coaches, and afterwards took back the
corresponding vehicle.  He stayed at our house about twenty minutes,
during which time the passengers of the coach which he was to return with
dined; those at least who were inclined for dinner, and could pay for it.
He derived his sobriquet of "the bang-up coachman" partly from his being
dressed in the extremity of coach dandyism, and partly from the peculiar
insolence of his manner, and the unmerciful fashion in which he was in
the habit of lashing on the poor horses committed to his charge.  He was
a large tall fellow, of about thirty, with a face which, had it not been
bloated by excess, and insolence and cruelty stamped most visibly upon
it, might have been called good-looking.  His insolence indeed was so
great, that he was hated by all the minor fry connected with coaches
along the road upon which he drove, especially the ostlers, whom he was
continually abusing or finding fault with.  Many was the hearty curse
which he received when his back was turned; but the generality of people
were much afraid of him, for he was a swinging strong fellow, and had the
reputation of being a fighter, and in one or two instances had beaten in
a barbarous manner individuals who had quarrelled with him.

I was nearly having a fracas with this worthy.  One day, after he had
been drinking sherry with a sprig, he swaggered into the yard where I
happened to be standing; just then a waiter came by carrying upon a tray
part of a splendid Cheshire cheese, with a knife, plate, and napkin.
Stopping the waiter, the coachman cut with the knife a tolerably large
lump out of the very middle of the cheese, stuck it on the end of the
knife, and putting it to his mouth nibbled a slight piece off it, and
then, tossing the rest away with disdain, flung the knife down upon the
tray, motioning the waiter to proceed; "I wish," said I, "you may not
want before you die what you have just flung away," whereupon the fellow
turned furiously towards me; just then, however, his coach being standing
at the door, there was a cry for coachman, so that he was forced to
depart, contenting himself for the present with shaking his fist at me,
and threatening to serve me out on the first opportunity; before,
however, the opportunity occurred he himself got served out in a most
unexpected manner.

The day after this incident he drove his coach to the inn, and after
having dismounted and received the contributions of the generality of the
passengers, he strutted up, with a cigar in his mouth, to an individual
who had come with him, and who had just asked me a question with respect
to the direction of a village about three miles off, to which he was
going.  "Remember the coachman," said the knight of the box to this
individual, who was a thin person of about sixty, with a white hat,
rather shabby black coat, and buff-coloured trousers, and who held an
umbrella and a small bundle in his hand.  "If you expect me to give you
anything," said he to the coachman, "you are mistaken; I will give you
nothing.  You have been very insolent to me as I rode behind you on the
coach, and have encouraged two or three trumpery fellows, who rode along
with you, to cut scurvy jokes at my expense, and now you come to me for
money; I am not so poor, but I could have given you a shilling had you
been civil; as it is, I will give you nothing."  "Oh! you won't, won't
you?" said the coachman; "dear me!  I hope I shan't starve because you
won't give me anything--a shilling! why, I could afford to give you
twenty if I thought fit, you pauper! civil to you, indeed! things are
come to a fine pass if I need be civil to you!  Do you know who you are
speaking to? why, the best lords in the country are proud to speak to me.
Why, it was only the other day that the Marquis of--said to me--" and
then he went on to say what the Marquis said to him; after which,
flinging down his cigar, he strutted up the road, swearing to himself
about paupers.

"You say it is three miles to ---," said the individual to me; "I think I
shall light my pipe, and smoke it as I go along."  Thereupon he took out
from a side-pocket a tobacco-box and short meerschaum pipe, and
implements for striking a light, filled his pipe, lighted it, and
commenced smoking.  Presently the coachman drew near.  I saw at once that
there was mischief in his eye; the man smoking was standing with his back
towards him, and he came so nigh to him, seemingly purposely, that as he
passed a puff of smoke came of necessity against his face.  "What do you
mean by smoking in my face?" said he, striking the pipe of the elderly
individual out of his mouth.  The other, without manifesting much
surprise, said, "I thank you; and if you will wait a minute, I will give
you a receipt for that favour;" then gathering up his pipe, and taking
off his coat and hat, he laid them on a stepping-block which stood near,
and rubbing his hands together, he advanced towards the coachman in an
attitude of offence, holding his hands crossed very near to his face.  The
coachman, who probably expected anything but such a movement from a
person of the age and appearance of the individual whom he had insulted,
stood for a moment motionless with surprise; but, recollecting himself,
he pointed at him derisively with his finger; the next moment, however,
the other was close upon him, had struck aside the extended hand with his
left fist, and given him a severe blow on the nose with his right, which
he immediately followed by a left-hand blow in the eye; then drawing his
body slightly backward, with the velocity of lightning he struck the
coachman full in the mouth, and the last blow was the severest of all,
for it cut the coachman's lips nearly through; blows so quickly and
sharply dealt I had never seen.  The coachman reeled like a fir-tree in a
gale, and seemed nearly unsensed.  "Ho! what's this? a fight! a fight!"
sounded from a dozen voices, and people came running from all directions
to see what was going on.  The coachman, coming somewhat to himself,
disencumbered himself of his coat and hat; and, encouraged by two or
three of his brothers of the whip, showed some symptoms of fighting,
endeavouring to close with his foe, but the attempt was vain, for his foe
was not to be closed with; he did not shift or dodge about, but warded
off the blows of his opponent with the greatest sang-froid, always using
the guard which I have already described, and putting in, in return,
short chopping blows with the swiftness of lightning.  In a very few
minutes the countenance of the coachman was literally cut to pieces, and
several of his teeth were dislodged; at length he gave in; stung with
mortification, however, he repented, and asked for another round; it was
granted, to his own complete demolition.  The coachman did not drive his
coach back that day, he did not appear on the box again for a week; but
he never held up his head afterwards.  Before I quitted the inn, he had
disappeared from the road, going no one knew where.

The coachman, as I have said before, was very much disliked upon the
road, but there was an esprit de corps amongst the coachmen, and those
who stood by did not like to see their brother chastised in such
tremendous fashion.  "I never saw such a fight before," said one.  "Fight!
why, I don't call it a fight at all; this chap here ha'n't got a scratch,
whereas Tom is cut to pieces; it is all along of that guard of his; if
Tom could have got within his guard he would have soon served the old
chap out."  "So he would," said another, "it was all owing to that guard.
However, I think I see into it, and if I had not to drive this afternoon,
I would have a turn with the old fellow and soon serve him out."  "I will
fight him now for a guinea," said the other coachman, half taking off his
coat; observing, however, that the elderly individual made a motion
towards him, he hitched it upon his shoulder again, and added, "that is,
if he had not been fighting already, but as it is, I am above taking an
advantage, especially of such a poor old creature as that."  And when he
had said this, he looked around him, and there was a feeble titter of
approbation from two or three of the craven crew, who were in the habit
of currying favour with the coachmen.  The elderly individual looked for
a moment at these last, and then said, "To such fellows as you I have
nothing to say;" then turning to the coachmen, "and as for you," he said,
"ye cowardly bullies, I have but one word, which is, that your reign upon
the roads is nearly over, and that a time is coming when ye will no
longer be wanted or employed in your present capacity, when ye will
either have to drive dung-carts, assist as ostlers at village ale-houses,
or rot in the workhouse."  Then putting on his coat and hat, and taking
up his bundle, not forgetting his meerschaum, and the rest of his smoking
apparatus, he departed on his way.  Filled with curiosity, I followed
him.

"I am quite astonished that you should be able to use your hands in the
way you have done," said I, as I walked with this individual in the
direction in which he was bound.

"I will tell you how I became able to do so," said the elderly
individual, proceeding to fill and light his pipe as he walked along.  "My
father was a journeyman engraver, who lived in a very riotous
neighbourhood in the outskirts of London.  Wishing to give me something
of an education, he sent me to a day-school, two or three streets distant
from where we lived, and there, being rather a puny boy, I suffered much
persecution from my schoolfellows, who were a very blackguard set.  One
day, as I was running home, with one of my tormentors pursuing me, old
Sergeant Broughton, the retired fighting-man, seized me by the arm--"

"Dear me," said I, "has it ever been your luck to be acquainted with
Sergeant Broughton?"

"You may well call it luck," said the elderly individual; "but for him I
should never have been able to make my way through the world.  He lived
only four doors from our house; so, as I was running along the street,
with my tyrant behind me, Sergeant Broughton seized me by the arm.  'Stop,
my boy,' said he; 'I have frequently seen that scamp ill-treating you;
now I will teach you how to send him home with a bloody nose; down with
your bag of books; and now, my game chick,' whispered he to me, placing
himself between me and my adversary, so that he could not observe his
motions; 'clench your fist in this manner, and hold your arms in this,
and when he strikes at you, move them as I now show you, and he can't
hurt you; now, don't be afraid, but go at him.'  I confess that I was
somewhat afraid, but I considered myself in some degree under the
protection of the famous Sergeant, and, clenching my fist, I went at my
foe, using the guard which my ally recommended.  The result corresponded
to a certain degree with the predictions of the Sergeant; I gave my foe a
bloody nose and a black eye, though, notwithstanding my recent lesson in
the art of self-defence, he contrived to give me two or three clumsy
blows.  From that moment I was the especial favourite of the Sergeant,
who gave me further lessons, so that in a little time I became a very
fair boxer, beating everybody of my own size who attacked me.  The old
gentleman, however, made me promise never to be quarrelsome, nor to turn
his instructions to account, except in self-defence.  I have always borne
in mind my promise, and have made it a point of conscience never to fight
unless absolutely compelled.  Folks may rail against boxing if they
please, but being able to box may sometimes stand a quiet man in good
stead.  How should I have fared to-day, but for the instructions of
Sergeant Broughton?  But for them, the brutal ruffian who insulted me
must have passed unpunished.  He will not soon forget the lesson which I
have just given him--the only lesson he could understand.  What would
have been the use of reasoning with a fellow of that description?  Brave
old Broughton!  I owe him much."

"And your manner of fighting," said I, "was the manner employed by
Sergeant Broughton?"

"Yes," said my new acquaintance; "it was the manner in which he beat
every one who attempted to contend with him, till, in an evil hour, he
entered the ring with Slack, without any training or preparation, and by
a chance blow lost the battle to a man who had been beaten with ease by
those who, in the hands of Broughton, appeared like so many children.  It
was the way of fighting of him who first taught Englishmen to box
scientifically, who was the head and father of the fighters of what is
now called the old school, the last of which were Johnson and Big Ben."

"A wonderful man, that Big Ben," said I.

"He was so," said the elderly individual; "but had it not been for
Broughton, I question whether Ben would have ever been the fighter he
was.  Oh! there was no one like old Broughton; but for him I should at
the present moment be sneaking along the road, pursued by the hissings
and hootings of the dirty flatterers of that blackguard coachman."

"What did you mean," said I, "by those words of yours, that the coachmen
would speedily disappear from the roads?"

"I meant," said he, "that a new method of travelling is about to be
established, which will supersede the old.  I am a poor engraver, as my
father was before me; but engraving is an intellectual trade, and by
following it, I have been brought in contact with some of the cleverest
men in England.  It has even made me acquainted with the projector of the
scheme, which he has told me many of the wisest heads of England have
been dreaming of during a period of six hundred years, and which it seems
was alluded to by a certain Brazen Head in the story-book of Friar Bacon,
who is generally supposed to have been a wizard, but in reality was a
great philosopher.  Young man, in less than twenty years, by which time I
shall be dead and gone, England will be surrounded with roads of metal,
on which armies may travel with mighty velocity, and of which the walls
of brass and iron by which the friar proposed to defend his native land
are the types."  He then, shaking me by the hand, proceeded on his way,
whilst I returned to the inn.




CHAPTER XXVII


Francis Ardry--His Misfortunes--Dog and Lion Fight--Great Men of the
World.

A few days after the circumstance which I have last commemorated, it
chanced that, as I was standing at the door of the inn, one of the
numerous stage-coaches which were in the habit of stopping there, drove
up, and several passengers got down.  I had assisted a woman with a
couple of children to dismount, and had just delivered to her a band-box,
which appeared to be her only property, which she had begged me to fetch
down from the roof, when I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder, and heard a
voice exclaim, "Is it possible, old fellow, that I find you in this
place?"  I turned round, and, wrapped in a large blue cloak, I beheld my
good friend Francis Ardry.  I shook him most warmly by the hand, and
said, "If you are surprised to see me, I am no less so to see you; where
are you bound to?"

"I am bound for L-; at any rate, I am booked for that sea-port," said my
friend in reply.

"I am sorry for it," said I, "for in that case we shall have to part in a
quarter of an hour, the coach by which you came stopping no longer."

"And whither are you bound?" demanded my friend.

"I am stopping at present in this house, quite undetermined as to what to
do."

"Then come along with me," said Francis Ardry.

"That I can scarcely do," said I; "I have a horse in the stall which I
cannot afford to ruin by racing to L--- by the side of your coach."

My friend mused for a moment: "I have no particular business at L---,"
said he; "I was merely going thither to pass a day or two, till an
affair, in which I am deeply interested, at C--- shall come off.  I think
I shall stay with you for four-and-twenty hours at least; I have been
rather melancholy of late, and cannot afford to part with a friend like
you at the present moment; it is an unexpected piece of good fortune to
have met you; and I have not been very fortunate of late," he added,
sighing.

"Well," said I, "I am glad to see you once more, whether fortunate, or
not; where is your baggage?"

"Yon trunk is mine," said Francis, pointing to a trunk of black Russian
leather upon the coach.

"We will soon have it down," said I; and at a word which I gave to one of
the hangers-on of the inn, the trunk was taken from the top of the coach.
"Now," said I to Francis Ardry, "follow me, I am a person of some
authority in this house;" thereupon I led Francis Ardry into the house,
and a word which I said to a waiter forthwith installed Francis Ardry in
a comfortable private sitting-room, and his trunk in the very best
sleeping-room of our extensive establishment.

It was now about one o'clock: Francis Ardry ordered dinner for two, to be
ready at four, and a pint of sherry to be brought forthwith, which I
requested my friend the waiter might be the very best, and which in
effect turned out as I requested; we sat down, and when we had drunk to
each other's health, Frank requested me to make known to him how I had
contrived to free myself from my embarrassments in London, what I had
been about since I quitted that city, and the present posture of my
affairs.

I related to Francis Ardry how I had composed the Life of Joseph Sell,
and how the sale of it to the bookseller had enabled me to quit London
with money in my pocket, which had supported me during a long course of
ramble in the country, into the particulars of which I, however, did not
enter with any considerable degree of fulness.  I summed up my account by
saying that "I was at present a kind of overlooker in the stables of the
inn, had still some pounds in my purse, and, moreover, a capital horse in
the stall."

"No very agreeable posture of affairs," said Francis Ardry, looking
rather seriously at me.

"I make no complaints," said I, "my prospects are not very bright, it is
true, but sometimes I have visions both waking and sleeping, which,
though always strange, are invariably agreeable.  Last night, in my
chamber near the hayloft, I dreamt that I had passed over an almost
interminable wilderness--an enormous wall rose before me, the wall,
methought, was the great wall of China:--strange figures appeared to be
beckoning to me from the top of the wall; such visions are not exactly to
be sneered at.  Not that such phantasmagoria," said I, raising my voice,
"are to be compared for a moment with such desirable things as fashion,
fine clothes, cheques from uncles, parliamentary interest, the love of
splendid females.  Ah! woman's love," said I, and sighed.

"What's the matter with the fellow?" said Francis Ardry.

"There is nothing like it," said I.

"Like what?"

"Love, divine love," said I.

"Confound love," said Francis Ardry, "I hate the very name; I have made
myself a pretty fool by it, but trust me for ever being at such folly
again.  In an evil hour I abandoned my former pursuits and amusements for
it; in one morning spent at Joey's there was more real pleasure than in--"

"Surely," said I, "you are not hankering after dog-fighting again, a
sport which none but the gross and unrefined care anything for?  No,
one's thoughts should be occupied by something higher and more rational
than dog-fighting; and what better than love--divine love?  Oh, there's
nothing like it!"

"Pray, don't talk nonsense," said Francis Ardry.

"Nonsense," said I; "why I was repeating, to the best of my recollection,
what I heard you say on a former occasion."

"If ever I talked such stuff," said Francis Ardry, "I was a fool; and
indeed I cannot deny that I have been one: no, there's no denying that I
have been a fool.  What do you think? that false Annette has cruelly
abandoned me."

"Well," said I, "perhaps you have yourself to thank for her having done
so; did you never treat her with coldness, and repay her marks of
affectionate interest with strange fits of eccentric humour?"

"Lord! how little you know of women," said Francis Ardry; "had I done as
you suppose, I should probably have possessed her at the present moment.
I treated her in a manner diametrically opposite to that.  I loaded her
with presents, was always most assiduous to her, always at her feet, as I
may say, yet she nevertheless abandoned me--and for whom?  I am almost
ashamed to say--for a fiddler."

I took a glass of wine, Francis Ardry followed my example, and then
proceeded to detail to me the treatment which he had experienced from
Annette, and from what he said, it appeared that her conduct to him had
been in the highest degree reprehensible; notwithstanding he had indulged
her in everything, she was never civil to him, but loaded him continually
with taunts and insults, and had finally, on his being unable to supply
her with a sum of money which she had demanded, decamped from the
lodgings which he had taken for her, carrying with her all the presents
which at various times he had bestowed upon her, and had put herself
under the protection of a gentleman who played the bassoon at the Italian
Opera, at which place it appeared that her sister had lately been engaged
as a danseuse.  My friend informed me that at first he had experienced
great agony at the ingratitude of Annette, but at last had made up his
mind to forget her, and, in order more effectually to do so, had left
London with the intention of witnessing a fight, which was shortly coming
off at a town in these parts, between some dogs and a lion; which combat,
he informed me, had for some time past been looked forward to with
intense eagerness by the gentlemen of the sporting world.

