the clock-and-bull fountain,--for it embraces these objects among
its adornments,--presented by Cowasie Jehanguire, who added to these
magnificent Persian names the prosaic English postscript of Ready Money.
In this his name sets forth the history of his Parsee people, who, from
being heroic Ghebers, have come down to being bankers, who can "do" any
Jew, and who might possibly tackle a Yankee so long as they kept out of
New Jersey. One evening I walked outside of the Park, passing by the
Gloucester Bridge to a little walk or boulevard, where there are a few
benches. I was in deep moon-shadow, formed by the trees; only the ends
of my boots shone like eyes in the moonlight as I put them out. After a
while I saw a nice-looking young girl, of the humble-decent class, seated
by me, and with her I entered into casual conversation. On the bench
behind us were two young Italians, conversing in strongly marked
Florentine dialect. They evidently thought that no one could understand
them; as they became more interested they spoke more distinctly, letting
out secrets which I by no means wished to hear.

At that instant I recalled the famous story of Prince Bismarck and the
Esthonian young ladies and the watch-key. I whispered to the girl,--

"When I say something to you in a language which you do not understand,
answer '_Si_' as distinctly as you can."

The damsel was quick to understand. An instant after I said,--

"_Ha veduto il mio 'havallo la sera_?"

"_Si_."

There was a dead silence, and then a rise and a rush. My young friend
rolled her eyes up at me, but said nothing. The Italians had departed
with their awful mysteries. Then there came by a man who looked much
worse. He was a truculent, untamable rough, evidently inspired with gin.
At a glance I saw by the manner in which he carried his coat that he was
a traveler, or one who lived on the roads. Seeing me he stopped, and
said, grimly,--"Do you love your Jesus?" This is certainly a pious
question; but it was uttered in a tone which intimated that if I did not
answer it affirmatively I might expect anything but Christian treatment.
I knew why the man uttered it. He had just come by an open-air preaching
in the Park, and the phrase had, moreover, been recently chalked and
stenciled by numerous zealous and busy nonconformists all over
northwestern London. I smiled, and said, quietly,--

"_Pal_, _mor rakker sa drovan_. _Ja pukenus on the drum_." (Don't t