things of almost equal importance—­iron perseverance, without which all the advantages of time and circumstances are of very little avail in any undertaking.  I was determined to make a horseshoe, and a good one, in spite of every obstacle—­ay, in spite o’ dukkerin.  At the end of four days, during which I had fashioned and re-fashioned the thing at least fifty times, I had made a petul such as no master of the craft need have been ashamed of; with the second shoe I had less difficulty, and, by the time I had made the fourth, I would have scorned to take off my hat to the best smith in Cheshire.

But I had not yet shod my little gry; {69a} this I proceeded now to do.  After having first well pared the hoofs with my churi, {69b} I applied each petul hot, glowing hot to the pindro. {69c} Oh, how the hoofs hissed; and, oh, the pleasant pungent odour which diffused itself through the dingle, an odour good for an ailing spirit!

I shoed the little horse bravely—­merely pricked him once, slightly with a cafi, {69d} for doing which, I remember, he kicked me down; I was not disconcerted, however, but, getting up, promised to be more cautious in future; and having finished the operation, I filed the hoof well with the rin baro; {69e} then dismissed him to graze amongst the trees, and, putting my smaller tools into the muchtar, {69f} I sat down on my stone, and, supporting my arm upon my knee, leaned my head upon my hand.  Heaviness had come over me.

CHAPTER III—­THE DARK HOUR COMES UPON LAVENGRO AND HIS SOUL IS HEAVY WITHIN HIM.

Heaviness had suddenly come over me, heaviness of heart, and of body also.  I had accomplished the task which I had imposed upon myself, and now that nothing more remained to do, my energies suddenly deserted me, and I felt without strength and without hope.  Several causes, perhaps, co-operated to bring about the state in which I then felt myself.  It is not improbable that my energies had been overstrained during the work, the progress of which I have attempted to describe; and everyone is aware that the results of overstrained energies are feebleness and lassitude—­want of nourishment might likewise have something to do with it.  During my sojourn in the dingle, my food had been of the simplest and most unsatisfying description, by no means calculated to support the exertion which the labour I had been engaged upon required; it had consisted of coarse oaten cakes and hard cheese, and for beverage I had been indebted to a neighbouring pit, in which, in the heat of the day, I frequently saw, not golden or silver fish, but frogs and eftes swimming about.  I am, however, inclined to believe that Mrs. Herne’s cake had quite as much to do with the matter as insufficient nourishment.  I had never entirely recovered from the effects of its poison, but had occasionally, especially at night, been visited by a grinding pain in the stomach, and