I commended him for his resolution, at the same time advising him not to
give up his mind entirely to dog-fighting, as he had formerly done, but,
when the present combat should be over, to return to his rhetorical
studies, and above all to marry some rich and handsome lady on the first
opportunity, as, with his person and expectations, he had only to sue for
the hand of the daughter of a marquis to be successful, telling him, with
a sigh, that all women were not Annettes, and that, upon the whole, there
was nothing like them.  To which advice he answered, that he intended to
return to rhetoric as soon as the lion fight should be over, but that he
never intended to marry, having had enough of women; adding that he was
glad he had no sister, as, with the feelings which he entertained with
respect to her sex, he should be unable to treat her with common
affection, and concluded by repeating a proverb which he had learnt from
an Arab whom he had met at Venice, to the effect, that, "one who has been
stung by a snake, shivers at the sight of a sting."

After a little more conversation, we strolled to the stable, where my
horse was standing; my friend, who was a connoisseur in horseflesh,
surveyed the animal with attention, and after inquiring where and how I
had obtained him, asked what I intended to do with him; on my telling him
that I was undetermined, and that I was afraid the horse was likely to
prove a burden to me, he said, "It is a noble animal, and if you mind
what you are about, you may make a small fortune by him.  I do not want
such an animal myself, nor do I know any one who does; but a great horse-
fair will be held shortly at a place where, it is true, I have never
been, but of which I have heard a great deal from my acquaintances, where
it is said a first-rate horse is always sure to fetch its value; that
place is Horncastle, in Lincolnshire, you should take him thither."

Francis Ardry and myself dined together, and after dinner partook of a
bottle of the best port which the inn afforded.  After a few glasses, we
had a great deal of conversation; I again brought the subject of marriage
and love, divine love, upon the carpet, but Francis almost immediately
begged me to drop it; and on my having the delicacy to comply, he
reverted to dog-fighting, on which he talked well and learnedly; amongst
other things, he said it was a princely sport of great antiquity, and
quoted from Quintus Curtius to prove that the princes of India must have
been of the fancy, they having, according to that author, treated
Alexander to a fight between certain dogs and a lion.  Becoming,
notwithstanding my friend's eloquence and learning, somewhat tired of the
subject, I began to talk about Alexander.  Francis Ardry said he was one
of the two great men whom the world has produced, the other being
Napoleon; I replied that I believed Tamerlane was a greater man than
either; but Francis Ardry knew nothing of Tamerlane, save what he had
gathered from the play of Timour the Tartar.  "No," said he, "Alexander
and Napoleon are the great men of the world, their names are known
everywhere.  Alexander has been dead upwards of two thousand years, but
the very English bumpkins sometimes christen their boys by the name of
Alexander--can there be a greater evidence of his greatness?  As for
Napoleon, there are some parts of India in which his bust is worshipped."
Wishing to make up a triumvirate, I mentioned the name of Wellington, to
which Francis Ardry merely said, "bah!" and resumed the subject of dog-
fighting.

Francis Ardry remained at the inn during that day and the next, and then
departed to the dog and lion fight; I never saw him afterwards, and
merely heard of him once after a lapse of some years, and what I then
heard was not exactly what I could have wished to hear.  He did not make
much of the advantages which he possessed, a pity, for how great were
those advantages--person, intellect, eloquence, connection, riches! yet,
with all these advantages, one thing highly needful seems to have been
wanting in Francis.  A desire, a craving, to perform something great and
good.  Oh! what a vast deal may be done with intellect, courage, riches,
accompanied by the desire of doing something great and good!  Why, a
person may carry the blessings of civilization and religion to barbarous,
yet at the same time beautiful and romantic lands; and what a triumph
there is for him who does so! what a crown of glory! of far greater value
than those surrounding the brows of your mere conquerors.  Yet who has
done so in these times?  Not many; not three, not two, something seems to
have been always wanting; there is, however, one instance, in which the
various requisites have been united, and the crown, the most desirable in
the world--at least which I consider to be the most desirable--achieved,
and only one, that of Brooke of Borneo.




CHAPTER XXVIII


Mr. Platitude and the Man in Black--The Postillion's Adventures--The Lone
House--A Goodly Assemblage.

It never rains, but it pours.  I was destined to see at this inn more
acquaintances than one.  On the day of Francis Ardry's departure, shortly
after he had taken leave of me, as I was standing in the corn-chamber, at
a kind of writing-table or desk, fastened to the wall, with a book before
me, in which I was making out an account of the corn and hay lately
received and distributed, my friend the postillion came running in out of
breath.  "Here they both are," he gasped out; "pray do come and look at
them."

"Whom do you mean?" said I.

"Why, that red-haired Jack Priest, and that idiotic parson, Platitude;
they have just been set down by one of the coaches, and want a postchaise
to go across the country in; and what do you think?  I am to have the
driving of them.  I have no time to lose, for I must get myself ready; so
do come and look at them."

I hastened into the yard of the inn; two or three of the helpers of our
establishment were employed in drawing forward a postchaise out of the
chaise-house, which occupied one side of the yard, and which was spacious
enough to contain nearly twenty of these vehicles, though it was never
full, several of them being always out upon the roads, as the demand upon
us for postchaises across the country was very great.  "There they are,"
said the postillion, softly, nodding towards two individuals, in one of
whom I recognized the man in black, and in the other Mr. Platitude;
"there they are; have a good look at them, while I go and get ready."  The
man in black and Mr. Platitude were walking up and down the yard, Mr.
Platitude was doing his best to make himself appear ridiculous, talking
very loudly in exceedingly bad Italian, evidently for the purpose of
attracting the notice of the bystanders, in which he succeeded, all the
stable-boys and hangers-on about the yard, attracted by his vociferation,
grinning at his ridiculous figure as he limped up and down.  The man in
black said little or nothing, but from the glances which he cast sideways
appeared to be thoroughly ashamed of his companion; the worthy couple
presently arrived close to where I was standing, and the man in black,
who was nearest to me, perceiving me, stood still as if hesitating, but
recovering himself in a moment, he moved on without taking any farther
notice; Mr. Platitude exclaimed as they passed in broken lingo, "I hope
we shall find the holy doctors all assembled," and as they returned, "I
make no doubt that they will all be rejoiced to see me."  Not wishing to
be standing an idle gazer, I went to the chaise and assisted in attaching
the horses, which had now been brought out, to the pole.  The postillion
presently arrived, and finding all ready took the reins and mounted the
box, whilst I very politely opened the door for the two travellers; Mr.
Platitude got in first, and, without taking any notice of me, seated
himself on the farther side.  In got the man in black, and seated himself
nearest to me.  "All is right," said I, as I shut the door, whereupon the
postillion cracked his whip, and the chaise drove out of the yard.  Just
as I shut the door, however, and just as Mr. Platitude had recommenced
talking in jergo, at the top of his voice, the man in black turned his
face partly towards me, and gave me a wink with his left eye.

I did not see my friend the postillion till the next morning, when he
gave me an account of the adventures he had met with on his expedition.
It appeared that he had driven the man in black and the Reverend
Platitude across the country by roads and lanes which he had some
difficulty in threading.  At length, when he had reached a part of the
country where he had never been before, the man in black pointed out to
him a house near the corner of a wood, to which he informed him they were
bound.  The postillion said it was a strange-looking house, with a wall
round it; and, upon the whole, bore something of the look of a madhouse.
There was already a postchaise at the gate, from which three individuals
had alighted--one of them the postillion said was a mean-looking
scoundrel, with a regular petty-larceny expression in his countenance.  He
was dressed very much like the man in black, and the postillion said that
he could almost have taken his Bible oath that they were both of the same
profession.  The other two he said were parsons, he could swear that,
though he had never seen them before; there could be no mistake about
them.  Church of England parsons the postillion swore they were, with
their black coats, white cravats, and airs, in which clumsiness and
conceit were most funnily blended--Church of England parsons of the
Platitude description, who had been in Italy, and seen the Pope, and
kissed his toe, and picked up a little broken Italian, and come home
greater fools than they went forth.  It appeared that they were all
acquaintances of Mr. Platitude, for when the postillion had alighted and
let Mr. Platitude and his companion out of the chaise, Mr. Platitude
shook the whole three by the hand, conversed with his two brothers in a
little broken jergo, and addressed the petty-larceny looking individual
by the title of Reverend Doctor.  In the midst of these greetings,
however, the postillion said the man in black came up to him, and
proceeded to settle with him for the chaise; he had shaken hands with
nobody, and had merely nodded to the others; "and now," said the
postillion, "he evidently wished to get rid of me, fearing, probably,
that I should see too much of the nonsense that was going on.  It was
whilst settling with me that he seemed to recognize me for the first
time, for he stared hard at me, and at last asked whether I had not been
in Italy; to which question, with a nod and a laugh, I replied that I
had.  I was then going to ask him about the health of the image of Holy
Mary, and to say that I hoped it had recovered from its horsewhipping;
but he interrupted me, paid me the money for the fare, and gave me a
crown for myself, saying he would not detain me any longer.  I say,
partner, I am a poor postillion, but when he gave me the crown I had a
good mind to fling it in his face.  I reflected, however, that it was not
mere gift-money, but coin which I had earned, and hardly too, so I put it
in my pocket, and I bethought me, moreover, that, knave as I knew him to
be, he had always treated me with civility; so I nodded to him, and he
said something which, perhaps, he meant for Latin, but which sounded very
much like 'vails,' and by which he doubtless alluded to the money which
he had given me.  He then went into the house with the rest, the coach
drove away which had brought the others, and I was about to get on the
box and follow; observing, however, two more chaises driving up, I
thought I would be in no hurry, so I just led my horses and chaise a
little out of the way, and pretending to be occupied about the harness, I
kept a tolerably sharp look-out at the new arrivals.  Well, partner, the
next vehicle that drove up was a gentleman's carriage which I knew very
well, as well as those within it, who were a father and son, the father a
good kind old gentleman, and a justice of the peace, therefore not very
wise, as you may suppose; the son a puppy who has been abroad, where he
contrived to forget his own language, though only nine months absent, and
now rules the roast over his father and mother, whose only child he is,
and by whom he is thought wondrous clever.  So this foreigneering chap
brings his poor old father to this out-of-the-way house to meet these
Platitudes and petty-larceny villains, and perhaps would have brought his
mother too, only, simple thing, by good fortune she happens to be laid up
with the rheumatic.  Well, the father and son, I beg pardon, I mean the
son and father, got down and went in, and then after their carriage was
gone, the chaise behind drove up, in which was a huge fat fellow,
weighing twenty stone at least, but with something of a foreign look, and
with him--who do you think?  Why, a rascally Unitarian minister, that is,
a fellow who had been such a minister, but who, some years ago leaving
his own people, who had bred him up and sent him to their college at
York, went over to the High Church, and is now, I suppose, going over to
some other church, for he was talking, as he got down, wondrous fast in
Latin, or what sounded something like Latin, to the fat fellow, who
appeared to take things wonderfully easy, and merely grunted to the dog
Latin which the scoundrel had learnt at the expense of the poor
Unitarians at York.  So they went into the house, and presently arrived
another chaise, but ere I could make any further observations, the porter
of the out-of-the-way house came up to me, asking what I was stopping
there for? bidding me go away, and not pry into other people's business.
'Pretty business,' said I to him, 'that is being transacted in a place
like this,' and then I was going to say something uncivil, but he went to
attend to the new comers, and I took myself away on my own business as he
bade me, not, however, before observing that these two last were a couple
of blackcoats."

The postillion then proceeded to relate how he made the best of his way
to a small public-house, about a mile off, where he had intended to bait,
and how he met on the way a landau and pair, belonging to a Scotch
coxcomb whom he had known in London, about whom he related some curious
particulars, and then continued: "Well, after I had passed him and his
turn-out, I drove straight to the public-house, where I baited my horses,
and where I found some of the chaises and drivers who had driven the
folks to the lunatic-looking mansion, and were now waiting to take them
up again.  Whilst my horses were eating their bait, I sat me down, as the
weather was warm, at a table outside, and smoked a pipe, and drank some
ale, in company with the coachman of the old gentleman who had gone to
the house with his son, and the coachman then told me that the house was
a Papist house, and that the present was a grand meeting of all the fools
and rascals in the country, who came to bow down to images, and to
concert schemes--pretty schemes no doubt--for overturning the religion of
the country, and that for his part he did not approve of being concerned
with such doings, and that he was going to give his master warning next
day.  So, as we were drinking and discoursing, up drove the chariot of
the Scotchman, and down got his valet and the driver, and whilst the
driver was seeing after the horses, the valet came and sat down at the
table where the gentleman's coachman and I were drinking.  I knew the
fellow well, a Scotchman like his master, and just of the same kidney,
with white kid gloves, red hair frizzled, a patch of paint on his face,
and his hands covered with rings.  This very fellow, I must tell you, was
one of those most busy in endeavouring to get me turned out of the
servants' club in Park Lane, because I happened to serve a literary man;
so he sat down, and in a kind of affected tone cried out, 'Landlord,
bring me a glass of cold negus.'  The landlord, however, told him that
there was no negus, but that if he pleased, he could have a jug of as
good beer as any in the country.  'Confound the beer,' said the valet,
'do you think that I am accustomed to such vulgar beverage?'  However, as
he found there was nothing better to be had, he let the man bring him
some beer, and when he had got it, soon showed that he could drink it
easily enough; so, when he had drunk two or three draughts, he turned his
eyes in a contemptuous manner, first, on the coachman, and then on me: I
saw the scamp recollected me, for after staring at me and my dress for
about half a minute, he put on a broad grin, and flinging his head back,
he uttered a loud laugh.  Well, I did not like this, as you may well
believe, and taking the pipe out of my mouth, I asked him if he meant
anything personal, to which he answered, that he had said nothing to me,
and that he had a right to look where he pleased, and laugh when he
pleased.  Well, as to a certain extent he was right, as to looking and
laughing; and as I have occasionally looked at a fool and laughed, though
I was not the fool in this instance, I put my pipe into my mouth and said
no more.  This quiet and well-regulated behaviour of mine, however, the
fellow interpreted into fear; so, after drinking a little more, he
suddenly started up, and striding once or twice before the table, he
asked me what I meant by that impertinent question of mine, saying that
he had a good mind to wring my nose for my presumption.  'You have?' said
I, getting up, and laying down my pipe.  'Well, I'll now give you an
opportunity.'  So I put myself in an attitude, and went up to him, saying
'I have an old score to settle with you, you scamp; you wanted to get me
turned out of the club, didn't you?'  And thereupon, remembering that he
had threatened to wring my nose, I gave him a snorter upon his own.  I
wish you could have seen the fellow when he felt the smart; so far from
trying to defend himself, he turned round, and with his hand to his face,
attempted to run away; but I was now in a regular passion, and following
him up, got before him, and was going to pummel away at him, when he
burst into tears, and begged me not to hurt him, saying that he was sorry
if he had offended me, and that, if I pleased, he would go down on his
knees, or do anything else I wanted.  Well, when I heard him talk in this
manner, I, of course, let him be; I could hardly help laughing at the
figure he cut; his face all blubbered with tears, and blood and paint;
but I did not laugh at the poor creature either, but went to the table
and took up my pipe, and smoked and drank as if nothing had happened; and
the fellow, after having been to the pump, came and sat down, crying, and
trying to curry favour with me and the coachman; presently, however,
putting on a confidential look, he began to talk of the Popish house, and
of the doings there, and said he supposed as how we were of the party,
and that it was all right; and then he began to talk of the Pope of Rome,
and what a nice man he was, and what a fine thing it was to be of his
religion, especially if folks went over to him; and how it advanced them
in the world, and gave them consideration; and how his master, who had
been abroad and seen the Pope, and kissed his toe, was going over to the
Popish religion, and had persuaded him to consent to do so, and to
forsake his own, which I think the scoundrel called the 'Piscopal Church
of Scotland, and how many others of that church were going over, thinking
to better their condition in life by so doing, and to be more thought on;
and how many of the English Church were thinking of going over too--and
that he had no doubt that it would all end right and comfortably.  Well,
as he was going on in this way, the old coachman began to spit, and
getting up, flung all the beer that was in his jug upon the ground, and
going away, ordered another jug of beer, and sat down at another table,
saying that he would not drink in such company; and I too got up, and
flung what beer remained in my jug, there wasn't more than a drop, in the
fellow's face, saying, I would scorn to drink any more in such company;
and then I went to my horses, put them to, paid my reckoning, and drove
home."

The postillion having related his story, to which I listened with all due
attention, mused for a moment, and then said, "I dare say you remember
how, some time since, when old Bill had been telling us how the
Government a long time ago, had done away with robbing on the highway, by
putting down the public-houses and places which the highwaymen
frequented, and by sending a good mounted police to hunt them down, I
said that it was a shame that the present Government did not employ
somewhat the same means in order to stop the proceedings of Mumbo Jumbo
and his gang now-a-days in England.  Howsomever, since I have driven a
fare to a Popish rendezvous, and seen something of what is going on
there, I should conceive that the Government are justified in allowing
the gang the free exercise of their calling.  Anybody is welcome to stoop
and pick up nothing, or worse than nothing, and if Mumbo Jumbo's people,
after their expeditions, return to their haunts with no better plunder in
the shape of converts than what I saw going into yonder place of call, I
should say they are welcome to what they get; for if that's the kind of
rubbish they steal out of the Church of England, or any other church, who
in his senses but would say a good riddance, and many thanks for your
trouble: at any rate, that is my opinion of the matter."




CHAPTER XXIX


Deliberations with Self-Resolution--Invitation to Dinner--The Commercial
Traveller--The Landlord's Offer--The Comet Wine.

