would serve me as a retreat under present
circumstances. 'I tell you frankly, brother, that it is a queer kind of
place, and I am not very fond of pitching my tent in it, it is so
surprisingly dreary. It is a deep dingle in the midst of a large field,
on an estate about which there has been a lawsuit for some years past. I
daresay you will be quiet enough, for the nearest town is five miles
distant, and there are only a few huts and hedge public-houses in the
neighbourhood. Brother, I am fond of solitude myself, but not that kind
of solitude; I like a quiet heath, where I can pitch my house, but I
always like to have a gay stirring place not far off, where the women can
pen dukkerin, and I myself can sell or buy a horse, if needful--such a
place as the Chong Gav. I never feel so merry as when there, brother, or
on the heath above it, where I taught you Rommany.'

Shortly after this discourse we reached a milestone, and a few yards from
the milestone, on the left hand, was a crossroad. Thereupon Mr.
Petulengro said, 'Brother, my path lies to the left if you choose to go
with me to my camp, good; if not, Chal Devlehi.' But I again refused Mr.
Petulengro's invitation, and, shaking him by the hand, proceeded forward
alone; and about ten miles farther on I reached the town of which he had
spoken, and, following certain directions which he had given, discovered,
though not without some difficulty, the dingle which he had mentioned. It
was a deep hollow in the midst of a wide field; the shelving sides were
overgrown with trees and bushes, a belt of sallows surrounded it on the
top, a steep winding path led down into the depths, practicable, however,
for a light cart, like mine; at the bottom was an open space, and there I
pitched my tent, and there I contrived to put up my forge. 'I will here
ply the trade of kaulomescro,' said I.

CHAPTER LXXXIII

Highly poetical--Volundr--Grecian mythology--Making a petul--Tongues of
flame--Hammering--Spite of dukkerin--Heaviness.

It has always struck me that there is something highly poetical about a
forge. I am not singular in this opinion: various individuals have
assured me that they can never pass by one, even in the midst of a
crowded town, without experiencing sensations which they can scarcely
define, but which are highly pleasurable. I have a decided penchant for
forges, especially rural ones, placed in some quaint quiet spot--a
dingle, for example, which is