e can I do?"

RYLEY.

"I'm jawing petulengring, {218b}
But do not know the country;
Perhaps you'll show me round."

OLD GIPSY.

"I'll sikker tulle prala!
Ino bikkening escouyor, {218c}
And av along with me."

The old Gipsy showed Ryley about the country for a week or two, and Ryley
formed a kind of connection and did a little business. He, however,
displayed little or no energy, was gloomy and dissatisfied, and
frequently said that his heart was broken since he had left Yorkshire.
Shuri did her best to cheer him, but without effect. Once when she bade
him get up and exert himself, he said that if he did it would be of no
use, and asked her whether she did not remember the parting prophecy of
his other wife, that he would never thrive. At the end of about two
years he ceased going his rounds, and did nothing but smoke under the
arches of the railroad and loiter about beershops. At length he became
very weak and took to his bed; doctors were called in by his faithful
Shuri, but there is no remedy for a bruised spirit. A Methodist came and
asked him, "What was his hope?" "My hope," said he, "is that when I am
dead I shall be put into the ground, and my wife and children will weep
over me," and such, it may be observed, is the last hope of every genuine
Gipsy. His hope was gratified. Shuri and his children, of whom he had
three--two stout young fellows and a girl--gave him a magnificent
funeral, and screamed and shouted and wept over his grave. They then
returned to the "arches," not to divide his property among them, and to
quarrel about the division, according to Christian practice, but to
destroy it. They killed his swift pony--still swift though twenty-seven
years of age--and buried it deep in the ground without depriving it of
its skin. Then they broke the caravan to pieces, making of the fragments
a fire, on which they threw his bedding, carpets, curtains, blankets, and
everything which would burn. Finally, they dashed his mirrors, china,
and crockery to pieces, hacked his metal pots, dishes, and what not to
bits, and flung the whole on the blazing pile. {219} Such was the life,
such the death, and such were the funeral obsequies of Ryley Bosvil, a
Gipsy who will be long remembered amongst the English Romany for his
buttons, his two wives, grand airs, and last not least, for having been
the composer of var