It was now that I had frequent deliberations with myself.  Should I
continue at the inn in my present position?  I was not very much
captivated with it; there was little poetry in keeping an account of the
corn, hay, and straw which came in, and was given out, and I was fond of
poetry; moreover, there was no glory at all to be expected in doing so,
and I was fond of glory.  Should I give up that situation, and remaining
at the inn, become ostler under old Bill?  There was more poetry in
rubbing down horses than in keeping an account of straw, hay, and corn;
there was also some prospect of glory attached to the situation of
ostler, for the grooms and stable-boys occasionally talked of an ostler,
a great way down the road, who had been presented by some sporting
people, not with a silver vase, as our governor had been, but with a
silver currycomb, in testimony of their admiration for his skill; but I
confess that the poetry of rubbing down had become, as all other poetry
becomes, rather prosy by frequent repetition, and with respect to the
chance of deriving glory from the employment, I entertained, in the event
of my determining to stay, very slight hope of ever attaining skill in
the ostler art sufficient to induce sporting people to bestow upon me a
silver currycomb.  I was not half so good an ostler as old Bill, who had
never been presented with a silver currycomb, and I never expected to
become so, therefore what chance had I?  It was true, there was a
prospect of some pecuniary emolument to be derived by remaining in either
situation.  It was very probable that, provided I continued to keep an
account of the hay and corn coming in and expended, the landlord would
consent to allow me a pound a week, which at the end of a dozen years,
provided I kept myself sober, would amount to a considerable sum.  I
might, on the retirement of old Bill, by taking his place, save up a
decent sum of money, provided, unlike him, I kept myself sober, and laid
by all the shillings and sixpences I got; but the prospect of laying up a
decent sum of money was not of sufficient importance to induce me to
continue either at my wooden desk, or in the inn-yard.  The reader will
remember what difficulty I had to make up my mind to become a merchant
under the Armenian's auspices, even with the prospect of making two or
three hundred thousand pounds by following the Armenian way of doing
business, so it was not probable that I should feel disposed to be a book-
keeper or ostler all my life with no other prospect than being able to
make a tidy sum of money.  If indeed, besides the prospect of making a
tidy sum at the end of perhaps forty years' ostlering, I had been certain
of being presented with a silver currycomb with my name engraved upon it,
which I might have left to my descendants, or, in default thereof, to the
parish church destined to contain my bones, with directions that it might
be soldered into the wall above the arch leading from the body of the
church into the chancel--I will not say with such a certainty of
immortality, combined with such a prospect of moderate pecuniary
advantage,--I might not have thought it worth my while to stay, but I
entertained no such certainty, and, taking everything into consideration,
I determined to mount my horse and leave the inn.

This horse had caused me for some time past no little perplexity; I had
frequently repented of having purchased him, more especially as the
purchase had been made with another person's money, and had more than
once shown him to people who, I imagined, were likely to purchase him;
but, though they were profuse in his praise, as people generally are in
the praise of what they don't intend to purchase, they never made me an
offer, and now that I had determined to mount on his back and ride away,
what was I to do with him in the sequel?  I could not maintain him long.
Suddenly I bethought me of Horncastle, which Francis Ardry had mentioned
as a place where the horse was likely to find a purchaser, and not having
determined upon any particular place to which to repair, I thought that I
could do no better than betake myself to Horncastle in the first
instance, and there endeavour to dispose of my horse.

On making inquiries with respect to the situation of Horncastle, and the
time when the fair would be held, I learned that the town was situated in
Lincolnshire, about a hundred and fifty miles from the inn at which I was
at present sojourning, and that the fair would be held nominally within
about a month, but that it was always requisite to be on the spot some
days before the nominal day of the fair, as all the best horses were
generally sold before that time, and the people who came to purchase gone
away with what they had bought.

The people of the inn were very sorry on being informed of my
determination to depart.  Old Bill told me that he had hoped as how I had
intended to settle down there, and to take his place as ostler when he
was fit for no more work, adding, that though I did not know much of the
business, yet he had no doubt but that I might improve.  My friend the
postillion was particularly sorry, and taking me with him to the tap-room
called for two pints of beer, to one of which he treated me; and whilst
we were drinking told me how particularly sorry he was at the thought of
my going, but that he hoped I should think better of the matter.  On my
telling him that I must go, he said that he trusted I should put off my
departure for three weeks, in order that I might be present at his
marriage, the banns of which were just about to be published.  He said
that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to see me dance a
minuet with his wife after the marriage dinner; but I told him it was
impossible that I should stay, my affairs imperatively calling me
elsewhere; and that with respect to my dancing a minuet, such a thing was
out of the question, as I had never learned to dance.  At which he said
that he was exceedingly sorry, and finding me determined to go, wished me
success in all my undertakings.

The master of the house, to whom, as in duty bound, I communicated my
intention before I spoke of it to the servants, was, I make no doubt,
very sorry, though he did not exactly tell me so.  What he said was, that
he had never expected that I should remain long there, as such a
situation never appeared to him quite suitable to me, though I had been
very diligent, and had given him perfect satisfaction.  On his inquiring
when I intended to depart, I informed him next day, whereupon he begged
that I would defer my departure till the next day but one, and do him the
favour of dining with him on the morrow.  I informed him that I should be
only too happy.

On the following day at four o'clock I dined with the landlord, in
company with a commercial traveller.  The dinner was good, though plain,
consisting of boiled mackerel--rather a rarity in those parts at that
time--with fennel sauce, a prime baron of roast beef after the mackerel,
then a tart and noble Cheshire cheese; we had prime sherry at dinner, and
whilst eating the cheese prime porter, that of Barclay, the only good
porter in the world.  After the cloth was removed we had a bottle of very
good port; and whilst partaking of the port I had an argument with the
commercial traveller on the subject of the corn-laws.

The commercial traveller, having worsted me in the argument on the
subject of the corn-laws, got up in great glee, saying that he must order
his gig, as business must be attended to.  Before leaving the room,
however, he shook me patronizingly by the hand, and said something to the
master of the house, but in so low a tone that it escaped my ear.

No sooner had he departed than the master of the house told me that his
friend the traveller had just said that I was a confounded sensible young
fellow, and not at all opinionated, a sentiment in which he himself
perfectly agreed--then hemming once or twice, he said that as I was going
on a journey he hoped I was tolerably well provided with money, adding
that travelling was rather expensive, especially on horseback, the manner
in which he supposed, as I had a horse in the stable, I intended to
travel.  I told him that though I was not particularly well supplied with
money, I had sufficient for the expenses of my journey, at the end of
which I hoped to procure more.  He then hemmed again, and said that since
I had been at the inn I had rendered him a great deal of service in more
ways than one, and that he should not think of permitting me to depart
without making me some remuneration; then putting his hand into his
waistcoat pocket, he handed me a cheque for ten pounds, which he had
prepared beforehand, the value of which he said I could receive at the
next town, or that, if I wished it, any waiter in the house would cash it
for me.  I thanked him for his generosity in the best terms I could
select, but, handing him back the cheque, I told him that I could not
accept it, saying, that, so far from his being my debtor, I believed
myself to be indebted to him, as not only myself but my horse had been
living at his house for several weeks.  He replied, that as for my board
at a house like his it amounted to nothing, and as for the little corn
and hay which the horse had consumed it was of no consequence, and that
he must insist upon my taking the cheque.  But I again declined, telling
him that doing so would be a violation of a rule which I had determined
to follow, and which nothing but the greatest necessity would ever compel
me to break through--never to incur obligations.  "But," said he,
"receiving this money will not be incurring an obligation, it is your
due."  "I do not think so," said I; "I did not engage to serve you for
money, nor will I take any from you."  "Perhaps you will take it as a
loan?" said he.  "No," I replied, "I never borrow."  "Well," said the
landlord, smiling, "you are different from all others that I am
acquainted with.  I never yet knew any one else who scrupled to borrow
and receive obligations; why, there are two baronets in the neighbourhood
who have borrowed money of me, ay, and who have never repaid what they
borrowed; and there are a dozen squires who are under considerable
obligations to me, who I dare say will never return them.  Come, you need
not be more scrupulous than your superiors--I mean in station."  "Every
vessel must stand on its own bottom," said I; "they take pleasure in
receiving obligations, I take pleasure in being independent.  Perhaps
they are wise, and I am a fool, I know not, but one thing I am certain
of, which is, that were I not independent I should be very unhappy: I
should have no visions then."  "Have you any relations?" said the
landlord, looking at me compassionately; "excuse me, but I don't think
you are exactly fit to take care of yourself."  "There you are mistaken,"
said I, "I can take precious good care of myself; ay, and can drive a
precious hard bargain when I have occasion, but driving bargains is a
widely different thing from receiving gifts.  I am going to take my horse
to Horncastle, and when there I shall endeavour to obtain his full
value--ay to the last penny."

"Horncastle!" said the landlord, "I have heard of that place; you mustn't
be dreaming visions when you get there, or they'll steal the horse from
under you.  Well," said he, rising, "I shall not press you further on the
subject of the cheque.  I intend, however, to put you under an obligation
to me."  He then rang the bell, and having ordered two fresh glasses to
be brought, he went out and presently returned with a small pint bottle,
which he uncorked with his own hand; then sitting down, he said, "The
wine that I bring here, is port of eighteen hundred and eleven, the year
of the comet, the best vintage on record; the wine which we have been
drinking," he added, "is good, but not to be compared with this, which I
never sell, and which I am chary of.  When you have drunk some of it, I
think you will own that I have conferred an obligation upon you;" he then
filled the glasses, the wine which he poured out diffusing an aroma
through the room; then motioning me to drink, he raised his own glass to
his lips, saying, "Come, friend, I drink to your success at Horncastle."




CHAPTER XXX


Triumphal Departure--No Season like Youth--Extreme Old Age--Beautiful
England--The Ratcatcher--A Misadventure.

I departed from the inn much in the same fashion as I had come to it,
mounted on a splendid horse indifferently well caparisoned, with the
small valise attached to my crupper, in which, besides the few things I
had brought with me, was a small book of roads with a map which had been
presented to me by the landlord.  I must not forget to state that I did
not ride out of the yard, but that my horse was brought to me at the
front door by old Bill, who insisted upon doing so, and who refused a
five-shilling piece which I offered him; and it will be as well to let
the reader know that the landlord shook me by the hand as I mounted, and
that the people attached to the inn, male and female--my friend the
postillion at the head--assembled before the house to see me off, and
gave me three cheers as I rode away.  Perhaps no person ever departed
from an inn with more eclat or better wishes; nobody looked at me
askance, except two stage-coachmen who were loitering about, one of whom
said to his companion, "I say, Jim! twig his portmanteau! a regular
Newmarket turn-out, by--!"

It was in the cool of the evening of a bright day--all the days of that
summer were bright--that I departed.  I felt at first rather melancholy
at finding myself again launched into the wide world, and leaving the
friends whom I had lately made behind me; but by occasionally trotting
the horse, and occasionally singing a song of Romanvile, I had dispelled
the feeling of melancholy by the time I had proceeded three miles down
the main road.  It was at the end of these three miles, just opposite a
milestone, that I struck into a cross road.  After riding about seven
miles, threading what are called, in postillion parlance, cross-country
roads, I reached another high road, tending to the east, along which I
proceeded for a mile or two, when coming to a small inn, about nine
o'clock, I halted and put up for the night.

Early on the following morning I proceeded on my journey, but fearing to
gall the horse, I no longer rode him, but led him by the bridle, until I
came to a town at the distance of about ten miles from the place where I
had passed the night.  Here I stayed during the heat of the day, more on
the horse's account than my own, and towards evening resumed my journey,
leading the animal by the bridle as before; and in this manner I
proceeded for several days, travelling on an average from twenty to
twenty-five miles a day, always leading the animal, except perhaps now
and then of an evening, when, if I saw a good piece of road before me, I
would mount and put the horse into a trot, which the creature seemed to
enjoy as much as myself, showing his satisfaction by snorting and
neighing, whilst I gave utterance to my own exhilaration by shouts, or by
"the chi she is kaulo she soves pre lakie dumo," or by something else of
the same kind in Romanvile.

On the whole, I journeyed along very pleasantly, certainly quite as
pleasantly as I do at present, now that I am become a gentleman and weigh
sixteen stone, though some people would say that my present manner of
travelling is much the most preferable, riding as I now do, instead of
leading my horse; receiving the homage of ostlers instead of their
familiar nods; sitting down to dinner in the parlour of the best inn I
can find, instead of passing the brightest part of the day in the kitchen
of a village alehouse; carrying on my argument after dinner on the
subject of the corn-laws, with the best commercial gentlemen on the road,
instead of being glad, whilst sipping a pint of beer, to get into
conversation with blind trampers, or maimed Abraham sailors, regaling
themselves on half-pints at the said village hostelries.  Many people
will doubtless say that things have altered wonderfully with me for the
better, and they would say right, provided I possessed now what I then
carried about with me in my journeys--the spirit of youth.  Youth is the
only season for enjoyment, and the first twenty-five years of one's life
are worth all the rest of the longest life of man, even though those five-
and-twenty be spent in penury and contempt, and the rest in the
possession of wealth, honours, respectability, ay, and many of them in
strength and health, such as will enable one to ride forty miles before
dinner, and over one's pint of port--for the best gentleman in the land
should not drink a bottle--carry on one's argument, with gravity and
decorum, with any commercial gentleman who, responsive to one's
challenge, takes the part of humanity and common sense against
"protection" and the lord of the land.

Ah! there is nothing like youth--not that after-life is valueless.  Even
in extreme old age one may get on very well, provided we will but accept
of the bounties of God.  I met the other day an old man, who asked me to
drink.  "I am not thirsty," said I, "and will not drink with you."  "Yes,
you will," said the old man, "for I am this day one hundred years old;
and you will never again have an opportunity of drinking the health of a
man on his hundredth birthday."  So I broke my word, and drank.  "Yours
is a wonderful age," said I.  "It is a long time to look back to the
beginning of it," said the old man; "yet, upon the whole, I am not sorry
to have lived it all."  "How have you passed your time?" said I.  "As
well as I could," said the old man; "always enjoying a good thing when it
came honestly within my reach; not forgetting to praise God for putting
it there."  "I suppose you were fond of a glass of good ale when you were
young?"  "Yes," said the old man, "I was; and so, thank God, I am still."
And he drank off a glass of ale.

On I went in my journey, traversing England from west to east--ascending
and descending hills--crossing rivers by bridge and ferry--and passing
over extensive plains.  What a beautiful country is England!  People run
abroad to see beautiful countries, and leave their own behind unknown,
unnoticed--their own the most beautiful!  And then, again, what a country
for adventures! especially to those who travel on foot, or on horseback.
People run abroad in quest of adventures, and traverse Spain or Portugal
on mule or on horseback; whereas there are ten times more adventures to
be met with in England than in Spain, Portugal, or stupid Germany to
boot.  Witness the number of adventures narrated in the present book--a
book entirely devoted to England.  Why, there is not a chapter in the
present book which is not full of adventures, with the exception of the
present one, and this is not yet terminated.

After traversing two or three counties, I reached the confines of
Lincolnshire.  During one particularly hot day I put up at a
public-house, to which, in the evening, came a party of harvesters to
make merry, who, finding me wandering about the house a stranger, invited
me to partake of their ale; so I drank with the harvesters, who sang me
songs about rural life, such as--

   "Sitting in the swale; and listening to the swindle of the flail, as
   it sounds dub-a-dub on the corn, from the neighbouring barn."

In requital for which I treated them with a song, not of Romanvile, but
the song of "Sivory and the horse Grayman."  I remained with them till it
was dark, having, after sunset, entered into deep discourse with a
celebrated ratcatcher, who communicated to me the secrets of his trade,
saying, amongst other things, "When you see the rats pouring out of their
holes, and running up my hands and arms, it's not after me they comes,
but after the oils I carries about me they comes;" and who subsequently
spoke in the most enthusiastic manner of his trade, saying that it was
the best trade in the world, and most diverting, and that it was likely
to last for ever; for whereas all other kinds of vermin were fast
disappearing from England, rats were every day becoming more abundant.  I
had quitted this good company, and having mounted my horse, was making my
way towards a town at about six miles' distance, at a swinging trot, my
thoughts deeply engaged on what I had gathered from the ratcatcher, when
all on a sudden a light glared upon the horse's face, who purled round in
great terror, and flung me out of the saddle, as from a sling, or with as
much violence as the horse Grayman, in the ballad, flings Sivord the
Snareswayne.  I fell upon the ground--felt a kind of crashing about my
neck--and forthwith became senseless.




CHAPTER XXXI


A Novel Situation--The Elderly Individual--The Surgeon--A Kind
Offer--Chimerical Ideas--Strange Dream.

How long I remained senseless I cannot say, for a considerable time, I
believe; at length, opening my eyes, I found myself lying on a bed in a
middle-sized chamber, lighted by a candle, which stood on a table--an
elderly man stood near me, and a yet more elderly female was holding a
phial of very pungent salts to my olfactory organ.  I attempted to move,
but felt very stiff--my right arm appeared nearly paralysed, and there
was a strange dull sensation in my head.  "You had better remain still,
young man," said the elderly individual, "the surgeon will be here
presently; I have sent a message for him to the neighbouring village."
"Where am I?" said I, "and what has happened?"  "You are in my house,"
said the old man, "and you have been flung from a horse.  I am sorry to
say that I was the cause.  As I was driving home, the lights in my gig
frightened the animal."  "Where is the horse?" said I.  "Below, in my
stable," said the elderly individual.  "I saw you fall, but knowing that
on account of my age I could be of little use to you, I instantly hurried
home, the accident did not occur more than a furlong off, and procuring
the assistance of my lad, and two or three neighbouring cottagers, I
returned to the spot where you were lying senseless.  We raised you up,
and brought you here.  My lad then went in quest of the horse, who had
run away as we drew nigh.  When we saw him first he was standing near
you; he caught him with some difficulty, and brought him home.  What are
you about?" said the old man, as I strove to get off the bed.  "I want to
see the horse," said I.  "I entreat you to be still," said the old man;
"the horse is safe, I assure you."  "I am thinking about his knees," said
I.  "Instead of thinking about your horse's knees," said the old man, "be
thankful that you have not broke your own neck."  "You do not talk
wisely," said I; "when a man's neck is broke, he is provided for; but
when his horse's knees are broke, he is a lost jockey, that is, if he has
nothing but his horse to depend upon.  A pretty figure I should cut at
Horncastle, mounted on a horse blood-raw at the knees."  "Oh, you are
going to Horncastle," said the old man, seriously, "then I can sympathize
with you in your anxiety about your horse, being a Lincolnshire man, and
the son of one who bred horses.  I will myself go down into the stable,
and examine into the condition of your horse, so pray remain quiet till I
return; it would certainly be a terrible thing to appear at Horncastle on
a broken-kneed horse."

