ght 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 learned 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 learned? 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 guided me from my earliest years, until the present night
in which I found myself seated in the dingle, staring on the brands of
the fire. But ceasing to think of the past which, as irrecoverably gone,
it was useless to regret, even were there cause to regret it, what should
I do in futu