or my name is not Jack Dale.”  Then sticking the handkerchief carelessly into the left side of his bosom, he took the candle, which by this time had burnt very low, and holding his head back, he applied the flame to the handkerchief, which instantly seemed to catch fire.  “What do you think of that?” said he to the Hungarian.  “Why, that you have ruined me,” said the latter.  “No harm done, I assure you,” said the jockey, who presently, clapping his hand on his bosom, extinguished the fire, and returned the handkerchief to the Hungarian, asking him if it was burnt.  “I see no burn upon it,” said the Hungarian; “but in the name of Gott, how could you set it on fire without burning it?” “I never set it on fire at all,” said the jockey; “I set this on fire,” showing us a piece of half-burnt calico.  “I placed this calico above it, and lighted not the handkerchief, but the rag.  Now I will show you something else.  I have a magic shilling in my pocket, which I can make run up along my arm.  But, first of all, I would gladly know whether either of you can do the like.”  Thereupon the Hungarian and myself, putting our hands into our pockets, took out shillings, and endeavoured to make them run up our arms, but utterly failed; both shillings, after we had made two or three attempts, falling to the ground.  “What noncomposses you both are,” said the jockey; and placing a shilling on the end of the fingers of his right hand he made strange faces to it, drawing back his head, whereupon the shilling instantly began to run up his arm, occasionally hopping and jumping as if it were bewitched, always endeavouring to make towards the head of the jockey.

“How do I do that?” said he, addressing himself to me.  “I really do not know,” said I, “unless it is by the motion of your arm.”  “The motion of my nonsense,” said the jockey, and, making a dreadful grimace, the shilling hopped upon his knee, and began to run up his thigh and to climb up his breast.  “How is that done?” said he again.  “By witchcraft, I suppose,” said I.  “There you are right,” said the jockey; “by the witchcraft of one of Miss Berners’ hairs; the end of one of her long hairs is tied to that shilling by means of a hole in it, and the other end goes round my neck by means of a loop; so that, when I draw back my head, the shilling follows it.  I suppose you wish to know how I got the hair,” said he, grinning at me.  “I will tell you.  I once, in the course of my ridings, saw Miss Berners beneath a hedge, combing out her long hair, and, being rather a modest kind of person, what must I do but get off my horse, tie him to a gate, go up to her, and endeavour to enter into conversation with her.  After giving her the sele of the day, and complimenting her on her hair, I asked her to give me one of the threads; whereupon she gave me such a look, and, calling me fellow, told me to take myself off.  ‘I must have a hair first,’ said I, making a snatch at one.  I believe I hurt her; but, whether I did or not,