He left the room and returned in about ten minutes, followed by another
person.  "Your horse is safe," said he, "and his knees are unblemished;
not a hair ruffled.  He is a fine animal, and will do credit to
Horncastle; but here is the surgeon come to examine into your own
condition."  The surgeon was a man about thirty-five, thin, and rather
tall; his face was long and pale, and his hair, which was light, was
carefully combed back as much as possible from his forehead.  He was
dressed very neatly, and spoke in a very precise tone.  "Allow me to feel
your pulse, friend?" said he, taking me by the right wrist.  I uttered a
cry, for at the motion which he caused a thrill of agony darted through
my arm.  "I hope your arm is not broke, my friend," said the surgeon,
"allow me to see; first of all, we must divest you of this cumbrous
frock."

The frock was removed with some difficulty, and then the upper vestments
of my frame, with more difficulty still.  The surgeon felt my arm, moving
it up and down, causing me unspeakable pain.  "There is no fracture,"
said he, at last, "but a contusion--a violent contusion.  I am told you
were going to Horncastle; I am afraid you will be hardly able to ride
your horse thither in time to dispose of him; however, we shall see--your
arm must be bandaged, friend; after which I shall bleed you, and
administer a composing draught."

To be short, the surgeon did as he proposed, and when he had administered
the composing draught, he said, "Be of good cheer; I should not be
surprised if you are yet in time for Horncastle."  He then departed with
the master of the house, and the woman, leaving me to my repose.  I soon
began to feel drowsy, and was just composing myself to slumber, lying on
my back, as the surgeon had advised me, when I heard steps ascending the
stairs, and in a moment more the surgeon entered again, followed by the
master of the house.  "I hope I don't disturb you," said the former; "my
reason for returning is to relieve your mind from any anxiety with
respect to your horse.  I am by no means sure that you will be able,
owing to your accident, to reach Horncastle in time: to quiet you,
however, I will buy your horse for any reasonable sum.  I have been down
to the stable, and approve of his figure.  What do you ask for him?"
"This is a strange time of night," said I, "to come to me about
purchasing my horse, and I am hardly in a fitting situation to be applied
to about such a matter.  What do you want him for?"  "For my own use,"
said the surgeon; "I am a professional man, and am obliged to be
continually driving about; I cover at least one hundred and fifty miles
every week."  "He will never answer your purpose," said I, "he is not a
driving horse, and was never between shafts in his life; he is for
riding, more especially for trotting, at which he has few equals."  "It
matters not to me whether he is for riding or driving," said the surgeon,
"sometimes I ride, sometimes drive; so, if we can come to terms, I will
buy him, though remember it is chiefly to remove any anxiety from your
mind about him."  "This is no time for bargaining," said I, "if you wish
to have the horse for a hundred guineas, you may; if not--"  "A hundred
guineas!" said the surgeon, "my good friend, you must surely be light-
headed; allow me to feel your pulse," and he attempted to feel my left
wrist.  "I am not light-headed," said I, "and I require no one to feel my
pulse; but I should be light-headed if I were to sell my horse for less
than I have demanded; but I have a curiosity to know what you would be
willing to offer."  "Thirty pounds," said the surgeon, "is all I can
afford to give; and that is a great deal for a country surgeon to offer
for a horse."  "Thirty pounds!" said I, "why, he cost me nearly double
that sum.  To tell you the truth, I am afraid that you want to take
advantage of my situation."  "Not in the least, friend," said the
surgeon, "not in the least; I only wished to set your mind at rest about
your horse; but as you think he is worth more than I can afford to offer,
take him to Horncastle by all means; I will do my best to cure you in
time.  Good night, I will see you again on the morrow."  Thereupon he
once more departed with the master of the house.  "A sharp one," I heard
him say, with a laugh, as the door closed upon him.

Left to myself, I again essayed to compose myself to rest, but for some
time in vain.  I had been terribly shaken by my fall, and had
subsequently, owing to the incision of the surgeon's lancet, been
deprived of much of the vital fluid; it is when the body is in such a
state that the merest trifles affect and agitate the mind; no wonder,
then, that the return of the surgeon and the master of the house for the
purpose of inquiring whether I would sell my horse, struck me as being
highly extraordinary, considering the hour of the night, and the
situation in which they knew me to be.  What could they mean by such
conduct--did they wish to cheat me of the animal?  "Well, well," said I,
"if they did, what matters, they found their match; yes, yes," said I,
"but I am in their power, perhaps"--but I instantly dismissed the
apprehension which came into my mind, with a pooh, nonsense!  In a little
time, however, a far more foolish and chimerical idea began to disturb
me--the idea of being flung from my horse; was I not disgraced for ever
as a horseman by being flung from my horse?  Assuredly, I thought; and
the idea of being disgraced as a horseman, operating on my nervous
system, caused me very acute misery.  "After all," said I to myself, "it
was perhaps the contemptible opinion which the surgeon must have formed
of my equestrian powers, which induced him to offer to take my horse off
my hands; he perhaps thought I was unable to manage a horse, and
therefore in pity returned in the dead of night to offer to purchase the
animal which had flung me;" and then the thought that the surgeon had
conceived a contemptible opinion of my equestrian powers, caused me the
acutest misery, and continued tormenting me until some other idea (I have
forgot what it was, but doubtless equally foolish) took possession of my
mind.  At length, brought on by the agitation of my spirits, there came
over me the same feeling of horror that I had experienced of old when I
was a boy, and likewise of late within the dingle; it was, however, not
so violent as it had been on those occasions, and I struggled manfully
against it, until by degrees it passed away, and then I fell asleep; and
in my sleep I had an ugly dream.  I dreamt that I had died of the
injuries I had received from my fall, and that no sooner had my soul
departed from my body than it entered that of a quadruped, even my own
horse in the stable--in a word, I was, to all intents and purposes, my
own steed; and as I stood in the stable chewing hay (and I remember that
the hay was exceedingly tough), the door opened, and the surgeon who had
attended me came in.  "My good animal," said he, "as your late master has
scarcely left enough to pay for the expenses of his funeral, and nothing
to remunerate me for my trouble, I shall make bold to take possession of
you.  If your paces are good, I shall keep you for my own riding; if not,
I shall take you to Horncastle, your original destination."  He then
bridled and saddled me, and, leading me out, mounted, and then trotted me
up and down before the house, at the door of which the old man, who now
appeared to be dressed in regular jockey fashion, was standing.  "I like
his paces well," said the surgeon; "I think I shall take him for my own
use."  "And what am I to have for all the trouble his master caused me?"
said my late entertainer, on whose countenance I now observed, for the
first time, a diabolical squint.  "The consciousness of having done your
duty to a fellow-creature in succouring him in a time of distress, must
be your reward," said the surgeon.  "Pretty gammon, truly," said my late
entertainer; "what would you say if I were to talk in that way to you?
Come, unless you choose to behave jonnock, I shall take the bridle and
lead the horse back into the stable."  "Well," said the surgeon, "we are
old friends, and I don't wish to dispute with you, so I'll tell you what
I will do; I will ride the animal to Horncastle, and we will share what
he fetches like brothers."  "Good," said the old man, "but if you say
that you have sold him for less than a hundred, I shan't consider you
jonnock; remember what the young fellow said--that young fellow--"  I
heard no more, for the next moment I found myself on a broad road
leading, as I supposed, in the direction of Horncastle, the surgeon still
in the saddle, and my legs moving at a rapid trot.  "Get on," said the
surgeon, jerking my mouth with the bit; whereupon, full of rage, I
instantly set off at a full gallop, determined, if possible, to dash my
rider to the earth.  The surgeon, however, kept his seat, and, so far
from attempting to abate my speed, urged me on to greater efforts with a
stout stick, which methought he held in his hand.  In vain did I rear and
kick, attempting to get rid of my foe; but the surgeon remained as saddle-
fast as ever the Maugrabin sorcerer in the Arabian tale what time he rode
the young prince transformed into a steed to his enchanted palace in the
wilderness.  At last, as I was still madly dashing on, panting and
blowing, and had almost given up all hope, I saw at a distance before me
a heap of stones by the side of the road, probably placed there for the
purpose of repairing it; a thought appeared to strike me--I will shy at
those stones, and, if I can't get rid of him so, resign myself to my
fate.  So I increased my speed, till arriving within about ten yards of
the heap, I made a desperate start, turning half round with nearly the
velocity of a mill-stone.  Oh, the joy I experienced when I felt my enemy
canted over my neck, and saw him lying senseless in the road.  "I have
you now in my power," I said, or rather neighed, as, going up to my
prostrate foe, I stood over him.  "Suppose I were to rear now, and let my
fore feet fall upon you, what would your life be worth? that is,
supposing you are not killed already; but lie there, I will do you no
further harm, but trot to Horncastle without a rider, and when there--"
and without further reflection off I trotted in the direction of
Horncastle, but had not gone far before my bridle, falling from my neck,
got entangled with my off fore foot.  I felt myself falling, a thrill of
agony shot through me--my knees would be broken, and what should I do at
Horncastle with a pair of broken knees?  I struggled, but I could not
disengage my off fore foot, and downward I fell, but before I had reached
the ground I awoke, and found myself half out of bed, my bandaged arm in
considerable pain, and my left hand just touching the floor.

With some difficulty I readjusted myself in bed.  It was now early
morning, and the first rays of the sun were beginning to penetrate the
white curtains of a window on my left, which probably looked into the
garden, as I caught a glimpse or two of the leaves of trees through a
small uncovered part at the side.  For some time I felt uneasy and
anxious, my spirits being in a strange fluttering state.  At last my eyes
fell upon a small row of tea-cups seemingly of china, which stood on a
mantelpiece exactly fronting the bottom of the bed.  The sight of these
objects, I know not why, soothed and pacified me; I kept my eyes fixed
upon them, as I lay on my back on the bed, with my head upon the pillow,
till at last I fell into a calm and refreshing sleep.




CHAPTER XXXII


The Morning after a Fall--The Teapot--Unpretending Hospitality--The
Chinese Student.

It might be about eight o'clock in the morning when I was awakened by the
entrance of the old man.  "How have you rested?" said he, coming up to
the bedside, and looking me in the face.  "Well," said I, "and I feel
much better, but I am still very sore."  I surveyed him now for the first
time with attention.  He was dressed in a sober-coloured suit, and was
apparently between sixty and seventy.  In stature he was rather above the
middle height, but with a slight stoop; his features were placid, and
expressive of much benevolence, but, as it appeared to me, with rather a
melancholy cast--as I gazed upon them, I felt ashamed that I should ever
have conceived in my brain a vision like that of the preceding night, in
which he appeared in so disadvantageous a light.  At length he said, "It
is now time for you to take some refreshment.  I hear my old servant
coming up with your breakfast."  In a moment the elderly female entered
with a tray, on which was some bread and butter, a teapot and cup.  The
cup was of common blue earthenware, but the pot was of china, curiously
fashioned, and seemingly of great antiquity.  The old man poured me out a
cupful of tea, and then, with the assistance of the woman, raised me
higher, and propped me up with the pillows.  I ate and drank; when the
pot was emptied of its liquid (it did not contain much), I raised it up
with my left hand to inspect it.  The sides were covered with curious
characters, seemingly hieroglyphics.  After surveying them for some time,
I replaced it upon the tray.  "You seem fond of china," said I, to the
old man, after the servant had retired with the breakfast things, and I
had returned to my former posture; "you have china on the mantelpiece,
and that was a remarkable teapot out of which I have just been drinking."

The old man fixed his eyes intently on me, and methought the expression
of his countenance became yet more melancholy.  "Yes," said he, at last,
"I am fond of china--I have reason to be fond of china--but for china I
should--" and here he sighed again.

"You value it for the quaintness and singularity of its form," said I;
"it appears to be less adapted for real use than our own pottery."

"I care little about its form," said the old man; "I care for it simply
on account of--however, why talk to you on the subject which can have no
possible interest to you?  I expect the surgeon here presently."

"I do not like that surgeon at all," said I; "how strangely he behaved
last night, coming back, when I was just falling asleep, to ask me if I
would sell my horse."

The old man smiled.  "He has but one failing," said he, "an itch for
horse-dealing; but for that he might be a much richer man than he is; he
is continually buying and exchanging horses, and generally finds himself
a loser by his bargains: but he is a worthy creature, and skilful in his
profession--it is well for you that you are under his care."

The old man then left me, and in about an hour returned with the surgeon,
who examined me and reported favourably as to my case.  He spoke to me
with kindness and feeling, and did not introduce the subject of the
horse.  I asked him whether he thought I should be in time for the fair.
"I saw some people making their way thither to-day," said he; "the fair
lasts three weeks, and it has just commenced.  Yes, I think I may promise
you that you will be in time for the very heat of it.  In a few days you
will be able to mount your saddle with your arm in a sling, but you must
by no means appear with your arm in a sling at Horncastle, as people
would think that your horse had flung you, and that you wanted to dispose
of him because he was a vicious brute.  You must, by all means, drop the
sling before you get to Horncastle."

For three days I kept my apartment by the advice of the surgeon.  I
passed my time as I best could.  Stretched on my bed, I either abandoned
myself to reflection, or listened to the voices of the birds in the
neighbouring garden.  Sometimes, as I lay awake at night, I would
endeavour to catch the tick of a clock, which methought sounded from some
distant part of the house.

The old man visited me twice or thrice every day to inquire into my
state.  His words were few on these occasions, and he did not stay long.
Yet his voice and his words were kind.  What surprised me most in
connection with this individual was, the delicacy of conduct which he
exhibited in not letting a word proceed from his lips which could testify
curiosity respecting who I was, or whence I came.  All he knew of me was,
that I had been flung from my horse on my way to a fair for the purpose
of disposing of the animal; and that I was now his guest.  I might be a
common horse-dealer for what he knew, yet I was treated by him with all
the attention which I could have expected, had I been an alderman of
Boston's heir, and known to him as such.  The county in which I am now,
thought I at last, must be either extraordinarily devoted to hospitality,
or this old host of mine must be an extraordinary individual.  On the
evening of the fourth day, feeling tired of my confinement, I put my
clothes on in the best manner I could, and left the chamber.  Descending
a flight of stairs, I reached a kind of quadrangle, from which branched
two or three passages; one of these I entered, which had a door at the
farther end, and one on each side; the one to the left standing partly
open, I entered it, and found myself in a middle-sized room with a large
window, or rather glass-door, which looked into a garden, and which stood
open.  There was nothing remarkable in this room, except a large quantity
of china.  There was china on the mantelpiece--china on two tables, and a
small beaufet, which stood opposite the glass-door, was covered with
china--there were cups, teapots, and vases of various forms, and on all
of them I observed characters--not a teapot, not a tea-cup, not a vase of
whatever form or size, but appeared to possess hieroglyphics on some part
or other.  After surveying these articles for some time with no little
interest, I passed into the garden, in which there were small parterres
of flowers, and two or three trees, and which, where the house did not
abut, was bounded by a wall; turning to the right by a walk by the side
of a house, I passed by a door--probably the one I had seen at the end of
the passage--and arrived at another window similar to that through which
I had come, and which also stood open; I was about to pass through it,
when I heard the voice of my entertainer exclaiming, "Is that you? pray
come in."

I entered the room, which seemed to be a counterpart of the one which I
had just left.  It was of the same size, had the same kind of furniture,
and appeared to be equally well stocked with china; one prominent article
it possessed, however, which the other room did not exhibit--namely, a
clock, which, with its pendulum moving tick-a-tick, hung against the wall
opposite to the door, the sight of which made me conclude that the sound
which methought I had heard in the stillness of the night was not an
imaginary one.  There it hung on the wall, with its pendulum moving tick-
a-tick.  The old gentleman was seated in an easy chair a little way into
the room, having the glass-door on his right hand.  On a table before him
lay a large open volume, in which I observed Roman letters as well as
characters.  A few inches beyond the book on the table, covered all over
with hieroglyphics, stood a china vase.  The eyes of the old man were
fixed upon it.

"Sit down," said he, motioning me with his hand to a stool close by, but
without taking his eyes from the vase.

"I can't make it out," said he, at last, removing his eyes from the vase,
and leaning back on the chair, "I can't make it out."

"I wish I could assist you," said I.

"Assist me," said the old man, looking at me with a half smile.

"Yes," said I, "but I don't understand Chinese."

"I suppose not," said the old man, with another slight smile; "but--but--"

"Pray proceed," said I.

"I wished to ask you," said the old man, "how you knew that the
characters on yon piece of crockery were Chinese; or, indeed, that there
was such a language?"

"I knew the crockery was china," said I, "and naturally enough supposed
what was written upon it to be Chinese; as for there being such a
language--the English have a language, the French have a language, and
why not the Chinese?"

"May I ask you a question?"

"As many as you like."

"Do you know any language besides English?"

"Yes," said I, "I know a little of two or three."

"May I ask their names?"

"Why not?" said I, "I know a little French."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, a little Welsh, and a little Haik."

"What is Haik?"

"Armenian."

