* * * * *

‘What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petulengro?’ said I, as I sat down beside him.

’My opinion of death, brother, is much the same as that in the old song of Pharaoh, which I have heard my grandam sing:—­

   ’"Cana marel o manus chivios ande puv,
   Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi.”

When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and his wife and child sorrow over him.  If he has neither wife nor child, then his father and mother, I suppose; and if he is quite alone in the world, why, then, he is cast into the earth, and there is an end of the matter.’

‘And do you think that is the end of a man?’

‘There’s an end of him, brother, more’s the pity.’

‘Why do you say so?’

‘Life is sweet, brother.’

‘Do you think so?’

’Think so!  There’s night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there’s likewise the wind on the heath.  Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?’

‘I would wish to die—­’

’You talk like a gorgio—­which is the same as talking like a fool—­were you a Rommany Chal you would talk wiser.  Wish to die, indeed!  A Rommany Chal would wish to live for ever!’

‘In sickness, Jasper?’

‘There’s the sun and stars, brother.’

‘In blindness, Jasper?’

’There’s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I would gladly live for ever.  Dosta, we’ll now go to the tents and put on the gloves; and I’ll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be alive, brother!’

* * * * *

Beating of women by the lords of the creation has become very prevalent in England since pugilism has been discountenanced.  Now the writer strongly advises any woman who is struck by a ruffian to strike him again; or if she cannot clench her fists, and he advises all women in these singular times to learn to clench their fists, to go at him with tooth and nail, and not to be afraid of the result, for any fellow who is dastard enough to strike a woman, would allow himself to be beaten by a woman, were she to make at him in self-defence, even if, instead of possessing the stately height and athletic proportions of the aforesaid Isopel, she were as diminutive in stature, and had a hand as delicate, and foot as small, as a certain royal lady, who was some time ago assaulted by a fellow upwards of six feet high, whom the writer has no doubt she could have beaten had she thought proper to go at him.  Such is the deliberate advice of the author to his countrymen and women—­advice in which he believes there is nothing unscriptural or repugnant to common sense.

* * * * *

Of my wife I will merely say that she is a perfect paragon of wives—­can make puddings and sweets and treacle posset, and is the best woman of business in Eastern Anglia—­of my step-daughter—­for such she is, though I generally call her daughter, and with good reason, seeing that she has always shown herself a daughter to me—­that she has all kinds of good qualities, and several accomplishments, knowing something of conchology, more of botany, drawing capitally in the Dutch style, and playing remarkably well on the guitar—­not the trumpery German thing so-called—­but the real Spanish guitar.