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 cross-road. 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.

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 a poetical place, or at a meeting of four
roads, which is still more so; for how many a superstition--and
superstition is the soul of poetry--is connected with these cross-roads!
I love to light upon such a one, especially after nightfall, as
everything about a forge tells to most advantage at night; the hammer
sounds more solemnly in the stillness; the glowing particles scattered by
the strokes sparkle with more effect in the darkness, whilst the sooty
visage of the sastramescro, half in shadow, and half-illumed by the red
and partial blaze of the forge, looks more mysterious and strange. On
such occasions I draw in my horse's rein, and, seated in the saddle,
endeavour to associate with the picture before me--in itself a picture of
romance--whatever of the wild and wonderful I have read of in books, or
have seen with my own