"I am glad to see you in my house," said the old man, shaking me by the
hand; "how singular that one coming as you did should know Armenian!"

"Not more singular," said I, "than that one living in such a place as
this should know Chinese.  How came you to acquire it?"

The old man looked at me, and sighed.  "I beg pardon," said I, "for
asking what is, perhaps, an impertinent question; I have not imitated
your own delicacy; you have never asked me a question without first
desiring permission, and here I have been days and nights in your house
an intruder on your hospitality, and you have never so much as asked me
who I am."

"In forbearing to do that," said the old man, "I merely obeyed the
Chinese precept, 'Ask no questions of a guest;' it is written on both
sides of the teapot out of which you have had your tea."

"I wish I knew Chinese," said I.  "Is it a difficult language to
acquire?"

"I have reason to think so," said the old man.  "I have been occupied
upon it five-and-thirty years, and I am still very imperfectly acquainted
with it; at least, I frequently find upon my crockery sentences the
meaning of which to me is very dark, though it is true these sentences
are mostly verses, which are, of course, more difficult to understand
than mere prose."

"Are your Chinese studies," said I, "confined to crockery literature?"

"Entirely," said the old man; "I read nothing else."

"I have heard," said I, "that the Chinese have no letters, but that for
every word they have a separate character--is it so?"

"For every word they have a particular character," said the old man;
"though, to prevent confusion, they have arranged their words under two
hundred and fourteen what we should call radicals, but which they call
keys.  As we arrange all our words in a dictionary under twenty-four
letters, so do they arrange all their words, or characters, under two
hundred and fourteen radical signs; the simplest radicals being the
first, and the more complex the last."

"Does the Chinese resemble any of the European languages in words?" said
I.

"I am scarcely competent to inform you," said the old man; "but I believe
not."

"What does that character represent?" said I, pointing to one on the
vase.

"A knife," said the old man, "that character is one of the simplest
radicals or keys."

"And what is the sound of it?" said I.

"Tau," said the old man.

"Tau!" said I; "tau!"

"A strange word for a knife is it not?" said the old man.

"Tawse!" said I; "tawse!"

"What is tawse?" said the old man.

"You were never at school at Edinburgh, I suppose?"

"Never," said the old man.

"That accounts for your not knowing the meaning of tawse," said I; "had
you received the rudiments of a classical education at the High School,
you would have known the meaning of tawse full well.  It is a leathern
thong, with which refractory urchins are recalled to a sense of their
duty by the dominie.  Tau--tawse--how singular!"

"I cannot see what the two words have in common, except a slight
agreement in sound."

"You will see the connection," said I, "when I inform you that the thong,
from the middle to the bottom, is cut or slit into two or three parts,
from which slits or cuts, unless I am very much mistaken, it derives its
name--tawse, a thong with slits or cuts, used for chastising disorderly
urchins at the High School, from the French tailler, to cut; evidently
connected with the Chinese tau, a knife--how very extraordinary!"




CHAPTER XXXIII


Convalescence--The Surgeon's Bill--Letter of Recommendation--Commencement
of the Old Man's History.

Two days--three days passed away--and I still remained at the house of my
hospitable entertainer; my bruised limb rapidly recovering the power of
performing its functions.  I passed my time agreeably enough, sometimes
in my chamber, communing with my own thoughts; sometimes in the stable,
attending to, and not unfrequently conversing with, my horse; and at meal-
time--for I seldom saw him at any other--discoursing with the old
gentleman, sometimes on the Chinese vocabulary, sometimes on Chinese
syntax, and once or twice on English horseflesh; though on this latter
subject, notwithstanding his descent from a race of horse-traders, he did
not enter into with much alacrity.  As a small requital for his kindness,
I gave him one day, after dinner, unasked, a brief account of my history
and pursuits.  He listened with attention; and when it was concluded,
thanked me for the confidence which I had reposed in him.  "Such
conduct," said he, "deserves a return.  I will tell you my own history;
it is brief, but may perhaps not prove uninteresting to you--though the
relation of it will give me some pain."  "Pray, then, do not recite it,"
said I.  "Yes," said the old man, "I will tell you, for I wish you to
know it."  He was about to begin, when he was interrupted by the arrival
of the surgeon.  The surgeon examined into the state of my bruised limb,
and told me, what indeed I already well knew, that it was rapidly
improving.  "You will not even require a sling," said he, "to ride to
Horncastle.  When do you propose going?" he demanded.  "When do you think
I may venture?" I replied.  "I think, if you are a tolerably good
horseman, you may mount the day after to-morrow," answered the medical
man.  "By-the-bye, are you acquainted with anybody at Horncastle?" "With
no living soul," I answered.  "Then you would scarcely find stable-room
for your horse.  But I am happy to be able to assist you.  I have a
friend there who keeps a small inn, and who, during the time of the fair,
keeps a stall vacant for any quadruped I may bring, until he knows
whether I am coming or not.  I will give you a letter to him, and he will
see after the accommodation of your horse.  To-morrow I will pay you a
farewell visit, and bring you the letter."  "Thank you," said I; "and do
not forget to bring your bill."  The surgeon looked at the old man, who
gave him a peculiar nod.  "Oh!" said he, in reply to me, "for the little
service I have rendered you, I require no remuneration.  You are in my
friend's house, and he and I understand each other."  "I never receive
such favours," said I, "as you have rendered me, without remunerating
them; therefore I shall expect your bill."  "Oh! just as you please,"
said the surgeon; and shaking me by the hand more warmly than he had
hitherto done, he took his leave.

On the evening of the next day, the last which I spent with my kind
entertainer, I sat at tea with him in a little summer-house in his
garden, partially shaded by the boughs of a large fig-tree.  The surgeon
had shortly before paid me his farewell visit, and had brought me the
letter of introduction to his friend at Horncastle, and also his bill,
which I found anything but extravagant.  After we had each respectively
drank the contents of two cups--and it may not be amiss here to inform
the reader that though I took cream with my tea, as I always do when I
can procure that addition, the old man, like most people bred up in the
country, drank his without it--he thus addressed me:--"I am, as I told
you on the night of your accident, the son of a breeder of horses, a
respectable and honest man.  When I was about twenty he died, leaving me,
his only child, a comfortable property, consisting of about two hundred
acres of land and some fifteen hundred pounds in money.  My mother had
died about three years previously.  I felt the death of my mother keenly,
but that of my father less than was my duty; indeed, truth compels me to
acknowledge that I scarcely regretted his death.  The cause of this want
of proper filial feeling was the opposition which I had experienced from
him in an affair which deeply concerned me.  I had formed an attachment
for a young female in the neighbourhood, who, though poor, was of highly
respectable birth, her father having been a curate of the Established
Church.  She was, at the time of which I am speaking, an orphan, having
lost both her parents, and supported herself by keeping a small school.
My attachment was returned, and we had pledged our vows, but my father,
who could not reconcile himself to her lack of fortune, forbade our
marriage in the most positive terms.  He was wrong, for she was a fortune
in herself--amiable and accomplished.  Oh! I cannot tell you all she
was--" and here the old man drew his hand across his eyes.  "By the death
of my father, the only obstacle to our happiness appeared to be removed.
We agreed, therefore, that our marriage should take place within the
course of a year; and I forthwith commenced enlarging my house and
getting my affairs in order.  Having been left in the easy circumstances
which I have described, I determined to follow no business, but to pass
my life in a strictly domestic manner, and to be very, very happy.
Amongst other property derived from my father were several horses, which
I disposed of in this neighbourhood, with the exception of two remarkably
fine ones, which I determined to take to the next fair at Horncastle, the
only place where I expected to be able to obtain what I considered to be
their full value.  At length the time arrived for the commencement of the
fair, which was within three months of the period which my beloved and
myself had fixed upon for the celebration of our nuptials.  To the fair I
went, a couple of trusty men following me with the horses.  I soon found
a purchaser for the animals, a portly, plausible person, of about forty,
dressed in a blue riding coat, brown top boots, and leather breeches.
There was a strange-looking urchin with him, attired in nearly similar
fashion, with a beam in one of his eyes, who called him father.  The man
paid me for the purchase in bank-notes--three fifty-pound notes for the
two horses.  As we were about to take leave of each other, he suddenly
produced another fifty-pound note, inquiring whether I could change it,
complaining, at the same time, of the difficulty of procuring change in
the fair.  As I happened to have plenty of small money in my possession,
and as I felt obliged to him for having purchased my horses at what I
considered to be a good price, I informed him that I should be very happy
to accommodate him; so I changed him the note, and he, having taken
possession of the horses, went his way, and I myself returned home.

"A month passed; during this time I paid away two of the notes which I
had received at Horncastle from the dealer--one of them in my immediate
neighbourhood, and the other at a town about fifteen miles distant, to
which I had repaired for the purpose of purchasing some furniture.  All
things seemed to be going on most prosperously, and I felt quite happy,
when one morning, as I was overlooking some workmen who were employed
about my house, I was accosted by a constable, who informed me that he
was sent to request my immediate appearance before a neighbouring bench
of magistrates.  Concluding that I was merely summoned on some
unimportant business connected with the neighbourhood, I felt no
surprise, and forthwith departed in company with the officer.  The
demeanour of the man upon the way struck me as somewhat singular.  I had
frequently spoken to him before, and had always found him civil and
respectful, but he was now reserved and sullen, and replied to two or
three questions which I put to him in anything but a courteous manner.  On
arriving at the place where the magistrates were sitting--an inn at a
small town about two miles distant--I found a more than usual number of
people assembled, who appeared to be conversing with considerable
eagerness.  At sight of me they became silent, but crowded after me as I
followed the man into the magistrates' room.  There I found the tradesman
to whom I had paid the note for the furniture at the town fifteen miles
off in attendance, accompanied by an agent of the Bank of England; the
former, it seems, had paid the note into a provincial bank, the
proprietors of which, discovering it to be a forgery, had forthwith
written up to the Bank of England, who had sent down their agent to
investigate the matter.  A third individual stood beside them--the person
in my own immediate neighbourhood to whom I had paid the second note;
this, by some means or other, before the coming down of the agent, had
found its way to the same provincial bank, and also being pronounced a
forgery, it had speedily been traced to the person to whom I had paid it.
It was owing to the apparition of this second note that the agent had
determined, without further inquiry, to cause me to be summoned before
the rural tribunal.

"In a few words the magistrates' clerk gave me to understand the state of
the case.  I was filled with surprise and consternation.  I knew myself
to be perfectly innocent of any fraudulent intention, but at the time of
which I am speaking it was a matter fraught with the greatest danger to
be mixed up, however innocently, with the passing of false money.  The
law with respect to forgery was terribly severe, and the innocent as well
as the guilty occasionally suffered.  Of this I was not altogether
ignorant; unfortunately, however, in my transactions with the stranger,
the idea of false notes being offered to me, and my being brought into
trouble by means of them, never entered my mind.  Recovering myself a
little, I stated that the notes in question were two of three notes which
I had received at Horncastle, for a pair of horses, which it was well
known I had carried thither.

"Thereupon, I produced from my pocket-book the third note, which was
forthwith pronounced a forgery.  I had scarcely produced the third note,
when I remembered the one which I had changed for the Horncastle dealer,
and with the remembrance came the almost certain conviction that it was
also a forgery; I was tempted for a moment to produce it, and to explain
the circumstance--would to God I had done so!--but shame at the idea of
having been so wretchedly duped prevented me, and the opportunity was
lost.  I must confess that the agent of the bank behaved, upon the whole,
in a very handsome manner; he said that as it was quite evident that I
had disposed of certain horses at the fair, it was very probable that I
might have received the notes in question in exchange for them, and that
he was willing, as he had received a very excellent account of my general
conduct, to press the matter no farther, that is, provided--"  And here
he stopped.  Thereupon, one of the three magistrates, who were present,
asked me whether I chanced to have any more of these spurious notes in my
possession.  He certainly had a right to ask the question; but there was
something peculiar in his tone-insinuating suspicion.  It is certainly
difficult to judge of the motives which rule a person's conduct, but I
cannot help imagining that he was somewhat influenced in his behaviour on
that occasion, which was anything but friendly, by my having refused to
sell him the horses at a price less than that which I expected to get at
the fair; be this as it may, the question filled me with embarrassment,
and I bitterly repented not having at first been more explicit.  Thereupon
the magistrate in the same kind of tone, demanded to see my pocket-book.
I knew that to demur would be useless, and produced it, and therewith,
amongst two or three small country notes, appeared the fourth which I had
received from the Horncastle dealer.  The agent took it up and examined
it with attention.  'Well, is it a genuine note?' asked the magistrate.
'I am sorry to say that it is not,' said the agent; 'it is a forgery,
like the other three.'  The magistrate shrugged his shoulders, as indeed
did several people in the room.  'A regular dealer in forged notes,' said
a person close behind me; 'who would have thought it?'

"Seeing matters begin to look so serious, I aroused myself, and
endeavoured to speak in my own behalf, giving a candid account of the
manner in which I became possessed of the notes; but my explanation did
not appear to meet much credit; the magistrate, to whom I have in
particular alluded, asked, why I had not at once stated the fact of my
having received a fourth note; and the agent, though in a very quiet
tone, observed that he could not help thinking it somewhat strange that I
should have changed a note of so much value for a perfect stranger, even
supposing that he had purchased my horses, and had paid me their value in
hard cash; and I noticed that he laid particular emphasis on the last
words.  I might have observed that I was an inexperienced young man, who,
meaning no harm myself, suspected none in others, but I was confused,
stunned, and my tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth.  The men
who had taken my horses to Horncastle, and for whom I had sent, as they
lived close at hand, now arrived, but the evidence which they could give
was anything but conclusive in my favour; they had seen me in company
with an individual at Horncastle, to whom, by my orders, they had
delivered certain horses, but they had seen no part of the money
transaction; the fellow, whether from design or not, having taken me
aside into a retired place, where he had paid me the three spurious
notes, and induced me to change the fourth, which throughout the affair
was what bore most materially against me.  How matters might have
terminated I do not know, I might have gone to prison, and I might have
been--just then, when I most needed a friend, and least expected to find
one, for though amongst those present there were several who were my
neighbours, and who had professed friendship for me, none of them when
they saw that I needed support and encouragement, came forward to yield
me any, but, on the contrary, appeared by their looks to enjoy my terror
and confusion--just then a friend entered the room in the person of the
surgeon of the neighbourhood, the father of him who has attended you; he
was not on very intimate terms with me, but he had occasionally spoken to
me, and had attended my father in his dying illness, and chancing to hear
that I was in trouble, he now hastened to assist me.  After a short
preamble, in which he apologized to the bench for interfering, he begged
to be informed of the state of the case, whereupon the matter was laid
before him in all its details.  He was not slow in taking a fair view of
it, and spoke well and eloquently in my behalf--insisting on the
improbability that a person of my habits and position would be wilfully
mixed up with a transaction like that of which it appeared I was
suspected--adding, that as he was fully convinced of my innocence, he was
ready to enter into any surety with respect to my appearance at any time
to answer anything which might be laid to my charge.  This last
observation had particular effect, and as he was a person universally
respected, both for his skill in his profession and his general
demeanour, people began to think that a person in whom he took an
interest could scarcely be concerned in anything criminal, and though my
friend the magistrate--I call him so ironically--made two or three
demurs, it was at last agreed between him and his brethren of the bench,
that, for the present, I should be merely called upon to enter into my
own recognizance for the sum of two hundred pounds, to appear whenever it
should be deemed requisite to enter into any further investigation of the
matter.

"So I was permitted to depart from the tribunal of petty justice without
handcuffs, and uncollared by a constable; but people looked coldly and
suspiciously upon me.  The first thing I did was to hasten to the house
of my beloved, in order to inform her of every circumstance attending the
transaction.  I found her, but how?  A malicious female individual had
hurried to her with a distorted tale, to the effect that I had been taken
up as an utterer of forged notes; that an immense number had been found
in my possession; that I was already committed, and that probably I
should be executed.  My affianced one tenderly loved me, and her
constitution was delicate; fit succeeded fit; she broke a blood-vessel,
and I found her deluged in blood; the surgeon had been sent for; he came
and afforded her every possible relief.  I was distracted; he bade me
have hope, but I observed he looked very grave.

"By the skill of the surgeon, the poor girl was saved in the first
instance from the arms of death, and for a few weeks she appeared to be
rapidly recovering; by degrees, however, she became melancholy; a worm
preyed upon her spirit; a slow fever took possession of her frame.  I
subsequently learned that the same malicious female who had first carried
to her an exaggerated account of the affair, and who was a distant
relative of her own, frequently visited her, and did all in her power to
excite her fears with respect to its eventual termination.  Time passed
on in a very wretched manner.  Our friend the surgeon showing to us both
every mark of kindness and attention.

"It was owing to this excellent man that my innocence was eventually
established.  Having been called to a town on the borders of Yorkshire to
a medical consultation, he chanced to be taking a glass of wine with the
landlord of the inn at which he stopped, when the waiter brought in a
note to be changed, saying 'That the Quaker gentleman, who had been for
some days in the house, and was about to depart, had sent it to be
changed, in order that he might pay his bill.'  The landlord took the
note, and looked at it.  'A fifty-pound bill,' said he; 'I don't like
changing bills of that amount, lest they should prove bad ones; however,
as it comes from a Quaker gentleman, I suppose it is all right.'  The
mention of a fifty-pound note aroused the attention of my friend, and he
requested to be permitted to look at it; he had scarcely seen it, when he
was convinced that it was one of the same description as those which had
brought me into trouble, as it corresponded with them in two particular
features, which the agent of the bank had pointed out to him and others
as evidence of their spuriousness.  My friend, without a moment's
hesitation, informed the landlord that the note was a bad one, expressing
at the same time a great wish to see the Quaker gentleman who wanted to
have it changed.  'That you can easily do,' said the landlord, and
forthwith conducted him into the common room, where he saw a respectable-
looking man, dressed like a Quaker, and seemingly about sixty years of
age.

