sings an ancient Roman ditty; now hear the Roman ditty.

SONG OF THE BROKEN CHASTITY.
BY URSULA.

Penn'd the Romany chi ke laki dye
"Miry dearie dye mi shom cambri!"
"And savo kair'd tute cambri,
Miry dearie chi, miry Romany chi?"

"O miry dye a boro rye,
A bovalo rye, a gorgiko rye,
Sos kistur pre a pellengo grye,
'Twas yov sos kerdo man cambri."
"Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny,
Tu chal from miry tan abri;
Had a Romany chal kair'd tute cambri,
Then I had penn'd ke tute chie,
But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny
With gorgikie rat to be cambri."

"There's some kernel in those songs, brother," said Mr. Petulengro, when
the songs and music were over.

"Yes," said I, "they are certainly very remarkable songs. I say, Jasper,
I hope you have not been drabbing baulor lately."

"And suppose we have, brother, what then?"

"Why, it is a very dangerous practice, to say nothing of the wickedness
of it."

"Necessity has no law, brother."

"That is true," said I, "I have always said so, but you are not
necessitous, and should not drab baulor."

"And who told you we had been drabbing baulor?"

"Why, you have had a banquet of pork, and after the banquet Mrs. Chikno
sang a song about drabbing baulor, so I naturally thought you might have
lately been engaged in such a thing."

"Brother, you occasionally utter a word or two of common sense. It was
natural for you to suppose, after seeing that dinner of pork, and hearing
that song, that we had been drabbing baulor; I will now tell you that we
have not been doing so. What have you to say to that?"

"That I am very glad of it."

"Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found that it was
sweet and tasty, which balluva that is drabbed can hardly be expected to
be. We have no reason to drab baulor at present, we have money and
credit; but necessity has no law. Our forefathers occasionally drabbed
baulor, some of our people may still do such a thing, but only from
compulsion."

"I see," said I; "and at your merry meetings you sing songs upon the
compulsatory deeds of your people, alias their villainous actions; and,
after all, what would the stirring poetry of any nation be, but for its
compulsatory deeds? Look at the poetry of Scotland, the heroic part,
founded almost entirely on the villainous deeds of the Scotch nation; cow-
stealing, for example, which is very little better than drabbing baulor;
whilst the softer