anguage, and at the same time the
characters and manners of these strange people. My rapid progress in the
former astonished, while it delighted, Jasper. "We'll no longer call you
Sap-engro, brother," said he; "but rather Lav-engro, which in the
language of the Gorgios meaneth Word Master." "Nay, brother," said Tawno
Chikno, with whom I had become very intimate, "you had better call him
Cooro-mengro. {169b} I have put on _the gloves_ with him, and find him a
pure fist master; I like him for that, for I am a Cooro-mengro myself,
and was born at Brummagem."

"I likes him for his modesty," said Mrs. Chikno; "I never hears any ill
words come from his mouth, but, on the contrary, much sweet language. His
talk is golden, and he has taught my eldest to say his prayers in
Rommany, which my rover had never the grace to do." "He is the pal of my
rom," {170a} said Mrs. Petulengro, who was a very handsome woman, "and
therefore I likes him, and not the less for his being a rye; {170b} folks
calls me high-minded, and perhaps I have reason to be so; before I
married Pharaoh I had an offer from a lord. I likes the young rye, and,
if he chooses to follow us, he shall have my sister. What say you,
mother? should not the young rye have my sister Ursula?"

"I am going to my people," said Mrs. Herne, placing a bundle upon a
donkey, which was her own peculiar property; "I am going to Yorkshire,
for I can stand this no longer. You say you like him: in that we
differs; I hates the Gorgio, and would like, speaking Romanly, to mix a
little poison with his waters. And now go to Lundra, {170c} my children;
I goes to Yorkshire. Take my blessing with ye, and a little bit of a
gillie {170d} to cheer your hearts with when ye are weary. In all kinds
of weather have we lived together; but now we are parted. I goes broken-
hearted--I can't keep you company; ye are no longer Rommany. To gain a
bad brother, ye have lost a good mother."

CHAPTER XVIII

What Profession?--Not Fitted for a Churchman--Erratic Course--The Bitter
Draught--Principle of Woe--Thou Wouldst be Joyous--What Ails You?--Poor
Child of Clay.

So the Gypsies departed; Mrs. Herne to Yorkshire, and the rest to London:
as for myself, I continued in the house of my parents, passing my time in
much the same manner as I have already described, principally in
philological pursuits; but I was now sixteen, and it was highly necessary
that I should adopt some profession, un