"My friend, after a short apology, showed him the note which he held in
his hand, stating that he had no doubt it was a spurious one, and begged
to be informed where he had taken it, adding, that a particular friend of
his was at present in trouble, owing to his having taken similar notes
from a stranger at Horncastle; but that he hoped that he, the Quaker,
could give information, by means of which the guilty party, or parties,
could be arrested.  At the mention of Horncastle, it appeared to my
friend that the Quaker gave a slight start.  At the conclusion of this
speech, however, he answered, with great tranquillity, that he had
received it in the way of business at ---, naming one of the principal
towns in Yorkshire, from a very respectable person, whose name he was
perfectly willing to communicate, and likewise his own, which he said was
James, and that he was a merchant residing at Liverpool; that he would
write to his friend at ---, requesting him to make inquiries on the
subject; that just at that moment he was in a hurry to depart, having
some particular business at a town about ten miles off, to go to which he
had bespoken a post-chaise of the landlord; that with respect to the
note, it was doubtless a very disagreeable thing to have a suspicious one
in his possession, but that it would make little difference to him, as he
had plenty of other money, and thereupon he pulled out a purse,
containing various other notes, and some gold, observing, 'that his only
motive for wishing to change the other note was a desire to be well
provided with change;' and finally, that if they had any suspicion with
respect to him, he was perfectly willing to leave the note in their
possession till he should return, which he intended to do in about a
fortnight.  There was so much plausibility in the speech of the Quaker,
and his appearance and behaviour were so perfectly respectable, that my
friend felt almost ashamed of the suspicion which at first he had
entertained of him, though, at the same time, he felt an unaccountable
unwillingness to let the man depart without some further interrogation.
The landlord, however, who did not wish to disoblige one who had been,
and might probably be again, a profitable customer, declared that he was
perfectly satisfied; and that he had no wish to detain the note, which he
made no doubt the gentleman had received in the way of business, and that
as the matter concerned him alone, he would leave it to him to make the
necessary inquiries.  'Just as you please, friend,' said the Quaker,
pocketing the suspicious note, 'I will now pay my bill.'  Thereupon he
discharged the bill with a five-pound note, which he begged the landlord
to inspect carefully, and with two pieces of gold.

"The landlord had just taken the money, receipted the bill, and was
bowing to his customer, when the door opened, and a lad, dressed in a
kind of grey livery, appeared, and informed the Quaker that the chaise
was ready.  'Is that boy your servant?' said the surgeon.  'He is,
friend,' said the Quaker.  'Hast thou any reason for asking me that
question?'  'And has he been long in your service?'  'Several years,'
replied the Quaker, 'I took him into my house out of compassion, he being
an orphan, but as the chaise is waiting, I will bid thee farewell.'  'I
am afraid I must stop your journey for the present,' said the surgeon;
'that boy has exactly the same blemish in the eye which a boy had who was
in company with the man at Horncastle, from whom my friend received the
forged notes, and who there passed for his son.'  'I know nothing about
that,' said the Quaker, 'but I am determined to be detained here no
longer, after the satisfactory account which I have given as to the
note's coming into my possession.'  He then attempted to leave the room,
but my friend detained him, a struggle ensued, during which a wig which
the Quaker wore fell off, whereupon he instantly appeared to lose some
twenty years of his age.  'Knock the fellow down, father,' said the boy,
'I'll help you.'

"And, forsooth, the pretended Quaker took the boy's advice, and knocked
my friend down in a twinkling.  The landlord, however, and waiter, seeing
how matters stood, instantly laid hold of him; but there can be no doubt
that he would have escaped from the whole three, had not certain guests
who were in the house, hearing the noise, rushed in, and helped to secure
him.  The boy was true to his word, assisting him to the best of his
ability, flinging himself between the legs of his father's assailants,
causing several of them to stumble and fall.  At length, the fellow was
secured, and led before a magistrate; the boy, to whom he was heard to
say something which nobody understood, and to whom, after the man's
capture, no one paid much attention, was no more seen.

"The rest, as far as this man was concerned, may be told in a few words;
nothing to criminate him was found on his person, but on his baggage
being examined, a quantity of spurious notes were discovered.  Much of
his hardihood now forsook him, and in the hope of saving his life he made
some very important disclosures; amongst other things, he confessed that
it was he who had given me the notes in exchange for the horses, and also
the note to be changed.  He was subsequently tried on two indictments, in
the second of which I appeared against him.  He was condemned to die;
but, in consideration of the disclosures he had made, his sentence was
commuted to perpetual transportation.

"My innocence was thus perfectly established before the eyes of the
world, and all my friends hastened to congratulate me.  There was one who
congratulated me more than all the rest--it was my beloved one,
but--but--she was dying--"

Here the old man drew his hand before his eyes, and remained for some
time without speaking; at length he removed his hand, and commenced again
with a broken voice: "You will pardon me if I hurry over this part of my
story, I am unable to dwell upon it.  How dwell upon a period when I saw
my only earthly treasure pine away gradually day by day, and knew that
nothing could save her!  She saw my agony, and did all she could to
console me, saying that she was herself quite resigned.  A little time
before her death she expressed a wish that we should be united.  I was
too happy to comply with her request.  We were united, I brought her to
this house, where, in less than a week, she expired in my arms."




CHAPTER XXXIV


The Old Man's Story continued--Misery in the Head--The Strange Marks--Tea-
dealer from London--Difficulties of the Chinese Language.

After another pause the old man once more resumed his narration:--"If
ever there was a man perfectly miserable it was myself, after the loss of
that cherished woman.  I sat solitary in the house, in which I had hoped
in her company to realize the choicest earthly happiness, a prey to the
bitterest reflections; many people visited, and endeavoured to console
me--amongst them was the clergyman of the parish, who begged me to be
resigned, and told me that it was good to be afflicted.  I bowed my head,
but I could not help thinking how easy it must be for those who feel no
affliction, to bid others to be resigned, and to talk of the benefit
resulting from sorrow; perhaps I should have paid more attention to his
discourse than I did, provided he had been a person for whom it was
possible to entertain much respect, but his own heart was known to be set
on the things of this world.

"Within a little time he had an opportunity, in his own case, of
practising resignation, and of realizing the benefit of being afflicted.
A merchant, to whom he had entrusted all his fortune, in the hope of a
large interest, became suddenly a bankrupt, with scarcely any assets.  I
will not say that it was owing to this misfortune that the divine died in
less than a month after its occurrence, but such was the fact.  Amongst
those who most frequently visited me was my friend the surgeon; he did
not confine himself to the common topics of consolation, but endeavoured
to impress upon me the necessity of rousing myself, advising me to occupy
my mind with some pursuit, particularly recommending agriculture; but
agriculture possessed no interest for me, nor, indeed, any pursuit within
my reach; my hopes of happiness had been blighted, and what cared I for
anything? so at last he thought it best to leave me to myself, hoping
that time would bring with it consolation; and I remained solitary in my
house, waited upon by a male and a female servant.  Oh, what dreary
moments I passed!  My only amusement--and it was a sad one--was to look
at the things which once belonged to my beloved, and which were now in my
possession.  Oh, how fondly would I dwell upon them!  There were some
books; I cared not for books, but these had belonged to my beloved.  Oh,
how fondly did I dwell on them!  Then there was her hat and bonnet--oh,
me, how fondly did I gaze upon them! and after looking at her things for
hours, I would sit and ruminate on the happiness I had lost.  How I
execrated the moment I had gone to the fair to sell horses!  'Would that
I had never been to Horncastle to sell horses!' I would say; 'I might at
this moment have been enjoying the company of my beloved, leading a
happy, quiet, easy life, but for that fatal expedition;' that thought
worked on my brain, till my brain seemed to turn round.

"One day I sat at the breakfast-table gazing vacantly around me, my mind
was in a state of inexpressible misery; there was a whirl in my brain,
probably like that which people feel who are rapidly going mad; this
increased to such a degree that I felt giddiness coming upon me.  To
abate this feeling I no longer permitted my eyes to wander about, but
fixed them upon an object on the table, and continued gazing at it for
several minutes without knowing what it was; at length, the misery in my
head was somewhat stilled, my lips moved, and I heard myself saying,
'What odd marks!'  I had fastened my eyes on the side of a teapot, and by
keeping them fixed upon it, had become aware of a fact that had escaped
my notice before--namely, that there were marks upon it.  I kept my eyes
fixed upon them, and repeated at intervals, 'What strange marks!'--for I
thought that looking upon the marks tended to abate the whirl in my head:
I kept tracing the marks one after the other, and I observed that though
they all bore a general resemblance to each other, they were all to a
certain extent different.  The smallest portion possible of curious
interest had been awakened within me, and, at last, I asked myself,
within my own mind, 'What motive could induce people to put such odd
marks on their crockery? they were not pictures, they were not letters;
what motive could people have for putting them there?'  At last I removed
my eyes from the teapot, and thought for a few moments about the marks;
presently, however, I felt the whirl returning; the marks became almost
effaced from my mind, and I was beginning to revert to my miserable
ruminations, when suddenly methought I heard a voice say, 'The marks! the
marks! cling to the marks? or--'  So I fixed my eyes again upon the
marks, inspecting them more attentively, if possible, than I had done
before, and, at last, I came to the conclusion that they were not
capricious or fanciful marks, but were arranged systematically; when I
had gazed at them for a considerable time, I turned the teapot round, and
on the other side I observed marks of a similar kind, which I soon
discovered were identical with the ones I had been observing.  All the
marks were something alike, but all somewhat different, and on comparing
them with each other, I was struck with the frequent occurrence of a mark
crossing an upright line, or projecting from it, now on the right, now on
the left side; and I said to myself, 'Why does this mark sometimes cross
the upright line, and sometimes project?' and the more I thought on the
matter, the less did I feel of the misery in my head.

"The things were at length removed, and I sat, as I had for some time
past been wont to sit after my meals, silent and motionless; but in the
present instance my mind was not entirely abandoned to the one mournful
idea which had so long distressed it.  It was, to a certain extent,
occupied with the marks on the teapot; it is true that the mournful idea
strove hard with the marks on the teapot for the mastery in my mind, and
at last the painful idea drove the marks of the teapot out; they,
however, would occasionally return and flit across my mind for a moment
or two, and their coming was like a momentary relief from intense pain.  I
thought once or twice that I would have the teapot placed before me, that
I might examine the marks at leisure, but I considered that it would be
as well to defer the re-examination of the marks till the next morning;
at that time I did not take tea of an evening.  By deferring the
examination thus, I had something to look forward to on the next morning.
The day was a melancholy one, but it certainly was more tolerable to me
than any of the others had been since the death of my beloved.  As I lay
awake that night I occasionally thought of the marks, and in my sleep
methought I saw them upon the teapot vividly before me.  On the morrow, I
examined the marks again; how singular they looked!  Surely they must
mean something, and if so, what could they mean? and at last I thought
within myself whether it would be possible for me to make out what they
meant: that day I felt more relief than on the preceding one, and towards
night I walked a little about.

"In about a week's time I received a visit from my friend the surgeon;
after a little discourse, he told me that he perceived I was better than
when he had last seen me, and asked me what I had been about; I told him
that I had been principally occupied in considering certain marks which I
had found on a teapot, and wondering what they could mean; he smiled at
first, but instantly assuming a serious look, he asked to see the teapot.
I produced it, and after having surveyed the marks with attention, he
observed that they were highly curious, and also wondered what they
meant.  'I strongly advise you,' said he, 'to attempt to make them out,
and also to take moderate exercise, and to see after your concerns.'  I
followed his advice; every morning I studied the marks on the teapot, and
in the course of the day took moderate exercise, and attended to little
domestic matters, as became the master of a house.

"I subsequently learned that the surgeon, in advising me to study the
marks, and endeavour to make out their meaning, merely hoped that by
means of them my mind might by degrees be diverted from the mournful idea
on which I had so long brooded.  He was a man well skilled in his
profession, but had read and thought very little on matters unconnected
with it.  He had no idea that the marks had any particular signification,
or were anything else but common and fortuitous ones.  That I became at
all acquainted with their nature was owing to a ludicrous circumstance
which I will now relate.

"One day, chancing to be at a neighbouring town, I was struck with the
appearance of a shop recently established.  It had an immense bow-window,
and every part of it, to which a brush could be applied, was painted in a
gaudy flaming style.  Large bowls of green and black tea were placed upon
certain chests, which stood at the window.  I stopped to look at them,
such a display, whatever it may be at the present time, being, at the
period of which I am speaking, quite uncommon in a country town.  The
tea, whether black or green, was very shining and inviting, and the
bowls, of which there were three, standing on as many chests, were very
grand and foreign looking.  Two of these were white, with figures and
trees painted upon them in blue; the other, which was the middlemost, had
neither trees nor figures upon it, but, as I looked through the window,
appeared to have on its sides the very same kind of marks which I had
observed on the teapot at home; there were also marks on the tea-chests,
somewhat similar, but much larger, and, apparently, not executed with so
much care.  'Best teas direct from China,' said a voice close to my side;
and looking round I saw a youngish man, with a frizzled head, flat face,
and an immensely wide mouth, standing in his shirt-sleeves by the door.
'Direct from China,' said he; 'perhaps you will do me the favour to walk
in and scent them?'  'I do not want any tea,' said I; 'I was only
standing at the window examining those marks on the bowl and the chests.
I have observed similar ones on a teapot at home.'  'Pray walk in, sir,'
said the young fellow, extending his mouth till it reached nearly from
ear to ear; 'pray walk in, and I shall be happy to give you any
information respecting the manners and customs of the Chinese in my
power.'  Thereupon I followed him into his shop, where he began to
harangue on the manners, customs, and peculiarities of the Chinese,
especially their manner of preparing tea, not forgetting to tell me that
the only genuine Chinese tea ever imported into England was to be found
in his shop.  'With respect to those marks,' said he, 'on the bowl and
chests, they are nothing more nor less than Chinese writing expressing
something, though what I can't exactly tell you.  Allow me to sell you
this pound of tea,' he added, showing me a paper parcel.  'On the
envelope there is a printed account of the Chinese system of writing,
extracted from authors of the most established reputation.  These things
I print, principally with the hope of, in some degree, removing the worse
than Gothic ignorance prevalent amongst natives of these parts.  I am
from London myself.  With respect to all that relates to the Chinese real
imperial tea, I assure you sir, that--'  Well, to make short of what you
doubtless consider a very tiresome story, I purchased the tea and carried
it home.  The tea proved imperially bad, but the paper envelope really
contained some information on the Chinese language and writing, amounting
to about as much as you gained from me the other day.  On learning that
the marks on the teapot expressed words, I felt my interest with respect
to them considerably increased, and returned to the task of inspecting
them with greater zeal than before, hoping, by continually looking at
them, to be able eventually to understand their meaning, in which hope
you may easily believe I was disappointed, though my desire to understand
what they represented continued on the increase.  In this dilemma I
determined to apply again to the shopkeeper from whom I bought the tea.  I
found him in rather low spirits, his shirt-sleeves were soiled, and his
hair was out of curl.  On my inquiring how he got on, he informed me that
he intended speedily to leave, having received little or no
encouragement, the people, in their Gothic ignorance, preferring to deal
with an old-fashioned shopkeeper over the way, who, so far from
possessing any acquaintance with the polity and institutions of the
Chinese, did not, he believed, know that tea came from China.  'You are
come for some more, I suppose?' said he.  On receiving an answer in the
negative he looked somewhat blank, but when I added that I came to
consult with him as to the means which I must take in order to acquire
the Chinese language he brightened up.  'You must get a grammar,' said
he, rubbing his hands.  'Have you not one?' said I.  'No,' he replied,
'but any bookseller can procure you one.'  As I was taking my departure,
he told me that as he was about to leave the neighbourhood, the bowl at
the window, which bore the inscription, besides some other pieces of
porcelain of a similar description, were at my service, provided I chose
to purchase them.  I consented, and two or three days afterwards took
from off his hands all the china in his possession which bore the
inscriptions, paying what he demanded.  Had I waited till the sale of his
effects, which occurred within a few weeks, I could probably have
procured it for a fifth part of the sum which I paid, the other pieces
realizing very little.  I did not, however, grudge the poor fellow what
he got from me, as I considered myself to be somewhat in his debt for the
information he had afforded me.

"As for the rest of my story, it may be briefly told.  I followed the
advice of the shopkeeper, and applied to a bookseller who wrote to his
correspondent in London.  After a long interval, I was informed that if I
wished to learn Chinese, I must do so through the medium of French, there
being neither Chinese grammar nor dictionary in our language.  I was at
first very much disheartened.  I determined, however, at last to gratify
my desire of learning Chinese, even at the expense of learning French.  I
procured the books, and in order to qualify myself to turn them to
account, took lessons in French from a little Swiss, the usher of a
neighbouring boarding-school.  I was very stupid in acquiring French;
perseverance, however, enabled me to acquire a knowledge sufficient for
the object I had in view.  In about two years I began to study Chinese by
myself, through the medium of the French."

"Well," said I, "and how did you get on with the study of the Chinese?"

And then the old man proceeded to inform me how he got on with the study
of Chinese, enumerated all the difficulties he had had to encounter;
dilating upon his frequent despondency of mind, and occasionally his
utter despair of ever mastering Chinese.  He told me that more than once
he had determined upon giving up the study, but when the misery in his
head forthwith returned, to escape from which he had as often resumed it.
It appeared, however, that ten years elapsed before he was able to use
ten of the two hundred and fourteen keys, which serve to undo the locks
of Chinese writing.

"And are you able at present to use the entire number?" I demanded.

"Yes," said the old man; "I can at present use the whole number.  I know
the key for every particular lock, though I frequently find the wards
unwilling to give way."

"Has nothing particular occurred to you," said I, "during the time that
you have been prosecuting your studies?"

