r 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