"During the whole time in which I have been engaged in these studies,"
said the old man, "only one circumstance has occurred which requires any
particular mention--the death of my old friend the surgeon--who was
carried off suddenly by a fit of apoplexy.  His death was a great shock
to me, and for a time interrupted my studies.  His son, however, who
succeeded him, was very kind to me, and, in some degree, supplied his
father's place; and I gradually returned to my Chinese locks and keys."

"And in applying keys to the Chinese locks you employ your time?"

"Yes," said the old man, "in making out the inscriptions on the various
pieces of porcelain, which I have at different times procured, I pass my
time.  The first inscription which I translated was that on the teapot of
my beloved."

"And how many other pieces of porcelain may you have at present in your
possession?"

"About fifteen hundred."

"And how did you obtain them?" I demanded.

"Without much labour," said the old man, "in the neighbouring towns and
villages--chiefly at auctions--of which, about twenty years ago, there
were many in these parts."

"And may I ask your reasons for confining your studies entirely to the
crockery literature of China, when you have all the rest at your
disposal?"

"The inscriptions enable me to pass my time," said the old man; "what
more would the whole literature of China do?"

"And from these inscriptions," said I, "what a book it is in your power
to make, whenever so disposed.  'Translations from the crockery
literature of China.'  Such a book would be sure to take; even glorious
John himself would not disdain to publish it."  The old man smiled.  "I
have no desire for literary distinction," said he; "no ambition.  My
original wish was to pass my life in easy, quiet obscurity, with her whom
I loved.  I was disappointed in my wish; she was removed, who constituted
my only felicity in this life; desolation came to my heart, and misery to
my head.  To escape from the latter I had recourse to Chinese.  By
degrees the misery left my head, but the desolation of the heart yet
remains."

"Be of good cheer," said I; "through the instrumentality of this
affliction you have learnt Chinese, and, in so doing, learnt to practise
the duties of hospitality.  Who but a man who could read Runes on a
teapot, would have received an unfortunate wayfarer as you have received
me?"

"Well," said the old man, "let us hope that all is for the best.  I am by
nature indolent, and, but for this affliction, should, perhaps, have
hardly taken the trouble to do my duty to my fellow-creatures.  I am
very, very indolent," said he, slightly glancing towards the clock;
"therefore let us hope that all is for the best; but, oh! these trials,
they are very hard to bear."




CHAPTER XXXV


The Leave-taking--Spirit of the Hearth--What's o'Clock?

The next morning, having breakfasted with my old friend, I went into the
stable to make the necessary preparations for my departure; there, with
the assistance of a stable lad, I cleaned and caparisoned my horse, and
then, returning into the house, I made the old female attendant such a
present as I deemed would be some compensation for the trouble I had
caused.  Hearing that the old gentleman was in his study, I repaired to
him.  "I am come to take leave of you," said I, "and to thank you for all
the hospitality which I have received at your hands."  The eyes of the
old man were fixed steadfastly on the inscription which I had found him
studying on a former occasion.  "At length," he murmured to himself, "I
have it--I think I have it;" and then, looking at me, he said, "So you
are about to depart?"

"Yes," said I, "my horse will be at the front door in a few minutes; I am
glad, however, before I go, to find that you have mastered the
inscription."

"Yes," said the old man, "I believe I have mastered it; it seems to
consist of some verses relating to the worship of the Spirit of the
Hearth."

"What is the Spirit of the Hearth?" said I.

"One of the many demons which the Chinese worship," said the old man;
"they do not worship one God, but many."  And then the old man told me a
great many highly-interesting particulars respecting the demon worship of
the Chinese.

After the lapse of at least half an hour I said, "I must not linger here
any longer, however willing.  Horncastle is distant, and I wish to be
there to-night.  Pray can you inform me what's o'clock?"

The old man, rising, looked towards the clock which hung on the side of
the room at his left hand, on the farther side of the table at which he
was seated.

"I am rather short-sighted," said I, "and cannot distinguish the number,
at that distance."

"It is ten o'clock," said the old man; "I believe somewhat past."

"A quarter, perhaps?"

"Yes," said the old man "a quarter or--"

"Or?"

"Seven minutes, or ten minutes past ten."

"I do not understand you."

"Why, to tell you the truth," said the old man, with a smile, "there is
one thing to the knowledge of which I could never exactly attain."

"Do you mean to say," said I, "that you do not know what's o'clock?"

"I can give a guess," said the old man, "to within a few minutes."

"But you cannot tell the exact moment?"

"No," said the old man.

"In the name of wonder," said I, "with that thing there on the wall
continually ticking in your ear, how comes it that you do not know what's
o'clock?"

"Why," said the old man, "I have contented myself with giving a tolerably
good guess; to do more would have been too great trouble."

"But you have learnt Chinese," said I.

"Yes," said the old man, "I have learnt Chinese."

"Well," said I, "I really would counsel you to learn to know what's
o'clock as soon as possible.  Consider what a sad thing it would be to go
out of the world not knowing what's o'clock.  A millionth part of the
trouble required to learn Chinese would, if employed, infallibly teach
you to know what's o'clock."

"I had a motive for learning Chinese," said the old man, "the hope of
appeasing the misery in my head.  With respect to not knowing what's
o'clock, I cannot see anything particularly sad in the matter.  A man may
get through the world very creditably without knowing what's o'clock.
Yet, upon the whole, it is no bad thing to know what's o'clock--you, of
course, do?  It would be too good a joke if two people were to be
together, one knowing Armenian and the other Chinese, and neither knowing
what's o'clock.  I'll now see you off."




CHAPTER XXXVI


Arrival at Horncastle--The Inn and Ostlers--The Garret--Figure of a Man
with a Candle.

Leaving the house of the old man who knew Chinese, but could not tell
what was o'clock, I wended my way to Horncastle, which I reached in the
evening of the same day, without having met any adventure on the way
worthy of being marked down in this very remarkable history.

The town was a small one, seemingly ancient, and was crowded with people
and horses.  I proceeded, without delay, to the inn to which my friend
the surgeon had directed me.  "It is of no use coming here," said two or
three ostlers, as I entered the yard--"all full--no room whatever;"
whilst one added in an undertone, "That ere a'n't a bad-looking horse."
"I want to see the master of this inn," said I, as I dismounted from the
horse.  "See the master," said an ostler--the same who had paid the
negative kind of compliment to the horse--"a likely thing, truly; my
master is drinking wine with some of the grand gentry, and can't be
disturbed for the sake of the like of you."  "I bring a letter to him,"
said I, pulling out the surgeon's epistle.  "I wish you would deliver it
to him," I added, offering a half-crown.  "Oh, it's you, is it?" said the
ostler, taking the letter and the half-crown; "my master will be right
glad to see you; why, you ha'n't been here for many a year; I'll carry
the note to him at once."  And with these words he hurried into the
house.  "That's a nice horse, young man," said another ostler, "what will
you take for it?" to which interrogation I made no answer.  "If you wish
to sell him," said the ostler, coming up to me, and winking knowingly, "I
think I and my partners might offer you a summut under seventy pounds;"
to which kind and half-insinuated offer I made no reply, save by winking
in the same kind of knowing manner in which I observed him wink.  "Rather
leary!" said a third ostler.  "Well, young man, perhaps you will drink to-
night with me and my partners, when we can talk the matter over."  Before
I had time to answer, the landlord, a well-dressed, good-looking man,
made his appearance with the ostler; he bore the letter in his hand.
Without glancing at me, he betook himself at once to consider the horse,
going round him, and observing every point with the utmost minuteness.  At
last, having gone round the horse three times, he stopped beside me, and
keeping his eyes on the horse, bent his head towards his right shoulder.
"That horse is worth some money," said he, turning towards me suddenly,
and slightly touching me on the arm with the letter which he held in his
hand; to which observation I made no reply, save by bending my head
towards the right shoulder as I had seen him do.  "The young man is going
to talk to me and my partners about it to-night," said the ostler who had
expressed an opinion that he and his friends might offer me somewhat
under seventy pounds for the animal.  "Pooh!" said the landlord, "the
young man knows what he is about; in the meantime lead the horse to the
reserved stall, and see well after him.  My friend," said he, taking me
aside after the ostler had led the animal away, "recommends you to me in
the strongest manner, on which account alone I take you and your horse
in.  I need not advise you not to be taken in, as I should say, by your
look, that you are tolerably awake; but there are queer hands at
Horncastle at this time, and those fellows of mine, you understand me--;
but I have a great deal to do at present, so you must excuse me."  And
thereupon went into the house.

That same evening I was engaged at least two hours in the stable, in
rubbing the horse down, and preparing him for the exhibition which I
intended he should make in the fair on the following day.  The ostler, to
whom I had given the half-crown, occasionally assisted me, though he was
too much occupied by the horses of other guests to devote any length of
time to the service of mine; he more than once repeated to me his firm
conviction that himself and partners could afford to offer me summut for
the horse; and at a later hour when, in compliance with his invitation, I
took a glass of summut with himself and partners, in a little room
surrounded with corn-chests, on which we sat, both himself and partners
endeavoured to impress upon me, chiefly by means of nods and winks, their
conviction that they could afford to give me summut for the horse,
provided I were disposed to sell him; in return for which intimation,
with as many nods and winks as they had all collectively used, I
endeavoured to impress upon them my conviction that I could get summut
handsomer in the fair than they might be disposed to offer me, seeing as
how--which how I followed by a wink and a nod, which they seemed
perfectly to understand, one or two of them declaring that if the case
was so, it made a great deal of difference, and that they did not wish to
be any hindrance to me, more particularly as it was quite clear I had
been an ostler like themselves.

It was late at night when I began to think of retiring to rest.  On
inquiring if there was any place in which I could sleep, I was informed
that there was a bed at my service, provided I chose to sleep in a two-
bedded room, one of the beds of which was engaged by another gentleman.  I
expressed my satisfaction at this arrangement, and was conducted by a
maid-servant up many pairs of stairs to a garret, in which were two small
beds, in one of which she gave me to understand another gentleman slept;
he had, however, not yet retired to rest; I asked who he was, but the
maid-servant could give me no information about him, save that he was a
highly respectable gentleman, and a friend of her master's.  Presently,
bidding me good night, she left me with a candle; and I, having undressed
myself and extinguished the light, went to bed.  Notwithstanding the
noises which sounded from every part of the house, I was not slow in
falling asleep, being thoroughly tired.  I know not how long I might have
been in bed, perhaps two hours, when I was partially awakened by a light
shining upon my face, whereupon, unclosing my eyes, I perceived the
figure of a man, with a candle in one hand, staring at my face, whilst
with the other hand, he held back the curtain of the bed.  As I have said
before, I was only partially awakened, my power of conception was
consequently very confused; it appeared to me, however, that the man was
dressed in a green coat; that he had curly brown or black hair, and that
there was something peculiar in his look.  Just as I was beginning to
recollect myself, the curtain dropped, and I heard, or thought I heard, a
voice say, "Don't know the cove."  Then there was a rustling like a
person undressing, whereupon being satisfied that it was my
fellow-lodger, I dropped asleep, but was awakened again by a kind of
heavy plunge upon the other bed, which caused it to rock and creak, when
I observed that the light had been extinguished, probably blown out, if I
might judge from a rather disagreeable smell of burnt wick which remained
in the room, and which kept me awake till I heard my companion breathing
hard, when, turning on the other side, I was again once more speedily in
the arms of slumber.




CHAPTER XXXVII


Horncastle Fair.

It had been my intention to be up and doing early on the following
morning, but my slumbers proved so profound, that I did not wake until
about eight; on arising, I again found myself the sole occupant of the
apartment, my more alert companion having probably risen at a much
earlier hour.  Having dressed myself, I descended, and going to the
stable, found my horse under the hands of my friend the ostler, who was
carefully rubbing him down.  "There a'n't a better horse in the fair,"
said he to me, "and as you are one of us, and appear to be all right,
I'll give you a piece of advice--don't take less than a hundred and fifty
for him; if you mind your hits, you may get it, for I have known two
hundred given in this fair for one no better, if so good."  "Well," said
I, "thank you for your advice, which I will take, and, if successful,
will give you 'summut' handsome."  "Thank you," said the ostler; "and now
let me ask whether you are up to all the ways of this here place?"  "I
have never been here before," said I, "but I have a pair of tolerably
sharp eyes in my head."  "That I see you have," said the ostler, "but
many a body, with as sharp a pair of eyes as yourn, has lost his horse in
this fair, for want of having been here before, therefore," said he,
"I'll give you a caution or two."  Thereupon the ostler proceeded to give
me at least half a dozen cautions, only two of which I shall relate to
the reader:--the first, not to stop to listen to what any chance customer
might have to say; and the last--the one on which he appeared to lay most
stress--by no manner of means to permit a Yorkshireman to get up into the
saddle, "for," said he, "if you do, it is three to one that he rides off
with the horse; he can't help it; trust a cat amongst cream, but never
trust a Yorkshireman on the saddle of a good horse; by-the-by," he
continued, "that saddle of yours is not a particularly good one, no more
is the bridle.  I tell you what, as you seem a decent kind of a young
chap, I'll lend you a saddle and bridle of my master's, almost bran new;
he won't object, I know, as you are a friend of his, only you must not
forget your promise to come down with summut handsome after you have sold
the animal."

After a slight breakfast I mounted the horse, which, decked out in his
borrowed finery, really looked better by a large sum of money than on any
former occasion.  Making my way out of the yard of the inn, I was
instantly in the principal street of the town, up and down which an
immense number of horses were being exhibited, some led, and others with
riders.  "A wonderful small quantity of good horses in the fair this
time!" I heard a stout jockey-looking individual say, who was staring up
the street with his side towards me.  "Halloo, young fellow!" said he, a
few moments after I had passed, "whose horse is that?  Stop!  I want to
look at him!"  Though confident that he was addressing himself to me, I
took no notice, remembering the advice of the ostler, and proceeded up
the street.  My horse possessed a good walking step; but walking, as the
reader knows, was not his best pace, which was the long trot, at which I
could not well exercise him in the street, on account of the crowd of men
and animals; however, as he walked along, I could easily perceive that he
attracted no slight attention amongst those who, by their jockey dress
and general appearance, I imagined to be connoisseurs; I heard various
calls to stop, to none of which I paid the slightest attention.  In a few
minutes I found myself out of the town, when, turning round for the
purpose of returning, I found I had been followed by several of the
connoisseur-looking individuals, whom I had observed in the fair.  "Now
would be the time for a display," thought I; and looking around me I
observed two five-barred gates, one on each side of the road, and
fronting each other.  Turning my horse's head to one, I pressed my heels
to his sides, loosened the reins, and gave an encouraging cry, whereupon
the animal cleared the gate in a twinkling.  Before he had advanced ten
yards in the field to which the gate opened, I had turned him round, and
again giving him cry and rein, I caused him to leap back again into the
road, and still allowing him head, I made him leap the other gate; and
forthwith turning him round, I caused him to leap once more into the
road, where he stood proudly tossing his head, as much as to say, "What
more?"  "A fine horse! a capital horse!" said several of the
connoisseurs.  "What do you ask for him?"  "Too much for any of you to
pay," said I.  "A horse like this is intended for other kind of customers
than any of you."  "How do you know that?" said one; the very same person
whom I had heard complaining in the street of the paucity of good horses
in the fair.  "Come, let us know what you ask for him?"  "A hundred and
fifty pounds!" said I; "neither more nor less."  "Do you call that a
great price?" said the man.  "Why, I thought you would have asked double
that amount!  You do yourself injustice, young man."  "Perhaps I do,"
said I, "but that's my affair; I do not choose to take more."  "I wish
you would let me get into the saddle," said the man; "the horse knows
you, and therefore shows to more advantage; but I should like to see how
he would move under me, who am a stranger.  Will you let me get into the
saddle, young man?"  "No," said I; "I will not let you get into the
saddle."  "Why not?" said the man.  "Lest you should be a Yorkshireman,"
said I; "and should run away with the horse."  "Yorkshire?" said the man;
"I am from Suffolk; silly Suffolk--so you need not be afraid of my
running away with the horse."  "Oh! if that's the case," said I, "I
should be afraid that the horse would run away with you; so I will by no
means let you mount."  "Will you let me look in his mouth?" said the man.
"If you please," said I; "but I tell you, he's apt to bite."  "He can
scarcely be a worse bite than his master," said the man, looking into the
horse's mouth; "he's four off.  I say, young man, will you warrant this
horse?"  "No," said I; "I never warrant horses; the horses that I ride
can always warrant themselves."  "I wish you would let me speak a word to
you," said he.  "Just come aside.  It's a nice horse," said he, in a half
whisper, after I had ridden a few paces aside with him.  "It's a nice
horse," said he, placing his hand upon the pommel of the saddle, and
looking up in my face, "and I think I can find you a customer.  If you
would take a hundred, I think my lord would purchase it, for he has sent
me about the fair to look him up a horse, by which he could hope to make
an honest penny."  "Well," said I, "and could he not make an honest
penny, and yet give me the price I ask?"  "Why," said the go-between, "a
hundred and fifty pounds is as much as the animal is worth, or nearly so;
and my lord, do you see--"  "I see no reason at all," said I, "why I
should sell the animal for less than he is worth, in order that his
lordship may be benefited by him; so that if his lordship wants to make
an honest penny, he must find some person who would consider the
disadvantage of selling him a horse for less than it is worth, as
counterbalanced by the honour of dealing with a lord, which I should
never do; but I can't be wasting my time here.  I am going back to the ---
, where, if you, or any person, are desirous of purchasing the horse, you
must come within the next half hour, or I shall probably not feel
disposed to sell him at all."  "Another word, young man," said the
jockey; but without staying to hear what he had to say, I put the horse
to his best trot, and re-entering the town, and threading my way as well
as I could through the press, I returned to the yard of the inn, where,
dismounting, I stood still, holding the horse by the bridle.

I had been standing in this manner about five minutes, when I saw the
jockey enter the yard, accompanied by another individual.  They advanced
directly towards me.  "Here is my lord come to look at the horse, young
man," said the jockey.  My lord, as the jockey called him, was a tall
figure, of about five-and-thirty.  He had on his head a hat somewhat
rusty, and on his back a surtout of blue rather the worse for wear.  His
forehead, if not high, was exceedingly narrow; his eyes were brown, with
a rat-like glare in them; the nose was rather long, and the mouth very
wide; the cheek-bones high, and the cheeks, as to hue and consistency,
exhibiting very much the appearance of a withered red apple; there was a
gaunt expression of hunger in the whole countenance.  He had scarcely
glanced at the horse, when drawing in his cheeks, he thrust out his lips
very much after the manner of a baboon, when he sees a piece of sugar
held out towards him.  "Is this horse yours?" said he, suddenly turning
towards me, with a kind of smirk.  "It's my horse," said I; "are you the
person who wishes to make an honest penny by it?"  "How!" said he,
drawing up his head with a very consequential look, and speaking with a
very haughty tone, "what do you mean?"  We looked at each other full in
the face; after a few moments, the muscles of the mouth of him of the
hungry look began to move violently, the face was puckered into
innumerable wrinkles, and the eyes became half closed.  "Well," said I,
"have you ever seen me before?  I suppose you are asking yourself that
question."  "Excuse me, sir," said he, dropping his lofty look, and
speaking in a very subdued and civil tone, "I have never had the honour
of seeing you before, that is"--said he, slightly glancing at me again,
and again moving the muscles of his mouth, "no, I have never seen you
before," he added, making me a bow.  "I have never had that pleasure; my
business with you, at present, is to inquire the lowest price you are
willing to take for this horse.  My agent here informs me that you ask
one hundred and fifty pounds, which I cannot think of giving--the horse
is a showy horse, but look, my dear sir, he has a defect here, and there
in his near fore leg I observe something which looks very like a
splint--yes, upon my credit," said he, touching the animal, "he has a
splint, or something which will end in one.  A hundred and fifty pounds,
sir! what could have induced you ever to ask anything like that for this
animal?  I protest that, in my time, I have frequently bought a better
for-- Who are you, sir?  I am in treaty for this horse," said he to a man
who had come up whilst he was talking, and was now looking into the
horse's mouth.  "Who am I?" said the man, still looking into the horse's
mouth; "who am I? his lordship asks me.  Ah, I see, close on five," said
he, releasing the horse's jaws, and looking at me.  This new comer was a
thin, wiry-made individual, with wiry curling brown hair; his face was
dark, and wore an arch and somewhat roguish expression; upon one of his
eyes was a kind of speck or beam; he might be about forty, wore a green
jockey coat, and held in his hand a black riding whip, with a knob of
silver wire.  As I gazed upon his countenance, it brought powerfully to
my mind the face which, by the light of the candle, I had seen staring
over me on the preceding night, when lying in bed and half asleep.  Close
beside him, and seemingly in his company, stood an exceedingly tall
figure, that of a youth, seemingly about one-and-twenty, dressed in a
handsome riding dress, and wearing on his head a singular hat, green in
colour, and with a very high peak.  "What do you ask for this horse?"
said he of the green coat, winking at me with the eye which had a beam in
it, whilst the other shone and sparkled like Mrs. Colonel W-'s Golconda
diamond.  "Who are you, sir, I demand once more?" said he of the hungry
look.  "Who am I? why, who should I be but Jack Dale, who buys horses for
himself and other folk; I want one at present for this short young
gentleman," said he, motioning with his finger to the gigantic youth.
"Well, sir," said the other, "and what business have you to interfere
between me and any purchase I may be disposed to make?"  "Well, then,"
said the other, "be quick and purchase the horse, or, perhaps, I may."
"Do you think I am to be dictated to by a fellow of your description?"
said his lordship, "begone, or--"  "What do you ask for this horse?" said
the other to me, very coolly.  "A hundred and fifty," said I.  "I
shouldn't mind giving it to you," said he.  "You will do no such thing,"
said his lordship, speaking so fast that he almost stuttered.  "Sir,"
said he to me, "I must give you what you ask; Symmonds, take possession
of the animal for me," said he to the other jockey who attended him.  "You
will please to do no such thing without my consent," said I, "I have not
sold him."  "I have this moment told you that I will give you the price
you demand," said his lordship; "is not that sufficient?"  "No," said I,
"there is a proper manner of doing everything--had you come forward in a
manly and gentlemanly manner to purchase the horse, I should have been
happy to sell him to you, but after all the fault you have found with
him, I would not sell him to you at any price, so send your friend to
find up another."  "You behave in this manner, I suppose," said his
lordship, "because this fellow has expressed a willingness to come to
your terms.  I would advise you to be cautious how you trust the animal
in his hands; I think I have seen him before, and could tell you--"  "What
can you tell of me?" said the other, going up to him; "except that I have
been a poor dicky-boy, and that now I am a dealer in horses, and that my
father was lagged; that's all you could tell of me, and that I don't mind
telling myself: but there are two things they can't say of me, they can't
say that I am either a coward or a screw either, except so far as one who
gets his bread by horses may be expected to be; and they can't say of me
that I ever ate up an ice which a young woman was waiting for, or that I
ever backed out of a fight.  Horse!" said he, motioning with his finger
tauntingly to the other; "what do you want with a horse, except to take
the bread out of the mouth of a poor man--to-morrow is not the battle of
Waterloo, so that you don't want to back out of danger, by pretending to
have hurt yourself by falling from the creature's back, my lord of the
white feather--come, none of your fierce looks--I am not afraid of you."
In fact, the other had assumed an expression of the deadliest malice, his
teeth were clenched, his lips quivered, and were quite pale; the rat-like
eyes sparkled, and he made a half spring, a la rat, towards his
adversary, who only laughed.  Restraining himself, however, he suddenly
turned to his understrapper, saying, "Symmonds, will you see me thus
insulted? go and trounce this scoundrel; you can, I know."  "Symmonds
trounce me!" said the other, going up to the person addressed, and
drawing his hand contemptuously over his face; "why, I beat Symmonds in
this very yard in one round three years ago; didn't I, Symmonds?" said he
to the understrapper, who held down his head, muttering, in a surly tone,
"I didn't come here to fight; let every one take his own part."  "That's
right, Symmonds," said the other, "especially every one from whom there
is nothing to be got.  I would give you half-a-crown for all the trouble
you have had, provided I were not afraid that my Lord Plume there would
get it from you as soon as you leave the yard together.  Come, take
yourselves both off; there's nothing to be made here."  Indeed, his
lordship seemed to be of the same opinion, for after a further glance at
the horse, a contemptuous look at me, and a scowl at the jockey, he
turned on his heel, muttering something which sounded like fellows, and
stalked out of the yard, followed by Symmonds.

"And now, young man," said the jockey, or whatever he was, turning to me
with an arch leer, "I suppose I may consider myself as the purchaser of
this here animal, for the use and behoof of this young gentleman?" making
a sign with his head to the tall young man by his side.  "By no means,"
said I, "I am utterly unacquainted with either of you, and before parting
with the horse I must be satisfied as to the respectability of the
purchaser."  "Oh! as to that matter," said he, "I have plenty of vouchers
for my respectability about me;" and thrusting his hand into his bosom
below his waistcoat, he drew out a large bundle of notes.  "These are the
kind of things," said he, "which vouch best for a man's respectability."
"Not always," said I; "indeed, sometimes these kind of things need
vouchers for themselves."  The man looked at me with a peculiar look.  "Do
you mean to say that these notes are not sufficient notes?" said he,
"because if you do I shall take the liberty of thinking you are not over
civil, and when I thinks a person is not over and above civil I sometimes
takes off my coat; and when my coat is off--"  "You sometimes knock
people down," I added; "well, whether you knock me down or not, I beg
leave to tell you that I am a stranger in this fair, and that I shall
part with the horse to nobody who has no better guarantee for his
respectability than a roll of bank-notes, which may be good or not for
what I know, who am not a judge of such things."  "Oh! if you are a
stranger here," said the man, "as I believe you are, never having seen
you here before except last night, when I think I saw you above stairs by
the glimmer of a candle--I say, if you are a stranger, you are quite
right to be cautious; queer things being done in this fair, as nobody
knows better than myself," he added with a leer; "but I suppose if the
landlord of the house vouches for me and my notes, you will have no
objection to part with the horse to me?"  "None whatever," said I, "and
in the meantime the horse can return to the stable."

Thereupon I delivered the horse to my friend the ostler.

The landlord of the house on being questioned by me as to the character
and condition of my new acquaintance, informed me that he was a
respectable horsedealer, and an intimate friend of his, whereupon the
purchase was soon brought to a satisfactory conclusion.




CHAPTER XXXVIII


High Dutch.

It was evening: and myself and the two acquaintances I had made in the
fair--namely, the jockey and the tall foreigner--sat in a large upstairs
room, which looked into a court; we had dined with several people
connected with the fair at a long _table d'hote_; they had now departed,
and we sat at a small side-table with wine and a candle before us; both
my companions had pipes in their mouths--the jockey a common pipe, and
the foreigner, one, the syphon of which, made of some kind of wood, was
at least six feet long, and the bowl of which, made of a white kind of
substance like porcelain, and capable of holding nearly an ounce of
tobacco, rested on the ground.  The jockey frequently emptied and
replenished his glass; the foreigner sometimes raised his to his lips,
for no other purpose seemingly than to moisten them, as he never drained
his glass.  As for myself, though I did not smoke, I had a glass before
me, from which I sometimes took a sip.  The room, notwithstanding the
window was flung open, was in general so filled with smoke, chiefly that
which was drawn from the huge bowl of the foreigner, that my companions
and I were frequently concealed from each other's eyes.  The
conversation, which related entirely to the events of the fair, was
carried on by the jockey and myself, the foreigner, who appeared to
understand the greater part of what we said, occasionally putting in a
few observations in broken English.  At length the jockey, after the
other had made some ineffectual attempts to express something
intelligibly which he wished to say, observed, "Isn't it a pity that so
fine a fellow as meinheer, and so clever a fellow too, as I believe him
to be, is not a better master of our language?"

"Is the gentleman a German?" said I; "if so, I can interpret for him
anything he wishes to say."

"The deuce you can," said the jockey, taking his pipe out of his mouth,
and staring at me through the smoke.

"Ha! you speak German," vociferated the foreigner in that language.  "By
Isten, I am glad of it!  I wanted to say--"  And here he said in German
what he wished to say, and which was of no great importance, and which I
translated into English.

"Well, if you don't put me out," said the jockey; "what language is
that--Dutch?"

"High Dutch," said I.

"High Dutch, and you speak High Dutch,--why, I had booked you for as
great an ignoramus as myself, who can't write--no, nor distinguish in a
book a great A from a bull's foot."

"A person may be a very clever man," said I--"no, not a clever man, for
clever signifies clerkly, and a clever man one who is able to read and
write, and entitled to the benefit of his clergy or clerkship; but a
person may be a very acute person without being able to read or write.  I
never saw a more acute countenance than your own."

"No soft soap," said the jockey, "for I never uses any.  However, thank
you for your information; I have hitherto thought myself a'nition clever
fellow, but from henceforth shall consider myself just the contrary, and
only--what's the word?--confounded 'cute."

"Just so," said I.

"Well," said the jockey, "as you say you can speak High Dutch, I should
like to hear you and master six foot six fire away at each other."

"I cannot speak German," said I, "but I can understand tolerably well
what others say in it."

"Come no backing out," said the jockey, "let's hear you fire away for the
glory of Old England."

"Then you are a German?" said I, in German to the foreigner.

"That will do," said the jockey, "keep it up."

"A German!" said the tall foreigner.  "No, I thank God that I do not
belong to the stupid sluggish Germanic race, but to a braver, taller, and
handsomer people;" here taking the pipe out of his mouth, he stood up
proudly erect, so that his head nearly touched the ceiling of the room,
then reseating himself, and again putting the syphon to his lips, he
added, "I am a Magyar."

"What is that?" said I.

The foreigner looked at me for a moment, somewhat contemptuously, through
the smoke, then said, in a voice of thunder, "A Hungarian!"

"What a voice the chap has when he pleases!" interposed the jockey; "what
is he saying?"

"Merely that he is a Hungarian," said I; but I added, "the conversation
of this gentleman and myself in a language which you can't understand
must be very tedious to you, we had better give it up."

"Keep on with it," said the jockey, "I shall go on listening very
contentedly till I fall asleep, no bad thing to do at most times."




CHAPTER XXXIX


The Hungarian.

"Then you are a countryman of Tekeli, and of the queen who made the
celebrated water," said I, speaking to the Hungarian in German, which I
was able to do tolerably well, owing to my having translated the
Publisher's philosophy into that language, always provided I did not
attempt to say much at a time.

_Hungarian_.  Ah! you have heard of Tekeli, and of L'eau de la Reine
d'Hongrie.  How is that?

_Myself_.  I have seen a play acted, founded on the exploits of Tekeli,
and have read Pigault Le Brun's beautiful romance, entitled the "Barons
of Felsheim," in which he is mentioned.  As for the water, I have heard a
lady, the wife of a master of mine, speak of it.

_Hungarian_.  Was she handsome?

_Myself_.  Very.

_Hungarian_.  Did she possess the water?

_Myself_.  I should say not; for I have heard her express a great
curiosity about it.

_Hungarian_.  Was she growing old?

_Myself_.  Of course not; but why do you put all these questions?

_Hungarian_.  Because the water is said to make people handsome, and
above all, to restore to the aged the beauty of their youth.  Well!
Tekeli was my countryman, and I have the honour of having some of the
blood of the Tekelis in my veins, but with respect to the queen, pardon
me if I tell you that she was not an Hungarian; she was a Pole--Ersebet
by name, daughter of Wladislaus Locticus King of Poland; she was the
fourth spouse of Caroly the Second, King of the Magyar country, who
married her in 1320.  She was a great woman and celebrated politician,
though at present chiefly known by her water.

_Myself_.  How came she to invent it?

_Hungarian_.  If her own account may be believed, she did not invent it.
After her death, as I have read in Florentius of Buda, there was found a
statement of the manner in which she came by it, written in her own hand,
on a fly-leaf of her breviary, to the following effect:--Being afflicted
with a grievous disorder at the age of seventy-two, she received the
medicine which was called her water, from an old hermit whom she never
saw before or afterwards; it not only cured her, but restored to her all
her former beauty, so that the King of Poland fell in love with her, and
made her an offer of marriage, which she refused for the glory of God,
from whose holy angel she believed she had received the water.  The
receipt for making it and directions for using it, were also found on the
fly-leaf.  The principal component parts were burnt wine and rosemary,
passed through an alembic; a drachm of it was to be taken once a week,
"etelbenn vagy italbann," in the food or the drink, early in the morning,
and the cheeks were to be moistened with it every day.  The effects
according to the statement, were wonderful--and perhaps they were upon
the queen; but whether the water has been equally efficacious on other
people, is a point which I cannot determine.  I should wish to see some
old woman who has been restored to youthful beauty by the use of L'eau de
la Reine d'Hongrie.

_Myself_.  Perhaps, if you did, the old gentlewoman would hardly be so
ingenuous as the queen.  But who are the Hungarians--descendants of
Attila and his people?

The Hungarian shook his head, and gave me to understand that he did not
believe that his nation were the descendants of Attila and his people,
though he acknowledged that they were probably of the same race.  Attila
and his armies, he said, came and disappeared in a very mysterious
manner, and that nothing could be said with positiveness about them; that
the people now known as Magyars first made their appearance in Muscovy in
the year 884, under the leadership of Almus, called so from Alom, which,
in the Hungarian language, signifies a dream; his mother, before his
birth, having dreamt that the child with which she was enceinte would be
the father of a long succession of kings, which, in fact, was the case;
that after beating the Russians he entered Hungary, and coming to a place
called Ungvar, from which many people believed that modern Hungary
derived its name, he captured it, and held in it a grand festival, which
lasted four days, at the end of which time he resigned the leadership of
the Magyars to his son Arpad.  This Arpad and his Magyars utterly subdued
Pannonia--that is, Hungary and Transylvania, wresting the government of
it from the Sclavonian tribes who inhabited it, and settling down amongst
them as conquerors!  After giving me this information, the Hungarian
exclaimed with much animation,--"A goodly country that which they had
entered on, consisting of a plain surrounded by mountains, some of which
intersect it here and there, with noble rapid rivers, the grandest of
which is the mighty Dunau; a country with tiny volcanoes, casting up
puffs of smoke and steam, and from which hot springs arise, good for the
sick; with many fountains, some of which are so pleasant to the taste as
to be preferred to wine; with a generous soil which, warmed by a
beautiful sun, is able to produce corn, grapes, and even the Indian weed;
in fact, one of the finest countries in the world, which even a Spaniard
would pronounce to be nearly equal to Spain.  Here they
rested--meditating, however, fresh conquests.  Oh, the Magyars soon
showed themselves a mighty people.  Besides Hungary and Transylvania,
they subdued Bulgaria and Bosnia, and the land of Tot, now called
Sclavonia.  The generals of Zoltan, the son of Arpad, led troops of
horsemen to the banks of the Rhine.  One of them, at the head of a host,
besieged Constantinople.  It was then that Botond engaged in combat with
a Greek of gigantic stature, who came out of the city and challenged the
two best men in the Magyar army.  'I am the feeblest of the Magyars,'
said Botond, 'but I will kill thee;' and he performed his word, having
previously given a proof of the feebleness of his arm by striking his
battle-axe through the brazen gate, making a hole so big that a child of
five years old could walk through it."

_Myself_.  Of what religion were the old Hungarians?

_Hungarian_.  They had some idea of a Supreme Being, whom they